Ginger In Australia
Chapter 7
Ginger Investigates
The following morning, Ginger thought he had better try to get some idea of the layout of the place, so he went for an early morning stroll. He was relieved to find that his ankle was almost back to normal and caused him no inconvenience as he walked around the small town. He found a garage and organised the hire of a car so he could explore the surrounding district.
"Going fossicking?" asked the proprietor as Ginger made the arrangements.
"Possibly," answered Ginger, unwilling to have another inhabitant wondering why on earth he was there if not for the opals.
"The roads are mainly gravel," the mechanic told him, "and vary from good to very rough and bumpy. She's not a jeep, but she should see you right. Watch out for the wild life," he advised, "if you're travelling early morning or late afternoon."
Ginger nodded. "I know; snakes," he said warily.
"You see a few pythons," observed the garage hand, "but the roos are the worst. If you hit a roo, you'll know about it. It'll stop a truck."
Ginger's heart sank. 'What a country,' he thought. "I'll be careful," he promised. Before he set off he made sure he had some food, water and matches, mindful of the advice he had received the previous evening.
The earth was yellow and dusty. He had been told jocularly rain was a four letter word used about twice a year, but from the arid nature of the soil, he thought there was probably a lot of truth behind the facetious statement. Ginger headed north, following a hunch. As that was the direction the mines were in, according to what he had learned, he felt that it was reasonable to suppose that it was also the place von Stalhein and Canton would be headed. He drove carefully for in places the road surface was very bad and he did not want to wreck the suspension or break an axle. Now and again the vehicle startled crows or wedge-tailed eagles feeding on something unrecognisable on the road. The birds flapped away, heavily laden. Ginger, feeling sick, did not enquire too closely into their feeding habits.
The sun climbed in the sky. Although it was spring, there was real heat in its rays and Ginger thought that summer would not be a very comfortable time to visit the region. He took frequent sips of water and remembered the advice he had been given in the hotel. Ginger continued north, seeing the heights of Mount Herbert in the distance to his right. Eventually he spotted some heaps of spoil away off to the left of the road he was following and guessed he had arrived at his destination.
Ginger thought he could do worse than adopt the role that Canton had used before the Barula Creek robbery, so when he pulled up he introduced himself not as a policeman but as a reporter, sent from a London paper to do a story on opals.
The man to whom he made this announcement looked at him in amazement. "You and your pal ought to have got together," he commented. "It'd have saved both of you a lot of time and wasted journey."
"Pal?" queried Ginger. "What do you mean?" he enquired, although he had a strange sense of foreboding that was confirmed by the man's next words.
"We've just had somebody out from London wanting to know all about the mines." He looked at Ginger curiously. "Don't you newspaper people ever talk to each other?"
"Was he short, dark-haired and with a moustache?" asked Ginger "Had his hair parted in the middle and kept fiddling with it?"
"That's him," confirmed the mine superintendent.
"Was he alone?" Ginger wanted to know.
"No, he had someone with him. Didn't say much. A bit stuck up if you ask me," observed the Australian.
"Tall, thin, with a monocle and cigarette holder? Walked with a limp?" queried Ginger.
"Spot on," agreed the superintendent. "You know 'em?"
Ginger took a deep breath and nodded. "Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asked. "There's something I think you should know."
In the shade of a tent, he revealed his true purpose for making enquiries, showing his Scotland Yard police authority.
"I know it doesn't cut any ice here," he observed, "but in the light of what happened at Barula Creek, I thought you ought to know." The superintendent, whose name was Jackson, looked shaken.
"Too right," he agreed. "I'd better tell the men to be on the look-out. Thanks for the warning." He looked pensive. "I wonder if they've been behind the unrest we've been having," he mused.
"Unrest?" prompted Ginger.
"Nothing serious, just a few of the natives being unsettled and showing anti-British feeling."
"It's possible," agreed Ginger. "Von Stalhein is so eaten up with hatred for the British it colours everything he does. Biggles - my boss - thinks it's such a pity he never got over losing the war."
He stood up. "I'd better be getting back. I've a long drive ahead of me on unfamiliar roads. It's already getting on for late afternoon. I don't want to crack up in the dark."
Jackson saw him off and Ginger started back on the return journey. He was concerned that he might be caught out in the dark, so made the best speed he could, given the nature of the road surface. He had been travelling for about half an hour when something large and grey bounded out of the bush directly in front of him. Instinctively, he slammed on his brakes and turned the wheel to avoid hitting the animal. The tyres spun on the dusty surface and Ginger felt the vehicle begin to slide. Almost in slow motion he saw the bush at the side of the road come to meet him and drew up his knees to escape being trapped. The offside wheels sank into a ditch or soft sand, he was not sure which, and the car rolled over. Ginger hit his head on the roof and went out like a light.