Collected Dick Sleuth Mysteries: Tasmania's No. 1 Detective

Just who is Dick Sleuth? Don’t let the name fool you. His real name is Eddie Morrison and he is my cousin. He is also a private detective. Eddie, or as he prefers to be known, Dick, has been a private investigator for nearly twenty five years – not bad for an over-weight and balding man of fifty five. I don’t know how many cases he has solved in that time, but he must have solved a few because the detective business is very competitive: blackmail, fraud, adultery, missing persons, and of course, murder.

I once asked him why he used the name Dick Sleuth and Eddie’s reply was, "I am not a tough guy but the name sounds tough, just like the private detective in those 1940s Humphrey Bogart movies, The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep." Of course, any similarity between Eddie and Humphrey Bogart is not only coincidental, but is completely non-existent.

Eddie, or perhaps I should refer to him as Dick, said to me the other month: Those fictional short stories and novels you write are pretty average, although I must admit there are one or two good ones amongst them. I guess this writing bug must run in the family. Over the years, Eddie continued enthusiastically, I’ve jotted down some notes of my more memorable cases, rough and scribbled notes on bits and pieces of paper. There was a pause while Dick reached into the passenger seat of his car, an old 1960s Aston Martin sports car that should have belonged in a car museum, (although it was hip in 1964 when Sean Connery was James Bond). He quickly shoved two cardboard shoe boxes filled with paper into my unsuspecting hands. "I think there is a story or two in some of those notes – perhaps you could flesh the stories out for me and present them to your more curious and long suffering readers. It’s about time they read a story with a bit of ‘meat’ in it."

So, here they are. Some of Dick’s more ‘meatier’ stories. I have, of course, changed the names of those involved for confidentiality purposes; only Dick Sleuth’s name is real, (but then again, that is not his real name either). Oh, and I forgot to mention. Dick has a dog, a mixture of several different types of dogs who he named after you know who. Sometimes I think Bogie has more detective skill (and sense) than his owner. When you read these stories, you may just agree with this. I had better also add a P.S.

Putting Dick’s cases together was definitely not an easy task. His notes are all over the place and it took me weeks, even months to compile the bits and pieces into just several stories. In truth, it was like putting a jigsaw puzzle together with a number of the pieces missing and also, with bits of another jigsaw jumbled up in it. Dick said my own short stories are bizarre – just wait till you read his! Reluctantly, however, I do have to admit that my cousin has a knack for solving what seems to the naked eye and inquiring mind to be the unsolvable. Who needs finger prints, DNA and blood analysis when you have the strange reasoning and, of course, the sheer luck of Dick Sleuth, Tasmania’s (so-called) Number One Detective...?

JUST WHERE IS TASMANIA?

Many readers knowledge of Tasmania will be somewhat limited by where Tasmania is located. The reader will, of course, be familiar with Australia, but if you look at a map of this vast continent filling the empty void in the southern hemisphere, the reader will also notice a tiny island hanging off the south-east tip of the Australian continent. The island is not too small, however, being slightly smaller in size to Ireland. Here are some facts and figures on Tasmania in a nutshell:

Tasmania is located 240 kilometres (150 miles) from the Australian mainland and is separated from it by the stormy waters of Bass Strait. The area of the island is 64,500 square kilometres (24,900 square miles), making it the 26th largest island in the world. Much of Tasmania, particularly on the west coast is also covered by extensive forests that include the famous Huon Pine. The South-West National Park is a unique World Heritage forest, with a landscape showing us how much of the planet looked more than 100,000 years ago.

The population of Tasmania is over 500,000 people and the capital is located in Hobart in the south. Other large cities include Launceston, Devonport and Burnie, all in the north of the island.

Tasmania was first occupied by the Aborigines more than 60,000 years ago. They crossed from the Australian mainland via a land bridge caused by successive Ice Ages, before finally becoming isolated from the mainland after the last Ice Age of some 10,000 years ago. The first European to discover Tasmania, (which he named Van Diemen’s Land) was the Dutch explorer, Abel Tasman in 1642. In 1803, the British who had already claimed mainland Australia set up a penal colony and settlement on the island, thereby preventing the French from claiming it during the Napoleonic Wars. In 1901, Tasmania officially became a state of Australia...

THE SMOKING GUN

She looked at him carefully. There was suspicion in her eyes.

