Raisins and Almonds

'They found no strychnine in the stomach,' said Robinson. 'There's a report from the toxicologist, too. It was pure strychnine, chemically pure. Not the mixture they use to poison rats. This is an awful thing,' he said slowly. 'A trap for the most unsuspecting. Just when he thought that he was going to get what he wanted.'

'A cruel thing,' said Phryne. 'The product of a cunning mind.'

'But whose mind?' demanded the policeman.

'Ah, that,' said Phryne, 'we have yet to ascertain. But I tell you one thing, Jack dear, it wasn't Miss Lee.'

'She could have been an accomplice,' said Robinson, without conviction.

'Have a heart,' begged Phryne.

'You're right. We'll release her this afternoon. All charges dropped and her release proceeding from sure and certain knowledge of her complete innocence,' said Robinson, heavily.

'There's a good policeman.' Phryne patted his arm.

'Someone set a trap for poor Shimeon,' whispered Simon. 'And killed him as coldly as you kill a mouse.'

'Yes, and with the same poison,' agreed Robinson absently.

There was a crash as the book hit the floor, but the alert constable managed to catch Simon.

The Detective Constable had no imagination, so he was not shocked by the murder weapon or the collapse of the dark boy, which he had expected. But he was horrified by the way Miss Fisher had called his chief 'Jack, dear'.

He had never thought of Detective Inspector Robinson in that light before.

As they left the shop, a woman in shabby clothes caught at Miss Fisher's arm. 'Excuse me, Miss, are these the jacks who are saying Miss Lee's a murderer?'

'They're the ones,' agreed Phryne. 'Who are you?'

'I'm Mrs Price. I clean this shop and I'm here to tell them they're wrong. You the head cop? You're looking for the rat poison, ain't yer?'

Jack Robinson said 'Mind your language, Mrs Price. Yes, I am looking for the rat poison. Do you know what happened to it?'

'Yair,' said the cleaning woman angrily. 'I spilled it and I threw it away. I been sick with the 'flu and I didn't know about all this till my son told me tonight. So that's where it went, right?'

'Right,' said Detective Inspector Robinson, humbly.

Thirteen

... there is in nature a certain Spirit which applies himself to the matter, and actuates in every generation.

Thomas Vaughan, Anima Magica Abscondita

Strewth,' Bert declared after two fruitless hours.

'What have you got, mate?'

'Not much,' said Cec. 'Well, something. Not many people live around here.'

'Lotta dogs, but,' said Bert, who had been bailed up in two different yards by hounds which Mr Baskerville might have considered overdrawn.

'Yair. Met a few nice dogs,' said Cec, whom all animals instantly recognized as a friend of a different but related species.

'You'd get on like a blood brother with a tarantula,' snarled Bert, mopping his brow.

'Never met one of them,' said Cec, interested. 'But I had a pet huntsman. My landlady went crook, so I had to find him another home. Used to feed him flies.'

'What've you found?' asked Bert, who was a confirmed arachnophobe. He did not want to think about Cec's communion with his many-legged friends.

'Lady at the house over there says that Gibson's been gone for six months. Says he sold up his stuff and went to join his daughter in Queensland—so you were almost right about the South Sea Isles.'

'That can't be right,' objected Bert. 'The bloke delivered a box to Miss Lee's last week. We've got the dispatch note.'

'Can't have,' insisted Cec. 'The old lady was pretty clear about it. Said she missed him being there. She's crippled, and she liked watching his trucks go in and out. Poor old chook. But she's got a good dog to keep her company. A blue heeler called Sally.'

'I hope they'll both be very happy,' said Bert sarcastically. 'But we're at a dead end, then.'

'Yair, well, Mrs Hebden told me that all Gibson's stuff went to a dealer, and she gave me his name. And she says his top cocky driver, bloke the name of Black Jack Alderton, practically lives at the Albion Hotel since his latest job folded. That's at the corner of Faraday Street and Lygon Street, isn't it? That's the next step.'

'Bloody beauty,' said Bert. 'I gotta get out of the sun, it's as hot as bloody Cairo.'

Miss Lee looked up from her book. The hard-faced warder was there.

'You're to pack up your things, Lee,' she said crisply. 'Governor's waiting.'

Miss Lee closed the book and reached for her bag. She had been moved from cell to cell over the last four days and was used to packing quickly. She laid the last garment in her case, clicked the latches, and asked, 'Where am I going?'

'Governor'll tell you,' said the guard. 'Off remand, anyway.'

That must mean that she was going to trial. Miss Lee followed the wardress through the corridors. The floors in the prison were scrubbed every morning by a special punishment detail; they were so clean that an unwary mouse might skid on them. The walls were an unrefreshing shade of mud. Miss Lee preceded the wardress at the proper distance. In that moment she realized that her body belonged to the State, that she would never be free, and that her days on earth had been numbered by men who would shortly judge her, condemn her and kill her. And that there was nothing at all she could do to affect her fate.

She would have run if there had been anywhere to run, but she was still Miss Lee, who prided herself on her control.

Inside her, someone was weeping hysterically.

The journey seemed to last for years. Miles of disinfected corridors were passed. They reached the Governor's office, and she stood at attention before it as the wardress negotiated entry. It was not until she smelt Nuit D'Amour perfume in the Governor's office that she began to hope. No one in prison smelt of anything but soap. The scent emanated from a small woman with Dutch-doll hair, a jewel-blue dress and cloche and a handful of papers. She was flanked by a plain young woman in beige linen and a policeman with a forgettable face.

'Miss Lee, I've come to take you home,' said Phryne.

'You've found the murderer?' Miss Lee fought down elation.

'We soon will. But the police know that it isn't you. Have you got everything? Good. Here is the order for release, here is Jack Robinson to confirm that there are no charges against you and that you are a pure and stainless soul, and here is my companion, Dot, who is going to stay with you for today I know you would rather be alone, but we still have a few ends to tie up. This way, Miss Lee,' said Phryne.

Miss Lee found herself holding out her hand to the Governor, and almost thanked her for having her.

'Goodbye, Miss Lee,' said the thin woman, and smiled bleakly. 'Congratulations.'

'Thank you,' gasped Miss Lee, who had regained her honorific with her freedom.

It was not until the last set of prison doors shut behind her that she found herself wondering if she would ever get to the fifth declension—res, fides and spes.

'Well, you're out of that horrible place and you're a free woman again,' said Phryne. 'Anything you want, just name it.'

'I want a bath,' said Miss Lee promptly. 'A real bath with real soap. I want a boiled egg and some bread and butter and a cup of real tea. Then I want to go and walk around the city.'

'It's yours,' said Phryne. 'Dot will look after you. She will also tell you everything that has happened.'

'Where will you be?' asked Miss Lee, bewildered by the speed of events. An hour ago she had been a condemned prisoner. Now she was sitting in a very expensive red saloon car and the suburbs were speeding past.

'I have to go and talk to a chemist,' said Phryne.

Bert put down his empty glass and licked a little foam from his upper lip.