The Kiwi Target

beer that was set before him.
    The landlord rested his elbows on the bar and spoke without being conspiratorial. “Had an odd one today,” he said. “Couple of chaps stopped in here and offered to buy the place.” Constable Grady tasted his beer and set the mug down. “Didn’t know you were thinking of selling, Henry.”
    “I’m not, and never let anyone think so.”
    “What sort of chaps?”
    “Well, that’s it. They were Aussies. You know that most Aussies are right fine chaps, but these two didn’t strike me as quite the sort of chums I’d care to have—or my customers, either.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “I thanked them but said no way I’m going to sell. The Mrs. and I’ve been here twenty-two years in October. It’s the kind of life we like. Plenty of friends and a good income. Enough for all we want and more.”
    When he completed his patrol, Constable Grady included mention of the incident in his report. He saw nothing wrong in the offer to buy the lodge, but he thought it odd that it had come from men not known to the landlord. Proper buyers would have wanted to see the place first.
    The senior sergeant who read the report the following day had been advised to note any items pertaining to Australians in general and to one Edward Riley in particular. Therefore he showed the report very promptly to the inspector in charge.
    The inspector, who had been given certain additional information, made an immediate call to the district superintendent. The superintendent listened and gave the inspector some specific instructions. An official OHMS * envelope was also sent to him by urgent transit.
    When the inspector received the envelope, he left as soon as he conveniently could for the R and R Lodge to interview the landlord. He was received during closed time, which was no problem for a policeman. When he laid out a collection of ten photographs for the landlord to see, Cartright did not hesitate in picking out two of them. He was very definite in his identification and agreed that he could swear to it in court.
    The inspector asked to use the telephone without having to add that he would appreciate some privacy.
    “I’m at the R and R,” he reported to the superintendent. “The landlord has given a positive identification of the two men who called on him. I was sure you’d be interested.”
    “What are the photo numbers?” the superintendent asked.
    “Two and eight.”
    “Ah!” The superintendent was very pleased. “I’d like to interview those gentlemen myself as soon as possible, especially Mr. Riley.”
    “I’ll try to see to it,” the inspector said.

    Two days later, at a little after three in the morning, Henry Cartright suddenly sat up in bed. He thought he detected the odor of smoke, and it had been enough to awaken him. He sniffed carefully and then almost jumped out of bed. He climbed into his trousers and woke his wife at the same time. When he opened the door seconds later, the pungent odor was suddenly stronger, and he knew the worst. “Fire!” he barked, and then ran down the stairs as fast as he could.
    The taproom was already blazing fiercely in one corner, and he could see that the fire was spreading rapidly. He kept his head; his wife would rouse the other sleepers on the premises. The most effective thing he could do was to phone for help.
    Less than a minute later, the nearest fire units were on their way, but they had a long distance to come.
    The call made, Cartright ran to the closest fire barrel, seized the pail, and began to throw one bucketful after another onto the flames. If anything, it seemed to spread the fire even faster. When he had emptied the barrel and could do no more at that spot, he took in a deep breath of much-needed air. As he did so, he detected the sharp odor of kerosene.
    He saw that two other men were also fighting the fire, but it was hopeless. He ran outside and stood with his wife, where he watched his home, his livelihood, and all his possessions give way to the flames. He could have endured it if it had been an accident, but he knew as he knew night from day that the fire had been deliberately set, that his property was being willfully destroyed.
    He was standing back from the fire, shaking with rage, when he heard the siren of the first approaching engine. The lads were coming, but they were too late: there was nothing then that could be saved.

    When he awoke in the morning, Peter shaved, showered, and dressed casually,