"Is that your name — your real name, Mr Sleuth?"

Don’t let the name fool you, replied Dick. I am a lot tougher than my name suggests. She was, however, not convinced of this.

"Mr Sleuth, I am hiring you to investigate a murder. If I do not know who I am dealing with, then how can I be sure I can trust you? I am baring my soul to you and I must be sure that I can completely trust you. She was staring deeply and openly into the detective’s eyes. Dick was feeling his own eyes beginning to itch under the full and concentrated attention from his female client. He was desperate to scratch his now itchy eyes or in the very least, break the uneasy concentration by simply looking away. To do so, however, would only show weakness. A continued and awkward silence filled the room, broken only by the faint crackling of the fluorescent electric light flickering above Dick’s desk. Well, Mr Sleuth?" the woman asked once more in a final and impatient voice.

If it’s murder, then why don’t you go to the police? In an instant, he had cornered her with his simple and direct question.

I cannot, she replied, brushing back her long blond hair. I have reasons for keeping it a secret.

"If you are going to keep secrets from me, then how can I trust you? he asked. She hesitated but remained silent. Let’s call it a deal, he continued, after a lengthy silence from his client. I will keep my name, Dick Sleuth. You can keep your secret as to why you’re keeping the murder a secret from the police." It all sounded a bit ridiculous. Nevertheless, he was sure he could work on her later to find out what her little secret was.

Jennifer Philpot took a piece of paper from the bag at her feet and scribbled an address on it. She placed the paper on the desk before him and then stood up and walked towards the door. She stopped suddenly and looked back at him. Dick knew the woman was only playing him along. She was extremely sexy and intimidating in her tight and low-cut dress. Dick had a weakness and a shyness for women who made him feel uncomfortable.

You will find the body in the barn at the address written on the paper, said Jennifer Philpot coldly. Once more, her eyes were looking deeply and enticingly into his own. She seemed to regain control of the situation. Or had she?

"Murder is a serious crime. It can get you twenty years in jail," Dick replied calmly. He was determined to show just how tough he was when confronted with a beautiful and sexy woman. Without a further word she turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her. Dick heard Jennifer Philpot’s footsteps echo along the corridor and then he listened closely as they disappeared down the stairs. He again studied the address on the piece of paper, before suddenly realizing how stupid he had been.

He didn’t know how to contact her. How was she going to pay him? More importantly, how much was she going to pay him? They hadn’t discussed any terms or contract. He was not even sure if she was still his client — perhaps by playing it cool he had offended her and she would go to another private detective. Nevertheless, the piece of paper continued to intrigue him. He carefully placed it in his shirt pocket, took his coat from behind the door and then turned off the light. Jennifer Philpot had told him where to find a body and his curiosity was aroused...

The address was beside the Midlands Highway, north of Hobart. It took Dick about an hour to get there and it was dark when he finally arrived. A dirt road led off the highway to a darkened house; near the house was the barn and the supposed murder victim. Dick took a pistol from the glove box of his Aston Martin and placed it uneasily in his coat pocket. He was not too sure if the killer was still around.

When he reached the barn he hesitated, glancing in the direction of the house. He watched the house intently for several moments but it remained in complete darkness. He then turned his attention back to the barn. The door of the barn opened with a creak and inside, he found it darker than it was outside. Dick took a few steps forward and then wisely turned to go back to his car for a torch. He didn’t hear it, but he certainly felt a sharp pain on the back of the head and a loud cracking sound. With a moan, the detective slumped to the ground.

How long had he been unconscious? It was still dark. Dick felt the back of his head and there was a lump the size of a Tasmanian apple. He tried to stand up, but his feet were wobbly and he slumped to the ground once more. He knew he should have brought Bogie, his faithful dog along to keep him out of trouble. His hand reached out and suddenly felt something — something cold. In the darkness, Dick examined the object and quickly realized it was the body Jennifer Philpot had told him about. It was the body of a man.

There was another noise outside the barn. Dick Sleuth slowly and painfully climbed to his feet. Through the cracks in the timber walls of the barn, he could see the moving shadow of a man. The man was carrying a tin can and nearby there were several more cans. Dick could smell petrol and it didn’t take his detective mind long to realize the man was in the process of setting fire to the barn. Dick reached into his pocket.

