under her arm.
‘To your boxes, woman,’ she ordered Molly. ‘Bear will be safe with me.’
She marched back into the parlour, where Henry had started pacing again.
‘Dot, can you go and help Mrs Maldon? She’s upstairs, unpacking. Talk to her about her new house, baby Alexander, and anything else that occurs to you. Don’t go into Candida’s room if you can help it.’
Dot obeyed. From the kitchen came the appetising scent of an omelette cooking, and bread toasting. Henry took Bear out of Phryne’s arms and hugged him. Phryne glanced at his face and went out. She decided that Bear should be left alone to work his magic.
She dialled her own house. Mrs Butler answered the phone.
‘Mr Butler has got the paint you ordered, Miss, and says that what you need to deliver it is the bladder from a football. He’s just gone out to buy one.’
‘Good. He is a jewel among men and I hope that you are very happy with him.’
‘And your two cabbies are here with a load of papers which they say you asked them to buy.’
‘Good again. Tell them to wait until Mr B. comes back and to bring the doings over to the Maldons’. Did they say if they found the rope?’
‘Mr Bert is here, Miss, I’ll put him on.’
Bert, who was unused to telephones, roared in Phryne’s ear. ‘Bert here, Miss. We got the rope.’
‘Good, but keep your voice down. Was it where I said it would be?’
‘Yair. Cec found it, and a pile of pitchers. We reckon they are kerbstones. We’ll go out looking for the street repairs later. The rope had blood on it all right. Reckon it was used to tie someone up. The stains are all spaced out, like. And there were all these little things under the stones.’
‘What sort of little things?’
‘Lollies, and toys, and gum cards, and lead soldiers. Someone had painted over their uniforms and given them white skirts.’
‘Ah,’ said Phryne with deep satisfaction. ‘Had they. Have I told you lately how invaluable you are, Bert?’
‘Not lately,’ said Bert, ‘But I’ll pass your recommendation on to Cec. Now about the old bloke and the girl — no wonder the poor sheila was chasing him up the path. He’d pinched her clothes. This smarmy cop thought it was real funny. Cost me ten squid to square him. Is that all right?’
‘Cheap at the price,’ said Phryne. ‘Come over here with the paint and the footy, as soon as you can. The game’s afoot, Bert, and I’m hoping to have Candida back before tomorrow night. After that we shall see. You keep looking for the local top cocky, and the street repairs, and I’ll see you soon. Bye.’
Phryne could hear Bert ask, ‘What do I do with this thing now?’ as she rang off.
Bert and Cec arrived an hour later in their new taxi. Omelettes and jam roll had been consumed, the household having run out of coconut, and Molly Maldon was so absorbed in telling Dot all about what a bargain her new carpet had been that she did not flinch when the doorbell rang. The two cabbies came in with the bladder and the paint, and an armload of illustrated papers. Phryne waved her scissors at them.
‘Come in! I’m just cutting up five thousand pounds worth of valuable newspaper. Put them down there on the sofa,’ she directed, and Bert laid down his burden. ‘This is Henry Maldon, the flyer. Tell me about the funny cop.’
‘Pleased to meetcher,’ growled Bert, who did not approve of capitalists. He took a tense hand and shook it. Henry Maldon looked much better than he had two hours ago, but there was enough residual agony in his face to make Bert revise his opinion. ‘He couldn’t help winning the money,’ he told Cec later. ‘And the poor coot looked like he’d been strained through a sieve backwards. Sitting there clutching that teddy bear. Must’a belonged to the kid.’
Bert abated his gruffness instantly and strove to amuse. He made a good story out of the cop, and coaxed a smile out of the distracted flyer. Phryne bound her newspaper bundles with a real note on the top and bottom, and placed a bundle of real fivers on the top. The notes were packed into a cloth bag. There was a strained silence.
‘Come down to the pub, mate,’ offered Bert to his own astonishment. ‘Man needs a beer. Still an hour before time.’
The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece said five. Phryne refrained from hugging Bert and observed, ‘We can’t do anything until it’s dark. You go with Bert and Cec. I’ll come and get you if something happens. Which pub are you going to?’
‘The Railway,’ said Henry, and the two cabbies took him away. This was a relief to Phryne, who had not been able to find Henry an occupation. There was still a couple of hours to go before there was any point in setting out for Geelong.
Phryne heard the voice of the cook raised in comfortable converse with the butter-cream-and-egg man, who was late.
‘What are you coming here at this time of night for?’ she demanded, and Phryne heard the reply from the backyard.
‘Couldn’t go any faster, Missus, not even to woo me old sweetheart. The bleedin’ council have dug up the bleedin’ road and I had to wheel me trike all the way from the shop. My boss is creatin’. So don’t you start on me, there’s a love.’
‘Language,’ cautioned the cook. ‘And don’t come smoogin’ up to me. Them eggs you brought yesterday was mostly rotten.’
‘What? My eggs?’ exclaimed the delivery boy, as outraged as if he had laid them personally. ‘My eggs, rotten? You show me a rotten egg I’ve delivered. You must have got ’em mixed up with them tichy little ones from your own chooks.’
‘The chooks ain’t laying,’ returned the cook, ‘or I wouldn’t have to buy your rotten ones.’
‘Give a man a break,’ complained the boy, who sounded about fifteen. ‘The boss says, “Take them eggs”, so I take ’em. I ain’t got no choice. How many of ’em were off, anyway?’
‘Three out of the dozen, and I had to throw away a whole cake batter with a pound of butter in it. I wouldn’t have offered it to a pig. I ought to get onto your boss, however,’ admitted the cook handsomely. ‘I suppose that it ain’t your fault. Give me a dozen more, and two pounds of butter, no cream today.’
There was a thud as the parcel was placed on the kitchen table. ‘See you temorrer, my old darling,’ cried the boy, and took off quickly, in time to avoid a slap.
‘Not so much of the “old”,’ snarled the cook, and slammed the kitchen door, much invigorated.
Phryne took up the illustrated papers and leafed through them. A characteristic passage met her eye.
‘The recent discoveries at Luxor have sent the whole Empire mad about Egypt,’ it said smugly. ‘Lord Avon, who has been largely responsible for financing the expedition, said that the public interest was most gratifying. “There is a whole civilisation under the sand here,” he said to our special correspondent. “And one of very high standards. The decorative patterns, the linen, the beading and the magnificent tomb painting of the Pharoah are unforgettable and as fresh as the day they were painted. I expect to find many more tombs in this area. It seems to have been a flourishing city. I also hope to find the chamber which I am convinced lies under the great Pyramid, the resting place of Cheops himself. Further interesting discoveries are expected daily.”’
She laid the magazines open at the pictures of the objects discovered in the rock chambers. A dagger inlaid with hunting cats. A diadem for a queen, with lotus flowers in lapis lazuli. A bracelet for an archer inlaid with the Eye of Horus to safeguard his aim. Tomb paintings of the Pharoah hunting lions, and mixing wine, and embracing his wife. Small figurines of gods and slaves and workmen: little women kneading dough, herding cattle, shearing sheep and reaping wheat. They were enchanting. Phryne stared longest at the gold statue of the Goddess Pasht, a graceful cat with an earring in one of her upstanding ears and kittens at her delicate feet.
That is beautiful beyond belief, thought Phryne. I wonder if I could steal it?
CHAPTER TEN
Herrick
At last it was getting dark. Phryne packed Dot, Molly, Jack Leonard and herself into the Hispano-Suiza. She checked that she had all the impedimenta that had been improvised and collected during the day. Though she and
