It was one of those burning winter days that are found only in Australia.
No cloud marred the empty perfection of the sky and no breeze disturbed the
acrid heat. Carts and wagons rattled along, sending up a haze of vision-
obscuring dust. Elliott Marston cursed under his breath as he peered
across the street at army headquarters, trying to see who was coming and
going.
The door opened and two soldiers stepped out, their red coats almost pulsing in the heat. Immediately behind them was Melvin Collins. The lawyer looked carefully around, then crossed the road to join his client waiting around the corner of the feed store. They retreated some steps down the alley so as not to be seen by the passing traffic.
"He's not there. According to the sergeant, he's visiting some big shot lawyer on 'personal business'. He didn't know the name." Collins pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his bedewed brow. "I'm all in favour of finding somewhere cool to wait."
"It's got to be Buttershaw." Marston nodded grimly. "Should we join them?"
"What? Go to Buttershaw's office?" Collins looked around, alarmed.
"Of course. I'm in the mood for battle." He edged cautiously to the front of the alley again, checked the street for familiar faces, then nodded. "All clear. Let's go."
Collins groaned but followed.
Most people had the good sense to be off the street so they had the sidewalk pretty much to themselves. Collins had to move smartly to keep up with his friend whose strides were eating up the distance to the lawyer's office. Marston didn't notice. His thoughts were fixed on the confrontation ahead and he smiled with merciless pleasure.
The offices of Wilson, Tait and Buttershaw occupied one of Fremantle's finest buildings. Six stories high and faced with carved granite blocks, it exuded an air of prosperity and stolidity that was meant to reassure clients and intimidate opponents. It had absolutely no effect on Elliott Marston as he pushed through the great wooden doors and up the grand staircase.
"Good afternoon! May I help you?" The clerk at the front desk looked up at his entrance, his premature jowls wobbling slightly. He rose from his chair and progressed to the waist-high railing that separated the public area from the lawyers' offices.
"No, thank you." Marston paused briefly to scan the names on the doors along the wall. Behind him Collins almost fell through the door, panting heavily. "I can help myself." He found the office he wanted and kicked open the small gate with one foot.
"Sir!" The clerk congealed on the spot at the temerity of this action. Not until Marston was outside Buttershaw's office did he regain control of his limbs. He sprang forward. "You can't go in there! Mr. Buttershaw is with a client."
"Don't bother to announce me. We'll let it be a surprise." He turned the knob with one quick motion and thrust the door open. The clerk screeched in agony as Collins barrelled past him, treading on his foot in the process.
The office was large and elegant, an appropriate setting for one of the state's most powerful lawyers. Leather-covered books filled shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. Plush armchairs stood in front of a magnificent mahogany desk. From his leather chair, Robert Buttershaw looked up at the noise. "What the hell?" He exclaimed as he came to his feet in surprise. "Marston! What do you want?"
"A few precious moments of your client's time, Mr. Buttershaw. And an end to this farce." Marston did not slacken speed as he marched across the thick red carpet. One of the armchairs was occupied, although its high back precluded visibility. He made it to the desk and turned to look down at the client. "And now, Major -"
He stopped dead. A small, plump man in a plain black frock blinked up at him. Of the bright red coat of the British army officer class, there was not a sign.
The door opened and two soldiers stepped out, their red coats almost pulsing in the heat. Immediately behind them was Melvin Collins. The lawyer looked carefully around, then crossed the road to join his client waiting around the corner of the feed store. They retreated some steps down the alley so as not to be seen by the passing traffic.
"He's not there. According to the sergeant, he's visiting some big shot lawyer on 'personal business'. He didn't know the name." Collins pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his bedewed brow. "I'm all in favour of finding somewhere cool to wait."
"It's got to be Buttershaw." Marston nodded grimly. "Should we join them?"
"What? Go to Buttershaw's office?" Collins looked around, alarmed.
"Of course. I'm in the mood for battle." He edged cautiously to the front of the alley again, checked the street for familiar faces, then nodded. "All clear. Let's go."
Collins groaned but followed.
Most people had the good sense to be off the street so they had the sidewalk pretty much to themselves. Collins had to move smartly to keep up with his friend whose strides were eating up the distance to the lawyer's office. Marston didn't notice. His thoughts were fixed on the confrontation ahead and he smiled with merciless pleasure.
The offices of Wilson, Tait and Buttershaw occupied one of Fremantle's finest buildings. Six stories high and faced with carved granite blocks, it exuded an air of prosperity and stolidity that was meant to reassure clients and intimidate opponents. It had absolutely no effect on Elliott Marston as he pushed through the great wooden doors and up the grand staircase.
"Good afternoon! May I help you?" The clerk at the front desk looked up at his entrance, his premature jowls wobbling slightly. He rose from his chair and progressed to the waist-high railing that separated the public area from the lawyers' offices.
"No, thank you." Marston paused briefly to scan the names on the doors along the wall. Behind him Collins almost fell through the door, panting heavily. "I can help myself." He found the office he wanted and kicked open the small gate with one foot.
"Sir!" The clerk congealed on the spot at the temerity of this action. Not until Marston was outside Buttershaw's office did he regain control of his limbs. He sprang forward. "You can't go in there! Mr. Buttershaw is with a client."
"Don't bother to announce me. We'll let it be a surprise." He turned the knob with one quick motion and thrust the door open. The clerk screeched in agony as Collins barrelled past him, treading on his foot in the process.
The office was large and elegant, an appropriate setting for one of the state's most powerful lawyers. Leather-covered books filled shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. Plush armchairs stood in front of a magnificent mahogany desk. From his leather chair, Robert Buttershaw looked up at the noise. "What the hell?" He exclaimed as he came to his feet in surprise. "Marston! What do you want?"
"A few precious moments of your client's time, Mr. Buttershaw. And an end to this farce." Marston did not slacken speed as he marched across the thick red carpet. One of the armchairs was occupied, although its high back precluded visibility. He made it to the desk and turned to look down at the client. "And now, Major -"
He stopped dead. A small, plump man in a plain black frock blinked up at him. Of the bright red coat of the British army officer class, there was not a sign.