He still had his gun. He was smiling because the gun placed him on a level playing field with his attacker. And then the smile suddenly disappeared from his face when he remembered he had forgotten to load it — but still, an empty gun was better than no gun. Dick Sleuth was the master of that other private detective skill — the bluff.

I suggest you place the petrol can on the ground, Dick called to the man as with one hand, he pointed the gun and with the other, he pushed open the barn door.

I did not really mean to harm you, the man called back, with the petrol can dropping to the ground. I was forced into it, forced into it by circumstances beyond my control.

It was now early morning outside the barn and a faint tinge of light lit the eastern horizon. Dick studied his attacker with interest; it was not often someone got the upper edge over him. The man was a small and slightly built man with frightened eyes and the detective judged him to be in his late fifties. Jenny Philpot sent me to this address, Dick told the little man who, with a groan at the name suddenly slumped to his knees and quickly buried his face in his hands.

She is my wife, he explained to the detective.

Who is the body inside? Dick motioned to the barn with his gun.

The man she was playing around with. One of them. She has many... This did not surprise Dick. The woman oozed of feline sex appeal. He was confused, however, that the thin little man who was easily twice Jennifer Philpot’s age could be her husband. Nonetheless, there was serious work to be done and Dick rubbed the bump on the back of his head to remind himself of this seriousness.

You killed the man. You were planning on killing me too, he said.

I didn’t want to hurt you, said Philpot. I panicked when I saw you snooping round the barn. I thought she had sent you to kill me. Did she send you to kill me? Dick smiled.

The judge and jury will decide your fate, though under the circumstances, you’ll probably only receive ten years in jail. I am a private detective — not a gunman.

"Then I can hire you, replied Philpot. I’m a rich man. How much can I hire you for? Would fifty thousand be enough?" When he saw the look of amusement on Dick’s face, the offer was promptly increased to a hundred.

You are out of your league, Dick replied, offended by the suggestion that he could be bought. Out of your league with both me and your wife. You should have married someone a little plainer and with far more sense, then you wouldn’t have gotten yourself tangled up in all of this mess. I think you were just plain stupid to get involved with a woman like that. Dick suddenly realized his own stupidity.

He had not been paid for the job. He had also been set up by Jennifer Philpot — possibly set up to murder and be murdered. The woman had most likely already caught a flight to Melbourne during the night. At this very moment, she would be boarding another plane for some distant overseas destination, taking much of her husband’s money with her. Jennifer Philpot was not the sort of woman who would sit in court giving evidence, having her own moral character revealed, or perhaps ‘undressed’ would be a better word, for all the world to see.

I don’t want to get involved in your mess, Dick said finally. "However, there is a body in the barn and murder is murder." As he said these words, Dick looked towards the barn as if to add drama to his words. When he turned back to him, the thin little man was pointing a gun at him.

Philpot’s hand was shaking and his thin little face was drenched in perspiration. The gun he was holding was a far larger gun than Dick’s, a gun that could easily blow a large hole in the private detective’s stomach. Dick held his own gun tightly, his own empty gun. He would have to do some fast talking to get out of this one. Again, he cursed himself for not bringing Bogey — at least the dog would be a possible distraction to the man, allowing Dick to act in some way to disarm him.

If you shoot me, Mr Philpot, then the neighbours will hear the gunshot. They will come running to investigate. You won’t have time to escape.

There are no nearby neighbours. The nearest is over five kilometres away.

The farm belongs to you? guessed Dick. How are you going to explain a burnt-out barn and the two charred bodies to the police?

"The farm is an abandoned farm. No one has lived here for more than three years."

"Philpot, you won’t survive unharmed. You shoot me and I shoot you. Maybe they will find three bodies. Is it really worth it for a woman who has treated you so badly? Jenny Philpot will be laughing her head off when she reads about it in the newspapers. This is what she wants. This is what she planned. Is it worth giving her the satisfaction?

The thin little man’s face was filled with sudden anger and though this anger was directed against his wife, he was still holding a gun and the gun was pointed at Dick Sleuth. For what seemed like an eternity his trembling hands held the gun, with Dick’s anxious eyes on the tiny finger, waiting... waiting for it to squeeze the trigger.

"I can’t do it! I’ve already shot one man. I cannot kill another — an innocent man," he said finally, turning the gun away.

The smoking gun, smoking from one murder dropped silently to the ground with a dull thud.

