Madman's Bend

Madman's Bend is another enjoyable Bony mystery by Arthur Upfield.  The very best of these include three strong elements:  an interesting mystery that Bony solves through incisive reasoning and patient, methodical investigation - often employing exceptional observational and tracking skills he both inherited and learned from the aboriginal side of his family; a very sympathetic heroine or a very eccentric male character; and vivid and engaging descriptions of intriguing features of the Australian Outback. This story has all these elements, but not as effectively as in some of the other stories. At the outset of the story, the major suspect in the murder of her stepfather and the love interest of the story is Jill, an admirable and sympathetic young woman:

"Then what will you do?  What shall I do?" 

"I shall go on meanderingly looking for facts.  You will stay here at Mira, be patient, be grateful for the kindness extended by Mrs. Cosgrove, and the love given you by her son.  And now we may admit to beliefs.  You may believe that every cloud has a silver lining, and I may believe that the disappearance of William Lush will one day be cleared up.  Smile, Jill, just a little." 

Jill looked at him with misty eyes, and, instead of smiling, burst into sobbing.

Jill is featured early on,  but appears less frequently as the story develops, removing a strong emotional force that could have provided balance to the rough life and men, and the unyielding terrain. 

The mystery itself is solved logically, but there are no startling clues or very unexpected developments, so Madman's Bend lacks the spark of some other Bony stories.  The natural phenomenon that elevates this story, however, is the serious flooding resulting from the funneling of distant, heavy rainfall into a restricted area that is the setting for the mystery.   The imminent threat that this flooding will cover the ground and destroy the evidence provides much of the tension in the story, but the descriptions of the river when calm and, later, as a powerful torrent of debris provide some lovely poetry:

"....and the river I had heard rapturously described was barely running in a ditch, and I loathed it so much I wouldn't look at it for a year." 

"Then the river made itself heard." 

"Yes, how did you know?" 

"It has a voice, a little voice to whisper to you, a mighty voice to shout at you." 

Mrs. Cosgrove halted and turned to regard Bony with quizzing eyes.  She said, "You spoke of poets, remember.  You could be one yourself.  Yes, I heard the river shouting at me and I hated it.  The wild westerlies would blow when the world was filled with the shouting of the trees.  My husband then had a fast motor-boat, and one evening he induced me to go with him up the river.  The day had been hot, and the evening was cool, and when he turned the boat round to come home he stopped the engine, and we just drifted with the current.  It was then I first heard the whispering:  the bird calls, the fish plopping, the other tiny sounds you'd never hear in the broad day.  That evening my husband and I were truly joined in spirit."