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 Of course. The camels won t hurt you.
 I wasn t thinking of the camels, Inspector.
 Well, the men are all tucked up.
 All except one, she said, faintly pert.
Anger slowly welled to flush his dark forehead, and his
eyes blazed. Saying nothing, he took the can to the water-hole
and baled. The girl crouched beside the fire until he came and
snatched up a blanket, taking it to the hole and fashioning a
rough screen.
She was away for half an hour. She was refreshed of body,
and Bony hoped also of mind. He said:
 Stay awhile. I want to talk to you. You need not waste
your time on sex innuendo. It s a language I do not under-
stand. He stirred the loaf baking in the ashes and decided it
required further time.  When Mitski was killed, where were
you?
 I told you, Inspector. In the kitchen.
She was perfectly composed.
 I recall that is what you told me, but where were you?
 Well, I can only . . .
 I want the truth, Myra. Why are you opposed to ad-
mitting that you were with Mark Brennan in the passage to
the blow-hole?
 Because I don t want to admit I was alone with any one of
those murderers, that s why. I suppose Brennan crowed about
it.
 No. I knew you must have been there, because the
draught trapped your scarf and it led me to the outlet above.
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 When we reach a civilised point, we shall be surrounded
by police and Security men the latter because it is thought
your disappearance was deliberate, and for the purpose of
spying into secrets of the rocket range. I can clear you with a
word, or I can, and will, have you held for weeks on
suspicion of murder.
She was stilled, and the flickering firelight danced in her
fathomless eyes.
 I want the murderer of Igor Mitski, he went on.  It s up
to you to clear yourself. From whom, or from what, did you
evolve the theory that Mitski s murderer planned to kill all
rivals, so as to be the only lion in the den?
 It was Havant s idea. He predicted it would happen, and
when we were all looking at Mitski and knew he d been
murdered, he said,  Who s next? 
 Did you kill Mitski?
 Of course not. He was quite harmless, like you.
 Do you know who did?
 Why? Should I?
 Answer me. Including Mitski, there were six men with
you. Who, assuming he was the only one left with you, would
you fear most of those six?
 Riddell.
 Who, under those circumstances, would you choose to be
left with, again assuming you intended to preserve your chas-
tity?
 So modestly put, she mocked.  I could name Maddoch,
but . . . some spiders bite and some don t.
 Then you think it possible that Maddoch killed Mitski?
 Yes. Riddell accused Maddoch, but then Riddell s just an
animal. I ll tell you this, dear Inspector. Any one of them
would have attacked me if they hadn t been afraid of being
killed in the rush. I like it that way.
 You include Doctor Havant?
 I wouldn t agree to stay behind with him, would I?
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Bony raked the loaf from the ashes, and rebuilt the fire for
another loaf. She watched him warily.
 What d you hope to do when you re free of the Plain . . .
and of me? he asked.
 The Press boys will be around, and plenty. I ve got it all
plotted, provided you don t spoil the show. The men will say
their little pieces, never fear. But I ll work on the angle of the
hen among the roosters. They can t say they seduced me. I ll
tell how I out-witted their persistent efforts. That will be
news. I could mention how I had to resist you, but I won t,
because there s a lot about you that my grandmother would
admire. I know a man in Melbourne who s the king of
publicity agents. I ll script the lot for U.S.A Radio, and go over
there to appear on T.V., and he won t hesitate to back a brave
girl. Australia can go hopping. It can buy my leavings from
America, same as it buys the leavings of all American and
English top-liners. The art is to withhold to create demand. I
have the art, plus.
Bony could easily believe her about mastery of the art of
withholding. He spoke ironically:
 It seems we shall not be treading on each other s toes.
 Is that all you have to say? Good-night, Inspector. I hope
you trust me now.
 On all counts excepting the killing of Mitski.
 Ye Gods! You remind me of Nemesis.
 Others before you have been so reminded. Good-night,
Myra.
He continued to squat on his heels, damping the fire to
conserve the precious supply of wood, and he watched the
little holes appear in the fine ash atop the baking loaf, and the
tiny spurts of steam erupting from them. The fine ash
covering the graveyard of his mind broke open, and a voice
from the past said:  She s a tough item.
Myra Thomas was a tough item. Her trial for murder
hadn t softened her. Her trials in the caverns hadn t reduced
172
the toughness. It must have been there at birth, and no
Pygmalion could have done anything about it.
Well, he would give these people a day s spell, for the Plain
would tax them and wear them down even more. He foresaw
explosive situations which would tax all his acumen, and the
condition of these people when those situations arose would be
that of utter exhaustion. It was, of course, impossible to place
any trust in Myra Thomas. She would continue to use them
all when it suited her, and so additional physical hardship for
her wouldn t be amiss.
Lucy came to him and stood gazing hopefully. She had fed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]