Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

intrigued. Night after night we played to packed houses in the old Opera, and night after night we scanned the jewelled ladies, looking for the necklace of Catherine. We even began to make a profit,’ observed Sasha with artless astonishment. ‘Always we looked. Then, at last, we saw it. On the bosom of a demimondaine, a worthless woman. I called upon her, and she said that it was only lent; the owner was an American parvenu. Him I spoke to, and at last he told me from whom he had bought it; and I came here to find that man, and to kill him. . May I have some more tea?’

‘The name, Sasha, the name?’

‘But if I tell you the name, you may warn him, and thus my revenge will be lost,’ complained Sasha. ‘Also the Princesse will skin me.’

‘Ah, but if you do not tell me the name, I will skin you, and I am closer than the Princesse,’ said Phryne, baring her teeth and reaching for a fruit knife, as though willing to begin the skinning instantly. Sasha shrugged fluidly.

‘His name is Andrews,’ he said dismissively. ‘We saw the man at the soiree where I had the delight of meeting you. He does not seem to be clever enough to be our Roi. But that is what the American told me. And I saw the sale note. A mere fortune, he paid for that necklace, when it was priceless.’

‘Are there any more of your mother’s jewels left unaccoun- ted for?’ asked Phryne.

Sasha nodded. ‘Some. A great diamond cluster, and a brooch in the shape of a flying bird by Faberge, in diamonds and enamel; a long string of pink pearls. We have not seen them yet.’

‘I cannot believe that it is Andrews. He hasn’t the brain!’ exclaimed Phryne. ‘Go on. Why did the Princesse take me to the Bath House of Madame Breda?’

‘To show you the system. That night I met you, being under the special protection of Notre Dame des Douleurs, I was being pursued by the minions; I had been at a drop.’

‘In Toorak?’ gasped Dot. Phryne considered this.

‘Yes, it does seem very odd and unlikely, Dot, but stranger things have been known, though not many. Go on, Sasha.’

Sasha obligingly provided the address, which Phryne wrote down in a small, leather-covered notebook.

‘How did you know that the drop was to take place there?’

‘The maid from the Bath House of Madame Breda told the Princesse; Gerda, I believe, is the name. With a stupidity which I cannot emphasise enough, I allowed myself to be seen.’

‘Who was the carrier?’

‘Madame herself, it seems. Two men were following her, at a distance; it was they who pursued me. Madame pays calls at the houses of her most favoured customers with Gerda, to massage them; she disposes of her “beauty powders” while there.’

‘These men know you?’ asked Dot, concentrating.

Sasha nodded. ‘Indeed, they know me. They seem to be Madame’s guardians while she carries the snow; most of the time, they are not with her. Luckily, they are not very intelligent.’

‘Possibly not,’ agreed Phryne, recalling Thug One and Thug Two. Sasha stood up and stretched.

Now, milady, shall I leave you?’

Phryne stretched out a hand to Sasha. She was very attracted to him but did not trust him out of her sight. ‘No. Stay until morning,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s too late to be wandering the street. Won’t your relatives be worried about you?’

‘No. My sister will know that I am well. We are twins.’ He bowed slightly to Dot and went into the bathroom, collecting Phryne’s mannish dressing-gown on the way. Dot and Phryne eyed one another.

‘Well, are you going back to your mother, now that my true depravity has been revealed?’ asked Phryne with a smile.

Dot grinned. ‘I reckon you’re different, Miss — outside the rules. And he’s a sheik. Lucky to get ’im, p’raps. I’m for my bed, it’s late.’

‘So it is — goodnight, Dot.’

‘Goodnight,’ replied Dot as she closed her door. Phryne retired to her bed, to fortify herself with Sasha and philosophy against the coming trials of the new day. She did not doubt that there would be some.

CHAPTER TEN

Take a whiff, take a whiff, take a whiff on me Ever’body take a whiff on me. .

‘The Cocaine Blues’ Traditional American Song

The coming trials announced themselves at eight of the morning in the person of Dr MacMillan. Dot, who was awake, let the agitated woman in, and knocked discreetly to rouse Phryne, who rolled over with a sleepy curse into Sasha’s arms and spent an engrossing five minutes in extracting herself therefrom. Finally Dot entered, carrying two cups of tea, and Phryne gulped hers, rumpled her black hair into order, and staggered into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later she emerged, respectably clothed, demanding aspirins and forestalling Elizabeth MacMillan with a languid wave. ‘Elizabeth, I can’t possibly attend to anything intellectual yet,’ she groaned. ‘Dot, get some black coffee.’

She lit a gasper and sank back into the sofa. The doctor surveyed her sternly.

‘If you will gad about all night, and begin the day with black coffee and cigarettes, you’ll be on my hands in a month, young woman,’ she observed. ‘And you’ll be a hag before your time. I have something important to say and I’ve a woman in labour waiting for me to return; attend, if you please!’

Phryne drank her coffee. Her eyes lost their glaze; she was awake and alert. ‘I apologise, Elizabeth, how foul I am being! Go on, of course!’

‘Those packets you sent me. What are you playing at?’

‘Why? What was in them?’

‘This one,’ said Dr MacMillan, laying down the chemist’s package sealed with red wax, ‘is sodium chloride: common salt. This one,’ she laid down the muslin package, ‘is pure cocaine. Where you got them is not my concern, but I’d advise you to have a care, my dear. These people have a reputation for being over-hasty in their actions.’

‘So I’d heard. .’ murmured Phryne. The little packet had appeared in her pocket while she was at Madame Breda’s, and it was real cocaine. But the big packet which she had obtained, as real cocaine, from the Princesse de Grasse was salt.

‘Interesting salt,’ added the Doctor, dragging herself to her feet. ‘Traces of all sorts of elements in it. I reckon that it is dead sea salt — they use it for saltwater baths in some beauty establishments, you know. Well, I must be off.’

‘Stay at least for a cup of tea, Elizabeth!’ protested Phryne, but the older woman shook her head.

‘Biological processes won’t wait for tea,’ she observed, and was gone. She passed Mr Smythe, on her way out.

The manager was polite, but firm. He realised that Miss Fisher had been totally innocent of any wrongdoing in the matter of the police visit on the previous evening. He was delighted that it had all ended so amicably. But there must be no more of it. Another such episode and, for the good of his hotel, he would be reluctantly compelled to ask Miss Fisher to find alternative lodgings. Phryne smiled and assured him that she did not anticipate any such contingency, and that a sizeable douceur should be added to the bill, to soothe his wounded feelings. Mr Smythe withdrew, suavely pleased, and closed the door quietly behind him.

‘Quick — lock the door, Dot! Someone else will waltz in and expect a hearing before breakfast,’ cried Phryne, and then added, ‘now don’t open it for anyone except room service! Gosh, what was that quotation—“I never was so bethumped with words since first I called my brother’s father Dad”. Shakespeare, I think. Sasha! Time to get up!’

The young man, who had evidently fallen asleep again, leapt from the bedclothes and was dressed in a minute. He joined Phryne on the sofa looking irritatingly alert and uncrumpled. Phryne glared at him resentfully.

‘How can you possibly look so healthy at this hour? It’s unnatural. Ghastly. However. What do you have to do today?’

‘I must call at Scott’s; my sister and I have a matinee at ten, and another at three, and an evening show tonight at the Tivoli. I think that the Princesse would like to talk to you,’ he added.