not shy ...' She shook her head, unable to find the right word to convey what she meant. Dot reflected that it must be terribly hard to come to another place when one was no longer a child and try to learn a new language.
'Never mind, I know what you mean,' she said. 'Now, I'd better go. You're sure you're all right?'
'Sure,' agreed Mrs Katz. 'Max, he can talk to Mr Abrahams about this? He'll want to know.'
'Yes,' said Dot.
She used the journey home on two trams to make careful notes of everything Mrs Katz had said. Because she was constitutionally exact, she also included a description of the red, blue and gold plate which the robbers had broken.
The plate made Dot very angry.
'Well, that's more like service,' commented Bert.
'Too right,' agreed Cec.
They ran lightly down the stairs to the street. The cry of 'Murder!' had been repeated and was even then attracting the attention of a beat cop. He was a mountain of a man in blue serge and helmet, and Bert doused a small flame of alarm when he saw this bastion of the law approaching. Constable Clarke, the biggest policeman in Melbourne. Bert reminded himself that he and Cec were now firmly on the side of law and order, not to mention goodness and righteousness.
The crier was a middle-aged man who had evidently just arisen from a haystack. He was kneeling over a man in an apron, who was not struggling, probably because the smaller man had his foot poised over a very delicate area. But he was spluttering denials. The crowd was enjoying this after-lunch floor show.
The person who wasn't enjoying it was Mr Rosenbloom, who was on his hands and knees, vomiting into the gutter. Bert noticed that every now and then he would give a twitch, convulsively rising up and then sinking down again.
'Now, then,' said the policeman. Bert held his breath. Was he going to actually say it? Was he going to say 'What's all this then?' and preserve the dramatic unities?
'What's going on here?' asked the policeman, and Bert was disappointed.
'Murder!' screamed Mr Gunn. 'He poisoned Mr Rosenbloom!'
'That coot's crazy!' yelled Mr Lane. 'I didn't poison nobody. Lemme up and I'll knock your block off!' he added to Mr Gunn, who did not move.
'You let him up,' ordered Constable Clarke. 'You two come into the shop. You and you,' he pointed to Bert and Cec, 'see what you can do for the victim. You,' he pointed to a boy, 'run for Dr Stein, tell him we need him quick. All the rest of you, on your way, please. Nothing more to see here.'
The crowd, which was anticipating lots of distractions to come, stayed put. The constable blew his whistle for assistance.
'Mate,' said Bert, 'I reckon we need some water. I reckon he's taken strychnine and I reckon that Miss Phryne's going to want to know all about this.'
'Too right,' said Cec. The stricken man was panting with effort, but the tremors which ran through all his muscles would not allow him rest. Cec removed his coat and wrapped it around him.
'You'll be all right, mate,' he soothed. 'Try and sit up a little, now. That's the ticket. Boy's gone for the doctor.'
Mr Rosenbloom's teeth gnashed together as he tried to speak. 'Pain,' he grunted.
Bert, who knew no harm of the tubby foreman, said, 'Where's that bloody doctor?'
A youngish man with a permanently worried face came through the Eastern Market escorted by a proud boy, and dropped unaffectedly to his knees on the pavement.
'We need to get him inside—can you carry him?' he asked Bert and Cec, who lifted Mr Rosenbloom with some effort. They hauled him into the printer's shop and deposited him in the room's only chair.
'Sit him down here, good, now, I am going to give you something to drink, and then an injection for the convulsions, and soon you will sleep,' said the doctor. Such was the conviction in his quiet voice that Bert instantly believed him, and so did the stricken Mr Rosenbloom.
'Come next door,' he nodded to Cec.
The birdshop was loud with denunciations. Bert drew the policeman aside by one sleeve.
'I reckon you'd better call Detective Inspector Robinson,' he informed the blue serge land mass which was Constable Clarke.
'Oh, do you? And who're you?' asked the constable, unimpressed.
'Just call him. He's been looking for the poison what done in that bloke in the bookshop. Strychnine, it was. This is the same stuff.'
The constable glared at Bert and Bert glared back. There was a long interval when neither man lowered his gaze. After a minute, Clarke stepped to the door and called one of the others who had come in answer to his whistle. Three officers were occupied in keeping the crowd back.
'Call Detective Inspector Robinson, Cadet Richards,' he ordered. 'I think that this has a bearing on his murder case.'
Bert grinned at him. The recriminations in the shop rose again.
'Shut up!' roared the constable. The walls shook and bird seed fell like brightness from the air. Sheer surprise produced silence. The constable took out his notebook and his pencil.
'Now, I want your names,' he began.
Bert and Cec listened as the two men identified themselves.
'Now what's all this about murder?'
'He poisoned his chooks and my finches, and then he tried to poison Mr Rosenbloom!' declared Mr Gunn.
'He's cuckoo,' said Mr Lane pityingly 'All I did was offer Mr Rosenbloom a handful of sunflower seeds, he's foreign, he likes eating them.'
'And Mr Rosenbloom then became ill?'
'Keeled right over,' said Mr Lane. 'But I didn't poison him.'
'Show us these sunflower seeds,' said the policeman. Mr Lane led the way into the back of his shop. A small sack of seeds stood on top of a table, next to a couple of penned chickens. A boy looked up from a huge ham sandwich and allowed his mouth to fall open. Bert tipped it shut with a careful forefinger.
'We'll have to wait until Dr Stein tells us what came over Mr Rosenbloom,' said the policeman. 'Where did you get these sunflower seeds, Mr Lane?'
'I ... er ... bought them.'
'Yes,' said the constable, pencil poised. 'Who from?'
'My usual supplier is Doherty's,' said Mr Lane.
'Did these come from Doherty's, then?' The constable knew an evasion when he heard it.
'Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.' Mr Lane wiped his upper lip. 'These were a special sale, just the once.'
'Who sold them to you?'
'A mate of mine,' said Lane. 'I don't want to get him into trouble.'
'You'll be in trouble if you don't tell me what I want to know right now. A man could be dying out there,' said Clarke.
'All right, all right, it was one of the boys, Dusty Miller. He's pushed for cash and so he sold me some seeds.'
'Did you have reason to believe that these seeds had been stolen or unlawfully obtained?' asked Clarke heavily.
'No, I was sure it was all on the level, he's square, Dusty is. Good sort of young lad.'
'Oh yes,' said Constable Clarke. 'And why did you say that Mr Lane had poisoned your finches, Mr Gunn?'
'Oh, well, it was nothing, I just ... er ... borrowed a handful of sunflower seeds for my finches, I would have put them back ...'
'You been pinching my feed!' yelled Mr Lane, thankful that the black spot of legal attention appeared to have passed from him. 'You thief!'
'That's enough,' said Clarke.
'He knew the seeds were poisonous, he sold two chooks which had died of poisoning, I saw his boy plucking them!' Mr Gunn was not going to let go of his grievance.