A MISTAKEN CASE OF MURDER?

The man had been following him all morning. When Dick Sleuth went to have breakfast, the man purposely seated himself at a table near the door of the shop; when Dick sat in the park to read the morning paper, he noticed the man seated on a nearby bench also reading a paper; and when Dick had gone for a walk along the waterfront to watch the fishing boats, he noticed the man was not far behind. It was when Dick went to the boarding kennel to collect Bogie and saw the man sitting in a car and watching him, well, it was then that Dick Sleuth knew for sure that the man was tailing him.

Are you Dick Sleuth, the Private Detective? the man finally asked him when Dick returned to the wharf to watch the fishing boats.

I am on holidays, replied Dick. "When I’m on holidays I’m Dick Sleuth, but not Dick Sleuth the Private Detective." Dick was angered by the man’s intrusion. He had not had a proper holiday for several months, deciding to travel to Stanley on the northern coast of Tasmania to relax and put all of this detective work out of his mind. Stanley was the ideal place to go — ideal for its fishing.

I have been told you are a good investigator, continued the man.

Give me a ring next week. Dick handed the man one of his business cards.

It’s my son, explained the man. He has gone missing.

I think that would be a matter for the police.

They have already investigated but have come up with nothing.

Dick Sleuth was suddenly interested. He liked it when he was able to get one up on the cops. It made him feel good and it made him feel as if he was the best. He studied the man closely – his facial features and in particular his eyes, as this told him more about the man than the man could tell him directly with any spoken words. He seemed honest and he did seem genuinely distressed. A missing person — it would only take a day or two to solve the case and then Dick could resume his fishing holiday.

I will need some details, he said to the man.

Here is a photograph. His name is Danny Lane and he is twenty years old. He went missing a week ago on a fishing trip to King Island.

"Did the boat return or is that missing too?

"The Sea Wasp returned to Stanley without him. When I asked the skipper he denied Danny was ever on board in the first place, although Danny told me by telephone on the morning of his departure."

Maybe the kid changed his mind — maybe he decided to go for a drive somewhere else?

"Why would he lie to me? I spoke to him on his mobile phone the day he departed. He was definitely on board the Sea Wasp."

Dick Sleuth took a deep breath and looked at the nearby fishing boats tied up to the wharf. It was a difficult case. What if Danny Lane had been washed overboard and was floating somewhere in the twenty thousand square kilometres of Bass Strait? It was a lot of area to cover, even for a private detective. A man lost at sea was not a case for a private detective. He turned to the man.

"I doubt if I can find your son, but I’ll try to get some evidence that he was on board the Sea Wasp when it sailed from Stanley. You can then give this evidence to the police or the volunteer coastguard. You said the skipper of the Sea Wasp denied having Danny on his boat?" The man nodded.

He sailed out last Tuesday in calm seas and the boat returned on the Friday without him. The private detective was thinking carefully about what he had just been told.

I will need some money up front, said Dick, at least to cover a few expenses. He was surprised when the man handed him ten crisp one hundred dollar notes.

"Is that enough? I can pay another thousand when you find convincing evidence that Danny was on the Sea Wasp. He handed Dick his own business card. I have an Antiques Shop and you can contact me there." The man turned and walked away. His shoulders were stooped and his head downcast and it was obvious he was carrying a great burden of loss.

Well Bogie, said Dick to his dog whom he considered something of a partner, "I guess we had better find our sea legs — we are going for a fishing trip on the Sea Wasp..."

We don’t take dogs, said the skipper of the boat a short time later. We fish for fish and a dog only gets in the way. If you want to bring your dog along then go for a walk in the park.

How much would you charge for a four day fishing excursion? asked Dick, before adding, without the dog?

It will cost you five hundred dollars, was the reply.

Well, here’s a thousand. The dog comes too!

The skipper looked in surprise at the crisp bank notes. He glanced at the dog and then extended his hand to Dick. "The name is Hanks and I’m the skipper of the Sea Wasp, and what I say goes because I’m in charge. There are two other crew members and you take orders from them also." When Dick introduced himself and Bogie, the skipper scratched his head.

Funny name for a dog, and from his words it was evident that he thought Dick Sleuth’s name was also a strange one.

When do you wish to sail?

First thing tomorrow morning, Dick replied. I want to do some fishing out towards King Island.

