Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

they could be relied on to be worth the trouble. She had been honing her instincts on Melbourne men for some years.

‘How is the poor Amelia?’ demanded Isola, tossing back her thick tangled hair. ‘I heard of the death of her disgusting father. I suppose that it was not you, Paolo?’

‘No, I regret.’

‘Pity. I was intending to kiss the murderer soundly.’

‘It is a sad loss to me,’ murmured Paolo. ‘But I did not do it, Isola. Amelia, it appears, is fairly well. Tomorrow I go to her. Phryne has taken over the investigation.’

‘Phryne, if you find him I shall be seriously displeased,’ announced Isola in her deepest, throatiest voice.

‘I shall be desolated,’ said Phryne politely. ‘What is that dress, Isola? You must be freezing.’

‘It is the mode Egyptienne. Is it not seductive?’ Isola stood up. She was clothed in a long, white, closely pleated gown. A collar of bright turquoise beads covered her shoulders, and her magnificent breasts lifted the fabric so that it fell uninterrupted to the floor. She looked like a lewd Corinthian column. She certainly looked seductive, but Isola would have looked seductive in gunny sacks tied with old rope.

‘Is this new?’

‘But certainly. Have you not seen the illustrated papers? There have been great discoveries at Luxor. They have found the tombs of many kings, and in them linen and jewellery and many fine objects. Everyone knows about Luxor! Even the children are playing pyramids. Madame le modiste in the building where I live made this for me, provided that I wore it into society. I am the first, but there will be many others. Do you like it, Paolo?’

‘Magnificent. I would like to sculpt you. To capture the smoothness and lightness of the fabric, while suggesting the body underneath, presents a fascinating problem. Come and model for me and I shall essay, Isola. If your current lover does not object.’

‘Him? Pah! I have discarded him. He demanded that I leave the stage and go and become a good wife. Me, I have sung for princes. But I have no time to sit for you, carissimo, at the moment.’

Glancing hungrily at one of the waiters, she floated away.

Paolo shrugged again. ‘Ah, that Isola! The only woman I have ever met who looks on love in the same way as a man.’

‘Still, her judgement is to be trusted,’ observed Phryne. ‘And you have to admit that she is magnificent.’

‘Assuredly. She has always been so. The gown, that Egyptienne gown, I shall obtain one from the modiste and sculpt Amelia. I shall call on the woman tomorrow and have the gown and some clay sent to the house. Amelia likes sitting for me, it calms her. My mind is clear, now that I have completed the nymph.’

‘Are you selling it?’ asked Phryne. Paolo shook his head. ‘I am collecting sufficient pieces for an exhibition. There, bella, you may buy if you wish.’

‘I will look forward to it,’ said Phryne. ‘And now I must go. I have to be at court tomorrow. I shall see you again, Paolo.’

‘At the house of McNaughton,’ agreed Paolo, standing up.

Phryne paid Guiseppe the surprisingly small total and took herself wearily home.

There had been no word about Candida. Jack Leonard was running out of what he had previously thought was an endless fund of aeroplane talk. Molly had gone upstairs to feed baby Alexander, and now sat rocking him and dropping tears on the upturned face. The baby resented this and did not suckle freely.

Henry Maldon started when the telephone rang and snatched it from the receiver. ‘Yes?’

‘Henry Maldon?’ whispered an androgynous voice.

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve got your little girl. She’ll be fine if you sit tight and don’t call in the police. A letter will arrive tomorrow. Carry out the instructions and you will have her back unhurt. Call the cops or try anything, and you’ll have her back in little pieces.’

‘I won’t call the police,’ gasped Henry. ‘Is she all right? Let me speak to her.’

‘Tomorrow,’ promised the voice, and there was the final click of a breaking contact. Henry threw down the phone and swore.

‘Was that them?’

‘Yes, Jack. They say that we have to wait for a letter. Oh, Jack, how am I going to tell Molly? And how are we going to bear it?’

‘You can bear most things,’ said Jack. ‘You’re a brave man. What about the time you walked out of the Sahara?’

‘That’s different,’ snapped Henry. ‘That was only me. This time, it’s Candida.’

Haggard with exhaustion and strain, he poured another whisky. It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wrest once the law to your authority To do a great right do a little wrong

Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice

The Melbourne Magistrates’ Court was cold and stony, and Phryne was not feeling very well. The crowd of solicitors did not elevate her mood. All men, it appeared. She caught sight of Jillian across the depressing courtyard and struggled through the press of suits to catch her by the arm.

‘Ah, Phryne, I have spoken to the prosecutor and he has no objection to bail with reporting conditions. The informant is our old friend and he hasn’t any objection either. I just have to go in and get the matter on, and we should have Bill out in two ticks.’

Phryne caught sight of Detective-inspector Benton, and called to him. He ploughed through the crowd towards them.

‘Miss Fisher! How is the detecting?’

‘I still have much to learn. Thank you for not objecting to bail. Tell me, can I see the body? And can I have a look at the murder weapon?’

‘What will young ladies take up next? Very well, Miss Fisher. Come over to my office once you have regained possession of your client and I will show you the weapon. You can’t see the body, I’m afraid, but you can read the Coroner’s Report if that will do.’

‘It will indeed,’ said Phryne, pleased. She really did not like corpses much. She pushed her way into Court One and saw that Jillian Henderson was on her feet. She looked as plump and self-confident as the city pigeons outside, and as sure of her place.

‘If I might draw the court’s attention to the matter of McNaughton, your Worship?’

A very old magistrate found his glasses, focused them on Jillian and smiled thinly. ‘Yes, Miss Henderson?’

‘A bail application, your Worship. I have spoken to the informant and the learned prosecutor, and I believe that they have no objection.’

‘Is that the case, Senior-sergeant?’

A huge policeman scrambled to his feet. ‘Yes, your Worship. The informant agrees that there is no reason why the accused should not be bailed.’

‘Very well, Miss Henderson; now all you have to do is convince me.’ The magistrate leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.

Phryne was close enough to hear the prosecutor mutter: ‘Damn the old cuss! This’ll take all day.’ He sorted his notes, looking for the details of the crime.

‘This is an alleged murder, your Worship. The victim was my client’s father. The evidence against him can be summarised in three points: Firstly, he had a violent argument with his father. Secondly, he cannot be proved not to have been at the scene of the crime when his father died. Thirdly, he is very strong, and the crime required strength. For want of better evidence, your Worship, I shall be moving that the matter be struck out at Committal. For the moment, your Worship, even supposing that my client did kill his father, which is strenuously denied, there is no point in keeping him in custody. In your Worship’s vast experience, your Worship must have seen a lot of domestic murderers. They do not repeat their crime. I may add to this that my client is a man of unblemished reputation with no criminal record. He has never come to the attention of the courts before. He is willing to