Crome put his pipe on his desk. His face grew slowly purple. He muttered the great Australian expletive “Cripes!” and broke into a roar of laughter.
The Superintendent’s secretary came in with a tray, and Bony rose to accept his cup of tea with a smile.
“Thank you. Miss Ball, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The girl smiled at him shyly.
“The tea and biscuits will cost you two shillings a week, sir,” she told Bony. “We can just manage on that.”
“It’s worth two pounds a week, Miss Ball,” averred Bony, producing his contribution. “And we should all shell out every month for a present for you.”
“Thank you, sir. I like to prepare the tea, but I’m only allowed to do it because Miss Lodding is away on sick leave.”
The girl departed, and Bony dunked his biscuit. Crome said:
“The Lodding woman is the Super’s secretary. Face like a stomach ache.”
Chapter Four
Jimmy Nimmo’s Worries
JIMMY WAS still youthful, still casual about unimportant things, and a sportsman born with zest for the Game of Life, staking liberty against the jackpot and, having learned to respect his opponents, he seldom lost.
It was known officially that he never carried a weapon and never attempted violence when-rarely-he was cornered. It was also known officially, but never openly admitted, that Jimmy sometimes rendered valuable assistance to the police engaged with a major crime.
The amount of ‘dough’ he extracted from the Sydney bookmaker’s flat was much greater than he had anticipated, but that had not been a factor in his choice of Broken Hill for a holiday. Like many thousands living in Australia’s coastal cities, Jimmy had imagined Broken Hill to be a mullock dump far beyond a deceitful mirage, and actual contact with this city gave pleasurable surprise.