I don’t know about that, and the skipper looked beyond the harbour. It will depend on the weather reports for the next few days.

"There’s another five hundred when we return — I want to fish for the King Island bream. I’ve heard it is a particular delicacy in these parts." Dick’s brain was working overtime and he had made the name of the fish up. He felt suddenly stupid. The man was a fisherman and would know there was no such thing as King Island bream.

Well, Mr Sleuth, that is one fish I must admit I like to eat myself, replied the skipper without any hint of suspicion in his voice. It will be good to have someone on board who knows their fish. He extended his hand. I’ll see you back on board with your err... dog at seven in the morning...

The weather the next morning did not look good. There were dark clouds on the horizon and a brisk south-westerly wind was whipping up the sea. A light drizzle was also sweeping in from the south. It was a cold and miserable winter-like morning for what should have been a bright summer’s day.

You can stow your fishing rod, tackle and gear below deck in the first cabin, Hanks told him as Dick and Bogie came on board. He looked at the dog. Is that mutt house trained?

Probably better than your two crew, replied Dick who had already been introduced to the Sea Wasp’s two hands – AJ, a skinny kid with a pimply face and a case of bad hair (a red Mohawk haircut); and Butch, a tough looking girl with a ring through her nose and tattoos on her muscular arms.

As the boat departed harbour, Dick joined Hanks on the flying bridge of the fishing boat. In the few minutes he had gone below to stow his gear the weather had deteriorated badly. Are we still heading for King Island? he asked the skipper, expecting a far different answer from the one he received.

Where else do you think we are going? It was obvious the temptation of the one thousand dollars was too great for Hanks.

An hour later, Dick was wishing the answer had been no. The boat was rolling violently with the waves, and the rain had also increased, making him feel not only sea sick but also cold and miserable. Bogie was also feeling the effects of the sea voyage and had already spilled up the dog biscuits he had had for breakfast that morning. Dick was hanging over the side of the flying bridge. Stay downwind, Hanks warned him. I don’t want any spew on my boat. AJ and Butch were also hanging over the side. Only the skipper seemed untouched by the effects of the storm.

If not for his professional conduct as a private investigator, Dick would have ordered the boat back to Stanley. He felt in a worse way than when the slug (bullet) had hit him in the stomach during the Cradle Mountain Case two years before. And besides, he had to go on otherwise he would have to return the thousand dollars to the man who hired him, meaning that Dick would also be the thousand dollars out of pocket on what should have been a holiday, probably his last for some time until he could recoup the lost money.

His weakened hands held on grimly to the railing, his blurry eyes watching the rise and fall of the ocean waves, rising and falling, rising and falling. He would give anything to be standing on dry land again. It was not until evening, however, that the effects of the storm began to diminish on his weakened body and he felt slightly better. Bogey had slumped into a ball on the deck of the flying bridge, completely exhausted from being sea sick and too weak to even whimper. Dick felt guilty for bringing his suffering partner along.

When evening came, there was a faint tinge of orange on the horizon and the wind died down to only a whisper. The rain cleared and the clouds began to disperse, until finally, the power of the waves diminished from a rolling sea into a slightly choppy one. Dick felt good enough to have a small bite below deck and even Bogie was feeling better.

The worst is behind us, Hanks informed him. The weather should improve over the next few hours.

Dick was not the only one who appreciated this news. Both AJ and Butch who had joined him over the rail looked relieved. Their faces had been as green as his own. Dick was suddenly suspicious of this. The kid was probably okay because he was young and it was most likely his first or second storm, but Butch should have been accustomed to the sea. He decided to ask his first probing question. It was time to get to work.

Been going to sea long? he asked them as they sat on deck looking up at the stars. Hanks was below deck having the second course of his three course meal. He was the only one on board the Sea Wasp who seemed hungry.

Two weeks, replied AJ. Dick looked at Butch.

Piss off and leave me alone Dick features, was Butch’s reply to the question. Dick decided to take her advice, knowing he would be wasting his time talking to her. The kid offered better prospects at getting information, even if he had only been on board for two weeks and probably knew nothing.

"I heard you went for a trip up to King Island last week? Dick asked him.

Yeah. We had a paying customer on the boat.

Dick looked at the trawling net and rig. He had first noticed it when he came on board that morning. For a fishing boat, it looked completely new and unused. Another thing. Fishing boats, no matter how hard their decks are washed and scrubbed always smell fishy, but there were no fishy smells associated with the Sea Wasp.

