Such Is Life - Joseph Furphy (philippa perry book txt) 📗

“I’m looking for a dog I lost last night, or this morning; a big blue kangaroo dog, with a⁠—”

“Are you sure he’s your dog?”

“Perfectly sure, Mr. Q⁠⸺.”

“How did you come in possession of him?”

“I bought him eight months ago. Am I right in assuming that he’s on your prem⁠—”

“Steady, my good man. Who are you? What’s your name?”

“I must apologise for not having given my name at first. My name is Collins⁠—of the New South Wales Civil Service. I’m Deputy-Assistant-Sub-Inspec⁠—”

“And what leads you to imply that I’ve got your dog?”

“Information received.”

“Leave the apartment, Naomi,” said the magistrate loftily. “Now, Mr. Collins,” he continued, pouring out a glass of wine, and holding it between his eye and the light; “I want to ask you”⁠—he drank half the wine, set the glass on the table, and leisurely wiped his mouth with his serviette⁠—“I want to ask you”⁠—he paused again, pursed his lips, and placed his forefinger against his temple⁠—“I want to ask you how you come to imply that the dog is here? ‘Information received’ was your statement. Be precise this time, Mr. Collins. I’m waiting for your answer.”

“I had my information from a man who saw the dog on your premises, Mr. Q⁠⸺.”

“Very good, indeed! At what time did he see the dog? Be punctual, Mr. Collins. Punctuality implies truth.”

“About sunrise, I think.”

“You think! Are you sure?”

“Well, yes; I’m sure.”

“Describe your informer, please.”

“Describe him! If I described him ever so accurately, you wouldn’t know him from Adam,” I replied sharply, and withal truthfully. “Is my dog here, Mr. Q⁠⸺? If he is, I’ll take him, and go. I don’t want to be trying your patience after this fashion.”

“Steady, Mr. Connell. Was your informer a man about my height?”

“I have no idea of your height, Mr. Q⁠⸺.”

“Was he a man about your own height? We’ll get at it presently.”

“You’ve got at it first try. I should say you’ve struck his height to about a sixteenth of an inch.”

“Sunburnt face? Skulking, fugitive appearance generally?”

“Your description’s wonderfully correct, Mr. Q⁠⸺. You might, without libel, call him a sansculotte.”

“I’m seldom far out in these matters. How was he dressed?”

“In a little brief authority, so far as I remember. But is my dog⁠—”

“Do you imply a sarcasm?” inquired the J.P. darkly. “I wouldn’t do so if I was you. I’m not thinking about your dog. You and your dog! I’m thinking about a valuable stack of hay I had burnt this morning; and you’ve give me a clue to the incendiary.” He paused, to let his words filter in. “You done it without your knowledge, Mr. O’Connell,” he continued pompously, again holding up his glass to the light.

In the silence that ensued, I could hear the murmur of the girls’ voices about the house, and the irregular ticking of two clocks; while there dawned on my mind an impression that somebody had fallen in the fat.

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. Q⁠⸺,” I remarked, at length.

“So far as the loss goes, that gives me no inconvenience, though it might break a poorer man. I been burnt out, r⁠⸺⁠p and stump, by an incendiary, when I was at Ballarat⁠—”

“Ah!” said I sympathetically, but my sympathy was with the other party⁠—

“And then I could afford to offer a hundred notes for the apprehension of the offender, before the ashes was cold.”

“But mightn’t this last affair be an accident, Mr. Q⁠⸺? A horse treading on a match for instance? I think you ought to make strict inquiries as to whether any horse, or cow, or anything, passed by the stack shortly before the fire was noticed.”

“I know my own business, Mr. O’Connor,” he replied severely. “I been the instigation of bringing more offenders, and vagabonds, and that class of people, to justice than anybody else in this district. If I’d my way, I’d stamp out the lawless elements of society.”

“I admire your principles, Mr. Q⁠⸺; and you may count upon my assistance in this matter. By-the-way, there are two illicit red-gummers down here⁠—”

“I was talking to you about this stack-burning affair,” interposed the beak. “I’m annoyed over it. I been on the wrong lay, so to speak, all this morning; but that never lasts long with me. I got the perpetrator in my eye now, in his naked guilt; and, take my word for it, Mr. Connor, I’ll bring him to book. I’ll make an example of him. I’ll make him smoke for it. It was an open question this forenoon; but to show how circumstantial evidence sort of hems in a suspected party⁠—why, here I can lay my hand on the very man; and, what’s more, he can’t get out of it. I can point out the very mark of his body, where he slep’ at a fire among the whipstick scrub, just across that lagoon. And a party I’m acquainted with seen him yesterday afternoon, some distance up the river, on the other side; and I seen him this morning, crossing the flat here, more or less about the time the fire was noticed. What do you think of that for circumstantial evidence, Mr. Connelly? And in addition to this, I can point out his incentive⁠—which I prefer to hold in reserve for the present. He might think his incentive justifiable; but the Bench might differ with him.” And El Corregidor held me with his glittering eye while he sipped his wine.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Q⁠⸺,” said I, clearing my throat. “I can’t help taking a certain interest in this matter. Would it be impertinent in me to ask who the person was that saw the suspected incendiary up the river on yesterday afternoon?”

“I’ve no objection to answer your question, Mr. Conway. I quite expect you to take a strong interest in the matter. In fact, I’ll require to know something of your whereabouts after you leave my premises. I think you’ll be wanted over this affair. The party that seen the incendiary yesterday was Mr. H⁠⸺, of H⁠⸺ Brothers.”

“Mr. Charles H⁠⸺?” I inquired casually.

“No; Mr. Arthur H⁠⸺. Very respectable man, having personal knowledge of the