checked and there is no doubt that they are policemen, based at Russell Street, and that their warrant is valid,’ said the manager, his eyes darting about the room, seemingly pleased by the transformation from bohemianism.
Phryne uncoiled herself from the sofa, in a stiff tissue brocade which whispered as she moved. She bestowed a nod of appreciation on the manager, who had provided this breathing space on the pretext of checking the warrant and the policemen. He smiled frigidly.
‘Well, gentlemen, might I have your names, and inquire what you are looking for?’ she asked pleasantly.
The taller and older of the two said stiffly, ‘I’m Detective-inspector Robinson, and this is Senior-constable Ellis.’
‘We have a warrant to search this room for drugs. Woman Police-Constable Jones is available to search the ladies, and we will search this gentleman. Your name, sir?’
‘Sasha de Lisse,’ said Sasha politely. ‘Delighted.’ This appeared to disconcert Detective-inspector Robinson. He shook Sasha’s outstretched hand, and then did not quite know what to do with it.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Phryne again.
‘Drugs,’ answered the senior-constable importantly. ‘On information received. .’ He desisted as his chief elbowed him in the ribs. Robinson hesitated, but Phryne waved a hand.
‘By all means search everywhere,’ she smiled. ‘Shall I order some tea?’
‘That is not necessary,’ said Robinson. He and the senior-constable began to search, watched by Phryne, Dot and Sasha. They were self-conscious, but they were thorough.
The senior-constable was older than Robinson, whom Phryne assumed to be about thirty. Ellis was short and plump; he must just have cleared the minimum height.
He had black hair, slicked back from a low forehead, and something about his eyes made Phryne anxious. He seemed to be too happy and too smug for one who did not know that he would find anything. She summoned Dot to her, and instructed her to keep a very close eye upon Senior-constable Ellis. Dot nodded, her teeth biting into her lower lip. Phryne patted her hand.
‘Calm yourself, old dear; I don’t take drugs,’ she whispered, and Dot released her lip long enough to flash her a small, tense smile.
They had searched all of the clothes, the bathroom, and the bedroom, and had found nothing. Sasha laughed quietly at some private joke. The manager stood stiffly by the door. Dot and Phryne had accompanied the searchers into the bedroom, and emerged as they began to rummage through Dot’s room and the sitting-room.
As a last move, Constable Ellis took Phryne’s cloth coat down and shook it. A package, done up in white paper with sealing wax at each end, shot out and broke on the parquet flooring. The manager stared. Sasha sat up, his jaw dropping. Phryne therewith acquitted him of any knowledge of the attempted plant. Dot gasped. Only Phryne seemed unaffected.
‘Just as she said!’ exclaimed Ellis, diving for the packet and scooping the powder into his hands. The detective-inspector looked at Phryne.
‘Well, Miss, what is the explanation of this?’
‘If you taste it, you’ll see,’ replied Phryne, composed. ‘I have been attending too many dinners lately. It’s bicarb, man,’ she urged. ‘Taste it!’
The detective-inspector wetted his finger and dipped it in the powder. There was a hushed silence as he conveyed his finger to his mouth. He smiled.
‘It’s bicarb all right,’ he told Ellis. ‘Now, Miss, there’s just the personal search, and then we’ll be on our way.’
‘On one condition,’ said Phryne, standing up. ‘I’ll be searched, and so will Mr de Lisse and Miss Williams, but only if you will be searched, too.’
‘You want me to be searched?’ asked the detective- inspector, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Just a whim,’ said Phryne lightly. ‘Come, won’t you allow this small liberty? You have found no drugs, although your information received said that you would. This visit has caused the worthy Mr Smythe, the manager of this excellent hotel, a lot of trouble. He is waiting for you to leave before he asks me to follow, so I shall have to remove to some lesser hostelry.
‘I might also say,’ Phryne continued, ‘that I have never used drugs. Proper investigation beforehand would have told you this. I detest the stuff, and to be accused of using it is wounding to my feelings. Unless you accede to my request, I am going to complain, and I shall continue to do so until I have had you both put back on the beat, directing traffic in Swanston Street. Well?’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ said Robinson. Ellis drew his chief aside by the sleeve.
‘But, sir, we’re policemen!’ he stuttered.
‘I know that,’ agreed Robinson. ‘So?’
‘We could arrest them and take them down to the station; search them there,’ suggested Ellis. ‘It isn’t right, us being searched.’
Phryne unbuttoned the brocade robe.
‘If you try to take me to any station,’ she declared in a cold, remote voice, ‘you will have to take me like this.’ She dropped the robe and stood revealed, quite naked, pearly and beautiful. The manager, averting his eyes, allowed a small smile to cross his lips. You couldn’t outmanoeuvre the Windsor’s clients that easily. The policemen were taken comprehensively aback.
‘Very well, Miss,’ agreed Robinson. Ellis was gaping at Phryne open-mouthed, and his chief nudged him in the ribs.
‘Call WPC Jones,’ said Robinson, admitting defeat.
‘The ladies can have the bedroom, and we’ll stay in here. Mr Smythe can search us. If you will, sir?’
Jones accompanied Phryne and Dot to the bedroom. She was a tight-lipped young woman with black hair dragged back into a bun. Dot went first, stripping off each garment with sullen fury, then reassuming them in cold silence.
Phryne had merely to remove the robe again. Outside, they heard Mr Smythe ask politely, ‘What is this, then, Senior-constable?’ A rending noise followed. All three women were pressed to the bedroom door.
‘What do you think has happened?’ asked Dot.
‘They’ve found a little packet of white muslin and paper on Senior-constable Ellis,’ reported WPC Jones. ‘I never did like him, smarmy little hound. But what could have possessed him to do such a lame-brained thing?’
‘Money,’ said Phryne quietly. ‘I thought so.’ The police-woman looked Phryne in the face.
‘We haven’t got many rotten apples,’ she observed. ‘It’s a good clean force, on the whole. If you’ve winkled out a bad’un, we owe you some thanks.’
Surprised, Phryne shook hands with Jones, something she would have given good money against ever happening, some ten minutes ago.
‘Can we come out?’ asked Jones through the door, and Detective-inspector Robinson assented, gruffly. Dot, Phryne and WPC Jones emerged to be confronted with an unusual sight. The manager and Robinson were holding a semi-naked constable by the arms, and brandishing a small packet of the type with which Phryne had become wearyingly familiar. Colloidium plaster still hung from the packet in two long strips.
‘You see? He had it attached to his chest by this plaster. And the next time you seek to execute a search warrant in my hotel, Detective-inspector, I shall have every policeman searched before they come in. I never heard of such a thing! Innocent guests have been persecuted and the reputation of the Victorian Police has been fatally compromised!’
Phryne agreed. ‘Yes, what Mr Robert Sanderson, MP, is going to say when I tell him, I can’t imagine. A most shocking thing. My guest and my confidential maid have been stripped and searched in a way only felons usually experience, not to mention myself. What are you going to do about it?’
Detective-inspector Robinson shook his colleague ferociously. ‘Speak up, you silly coot! Who paid you? Why did you do it, Ellis? You violated your oath, you’ll be flung out of the force, you’ve got a wife and four children, how are you going to live? Out with it, man!’
Ellis strove to speak, choked, and shook his head. Robinson struck him hard across the mouth. Dot watched unmoved. WPC Jones sat down, composed. Sasha watched amusedly, as though it were an indifferent show put on for his benefit. Mr Smythe released the arm he was holding and retreated a little. He neither liked nor approved of physical violence.
Ellis spat blood and said, ‘It was a woman.’