Do much trawl fishing? Dick asked.

Piss off nosey. Butch suddenly stood up and disappeared below deck.

We ain’t done any since I came on board, replied AJ, but before the kid could continue, Hanks appeared on deck with Butch.

Thinking about buying the boat? asked Hanks. Without waiting for a reply he added, If you are, then I want fifty thousand up front and now — if you don’t want to buy the boat and are just out here to fish then keep your questions to yourself. The only questions I want to hear from you are what sort of fish you caught.

Dick knew it was now a good time to push his investigation. He had Hanks’ attention and the other two were also on deck where he could see them. He wondered where his partner Bogie was — probably curled up below deck asleep. He would start with the rifle he had noticed hidden in the locker inside the enclosed cabin below the flying bridge.

Why do you have a rifle on board? Expecting any trouble?

Hanks looked surprised by the question. He hesitated for a moment. I need it for shooting sharks.

It’s illegal to kill sharks.

Not if they get entangled in the nets.

You haven’t used your nets though. They look new.

Nets don’t last forever, replied Hanks with a grim smile. "They have to be replaced eventually."

Dick could see he was getting nowhere. The man had an answer to all of his questions — or did he?

What happened to Danny Lane?

Hanks’ grim smile suddenly disappeared. Dick Sleuth had shown his poker hand.

That name is oddly familiar — Danny Lane? I don’t know who this Danny Lane is but the police were asking questions about him the other day. You seem to know him, Mr Sleuth; maybe you can tell us who he is? As he said this Hanks was moving slowly towards the cabin and the rifle in the locker. Dick suddenly pulled out his own revolver from his pocket and pointed it at the skipper of the Sea Wasp.

Danny Lane has gone missing and he was last seen on board this boat. Dick’s attention was focused only on Hanks and he failed to see Butch edging quietly towards him. Butch grabbed the detective’s arm in an attempt to wrestle the gun from him and there was a struggle. Hanks was running towards the cabin and the rifle. He suddenly came to a stop and was sprawling face first on the deck. Bogey, awoken by the commotion had suddenly appeared on deck. Bogey liked to playfully chase running people and the dog had grabbed Hanks’ foot and was holding on tightly as if it were some sort of game.

Hold him! Dick called to his companion and the dog’s jaws tightened on the struggling man’s foot. Butch now had hold of the gun and was attempting to pull it from the detective’s hand — and then Butch suddenly dropped to the deck with a groan. AJ stood over her holding a piece of timber. When he saw Dick pointing the gun at him the piece of timber dropped to the deck.

I don’t want any trouble, said the kid. I’m on your side.

Dick motioned AJ to move to the front of the boat and then called Bogey off Hanks’ foot. I want you both to sit on the deck and don’t move. We have got some talking to do.

There was a brief silence and suddenly the kid, overwhelmed by the situation broke down and cried. Don’t tell him anything, ordered Hanks, more as a threat than a warning. He has got nothing on us. We already told the police we don’t know who this Danny Lane is. You are up for mutiny, Mr Sleuth. I am in charge of this boat. Mutiny on the high seas is a hanging offence!

Dick laughed. A hundred years ago it was and I guess it still is a serious offence — but not where murder is concerned. Why did you murder Danny Lane?

The kid had stopped his crying. He edged away from Hanks until he judged himself to be a safe distance from his murderous hands. I’ll tell you everything. If I co-operate will it help reduce my sentence? The kid’s head suddenly dropped and Dick Sleuth knew there was more than murder involved. He lowered his gun knowing that it was only making AJ more nervous.

Why don’t we start with Danny Lane, said the detective. AJ now began his story.

He hired our boat last week for a fishing trip north of King Island. I was not in on it at first, but I saw him hand over ten thousand to Hanks and I knew something was up.

Ten thousand dollars is a lot for a four day fishing trip? said Dick.

That was only a portion of the money on offer, continued the kid. "There was to be another forty thousand when we finally returned to Stanley. There were, of course, no plans of murder at this stage and because I knew of the money, I was to be given a cut of it. Butch was in on it too.

