Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

‘And I would like to talk to her. Oh, Lord, now what?’

Dot answered the knock, and came back with the breakfast trolley.

‘At last,’ said Phryne, and collected a boiled egg.

By nine she was accompanying Sasha down the steps and around the corner to Scott’s hotel. Two letters awaited her at the desk on the way out: a thin blue envelope with gold edges and a thick white one with no decoration at all. She put them into her clutch-purse to read later, concealing them from Sasha. Phryne did not intend to share all of her informa- tion with anyone. Dot had her orders, and the telephone number of the admirable policeman, if Phryne should not return within three hours. Sasha offered his arm, and Phryne slipped her gloved hand between his elbow and his smooth, muscular side. He really was very attractive.

He seemed to catch her thought, for his mouth curved up at the corners, and he smiled an intimate and self- satisfied smile which, in another man, Phryne would have found very irritating. In Sasha it was endearing. There was no masculine pride of conquest in him, but a childish, actor’s pride in the deserved applause of an educated audience. The sun shone thinly, fashioning a cap of red light for Phryne’s shiny hair.

They approached Scott’s, a hotel not of the dernier cri, but respectable. The doorman surveyed Sasha’s costume with deep disapproval, but allowed him in, pulling the door open grudgingly. Phryne did not tip him, which deepened his depression.

In their room the Princesse and Elli looked up from the counting of a pile of shillings as Sasha swept in, then returned to their task.

‘Boy, you must bathe and dress,’ snapped the Princesse. ‘You have a performance in an hour. Elli, take up all the coins and put them away. Please be seated, Miss Fisher. Tea?’

Phryne assented, removed three laddered pairs of tights from an easy chair and sat down, prepared to be receptive.

The Princesse filled a bone-china cup from her samovar and passed it over, while Elli poured the coins into a soft bag and vanished into another room, presumably to supply Sasha with a clean leotard and tights. Phryne remembered the death-mask, and produced it from her coat pocket. The Princesse snatched it, and pointed a long, gnarled finger at the red smudges along one edge.

‘You?’ her voice was sharp. Phryne flicked a hand toward the other room.

‘Him,’ she returned, equally brisk.

The old woman’s face seemed to shrink in on itself. ‘Ah. He will tell me, then. You were unhurt?’

‘Of course,’ replied Phryne. ‘And he was not too badly injured. Just a scratch along the arm. Not enough to hamper him.’

‘Ah,’ gloated the Princesse. ‘You found him a pleasant diversion? If only someone would marry him. That is almost his only skill — that and dancing. If we do not have some good fortune, he will become a gigolo, and that is no life for a descendant of princes. How useless we are! I was taught nothing, nothing, when I was a child, because it was thought that only peasants worked. But I learned by finding things out for myself. Then the Tsar’s daughters became nurses, and so I was allowed to acquire another skill. It was not until I came to Paris, though, that I discovered that my most saleable skill was the same as Sasha’s. Ah me. . it has all been most amusing, and it may all come to an end very soon. What happened?’

‘Someone was chasing him. We escaped by a ruse. Princesse, did you know that the powder which you sold me was salt?’

The lined face showed no change of emotion, but the voice dropped a half-octave, and the old woman replied slowly, ‘Salt? That is not what I paid for. What is Gerda playing at?’

‘I don’t know. Have you bought any of the same product from her before?’

‘En effet . . mais pas tout-a-fait,’ explained the Princess. ‘She always found some reason not to sell.’

‘Reason not to sell?’

‘Yes. Sometimes that Madame was watching her, that the stuff had not been delivered, that it had all been sold. . Tiens! Salt! And we paid cocaine prices for it!’

The old woman began to laugh, and after a moment, it struck Phryne as funny too. Phryne tasted her tea; it was very strong, flavoured with lemon, and she disliked it.

There still remained the matter of the packet of real cocaine that had been found in her pocket, with the cryptic note. And the policeman, Ellis, had gasped, ‘just as she said’ when the chemist’s packet had fallen out of her pocket. That argued that the person who had set Phryne up for a drug-possession charge knew about the Princesse’s transaction in Madame Breda’s. That limited the persons to the Princesse and her suite, Gerda, and possibly Madame Breda — any one of whom might have slipped Phryne the real cocaine.

The Princesse stopped laughing, mopped her eyes, and poured herself some more tea. She tilted her chin at Phryne. ‘Are you further along in this investigation?’ demanded the old woman, and Phryne shook her head.

‘I have an address; or perhaps, a person,’ said the Princesse. ‘It may help you.’ She extracted a folded slip of paper from the recesses of her costume, which, at this hour, consisted of an old-fashioned corset cover, and a long, sumptuous blue satin robe, partially faded. Phryne unfolded the paper.

‘Seventy-nine Little Lon,’ she read with difficulty, it being scrawled in villianous ink.

‘Who is this Lon?’ asked the Princesse. ‘That is what I would like to know. Perhaps he is our succinsin.’

‘Succinsin? ’

‘Scoundrel.’

‘I’ll find him,’ promised Phryne, and took her leave of the de Grasses. The beautiful Sasha kissed her very gently and presented her to his sister to kiss. Phryne found the two of them so similar that she did not object. She knew they had designs on sharing her, and began to think that might prove extremely engrossing — then dragged her salacious mind and body away. She walked loudly down the hall as she left, then crept back to listen at the door. She heard the voice of the old woman speaking their familiar French.

‘How was the milch cow, eh? Did you please her?’

‘Certainly,’ said Sasha smugly. ‘I stroked her until she purred. She is of a sensuality unusual in English women. I think that I have ensnared her. She will want me again.’

‘Did she pay you?’ grated the old voice, and Sasha must have shrugged, for Phryne heard the old woman slap him lightly.

‘Grandmama, do not be so greedy!’ he protested, laughing. ‘Next time she will pay. In the end, I think she will marry me.’

Phryne hoped that her grinding teeth could not be heard through the door.

‘Perhaps. At least, you shall not waste your strength in vain. She is generous, I think. Yes. And she is clever.’

‘Truly, she saved me by a trick — she thinks with remarkable speed. I think she will find the Roi des Neiges.’

‘Yes, she will find him, and then you will follow her. And then. .’ she made a choking noise, probably accompanied by a graphic gesture.

‘Revenge is sweet, children, and we shall have every centime out of him before he dies. With that profit, I believe that you may retire, and your sister may marry for love.’

The old woman cackled gleefully. Elli protested.

‘I shall not marry. I do not like men. Take me with you, Sasha, when you go to Miss Fisher again! Please, Sashushka, please!’

‘I do not know if she would like that. .’ said Sasha, considering. ‘But I will ask her. I must bathe — we have a performance. Come and wash my back,’ said Sasha. Phryne went soundlessly down the hall. She passed the doorman without a word. He awarded a gloomy stare to her retreating back, and sighed. That woman was class, the doorman could see that, and it was wise to be on the side of class. Or so the doorman had been told. It had never done him any good.

Phryne soon realised that first, she was attracting attention by hurrying, and that second, running in a tight skirt, loose coat and high heels required concentration of a high order, which she did not feel that she could spare at the moment. Therefore she walked into a cafe and ordered a pot of tea, lit a gasper, and fumed. So that was why the Russians had adopted her! As a decoy duck! The perfidy of such creatures!

She drank the tea too quickly and burned her mouth. There was no point in getting angry with them. The