We went to the channel about twenty kilometres north of King Island and waited. It was late at night when we saw the shadow of a ship off in the distance with its navigation lights blinking. Hanks ordered our trawler to be lit up like a Christmas tree and we waited perhaps half an hour. The ship sailed past us and as it did, it dropped something from its deck. Here the kid paused because he could hear Hanks cursing loudly under his breath.

Go on, said Dick. What did it drop in the sea?

"It was a large watertight plastic case with flotation devices and a small beacon attached. When we fished it out of the water Danny Lane told us what was inside — 200 kilograms of pure heroin worth more than ten million dollars.

"We murdered Danny Lane about an hour later after deciding to steal the drugs and sell them ourselves. I guess the temptation was too much. We were involved in large scale drug smuggling so what did it matter if we added murder to the charge — a low-life like Danny Lane did not deserve to live.

"We hid the drugs. I was new on board the Sea Wasp and so was Butch. We only learned later that Danny Lane had already made several other trips into Bass Strait over the previous six months on the Sea Wasp. It was no fishing boat – it was a drug courier boat! I guess he must have told his father about his last trip because he suspected Hanks was up to something – an insurance policy you could say. The kid was smart when he added, What happened to its previous crew before we joined I don’t know. Maybe Hanks murdered them and planned on murdering us too..."

It was a week later that the fickle currents of Bass Strait washed up a body on the eastern side of King Island. Though the body had partly decomposed in the water and then much of it had been eaten by the crabs of King Island, it was identified as that of Danny Lane, a Danny Lane who finally came to realize that crime does not pay, and that there is no honour among thieves.

THE RICHMOND MYSTERY

It was not the sort of telephone call that Dick Sleuth was used to. He was the one who normally asked the questions but instead, the voice on the other end of the phone was asking him the questions. Moreover, they were not questions to do with his private detective business — they were odd questions, questions a teacher would normally ask one of their students during an exam.

Do you know much about the early history of Tasmania? was one of the questions.

Dick Sleuth prided himself on his general knowledge. He knew that Tasmania had been discovered in 1642 by the Dutch explorer Abel Tasman; he knew that Hobart was founded in 1804; and he knew that the early name for Tasmania had been Van Diemen’s Land, named after some Dutch governor who had paid for Abel Tasman’s expedition. He knew all of this, and that was about all he knew of Tasmania’s early history.

I know enough, replied Dick to the question, enough to get me to the famous landmarks.

Keys? asked the voice on the other end of the line.

Now this is something Dick Sleuth does know about. He is an expert, indeed a world authority on locks and keys. It is an interest that goes back to his early days as an apprentice in the building trade. Dick has held a number of jobs in his forty two years, (this was one of Dick’s earlier cases). Keys? He has written an extensive 600 page (but as yet unpublished) book on the history of locks and keys. He knows more about locks and keys than anyone in their proper mind could know or would care to know. He now parted some of this knowledge on his caller.

The first known locks and keys can be dated back to around 500 B.C. in Ancient Greece, he told his listener, although there are hints that the Ancient Chinese may have developed locks and keys a few centuries earlier. Is there any particular period you would like to know about? I’m thinking early Georgian England is an interesting period and, of course, there is 16th century Italy — the Renaissance highpoint of the lock and key! Dick would have rambled on and on for several minutes more if the man had not interrupted him.

I am interested in the early 19th century.

The Colonial American period?

Early 19th century Tasmania — Richmond to be precise, said the caller. Dick was suddenly very much disinterested.

The locks and keys from this period are pretty ordinary. They are padlocks and heavy keys used mainly for military depots and prisons. I am sure you would be much more interested in the American period.

I have a key I want you to identify, said the caller. I will pay you well for your time. My name is Farrer and I live in Richmond. When could you come? It would take only a few minutes of your time to identify the key and a couple of hours travelling. The man seemed eager for Dick’s services. If I pay you two hundred dollars, would this do?

I can come tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, Dick replied, eager for the money that would pay a few overdue bills. Give me your address. I will be there right on eight, not a minute late...

Dick Sleuth always prides himself on being punctual — even to the minute. Richmond is an historical town located forty kilometres north of Hobart, filled with many old colonial buildings dating from the 1820s through to the 1860s. Dick arrived in Richmond late! It was ten o’clock when he arrived — not ten in the morning, but ten o’clock at night.

I’m sorry about the time, he said to the sleepy-eyed Mr Farrer who had staggered from both his bed and his slumber