loved briefly during the Great War. By the time she had finished, only Sid’s head was free. With the help of the hotel porter, she then carried Sid to the police station and deposited him on the counter.
The desk-sergeant looked up, blinked, and dropped his pen.
‘What’s all this about, Miss?’
Phryne sank wearily into a chair and pointed at the uncomfortable felon.
‘Read the label,’ she said.
The desk-sergeant called for a constable and walked around into the room. He surveyed Sid carefully and read the label aloud.
‘“For Detective-inspector Jack Robinson, Russell Street, Melbourne. A present from Phryne Fisher.” Aha, we had a message about you, Miss Fisher. They telephoned from Geelong. Every cooperation, they said. You are a respected person, evidently.’
Phryne smiled faintly.
‘His name is Sidney Brayshaw, and you’ve been looking for him for some time, I believe. You’d better get a doctor fairly soon, because I had a little trouble picking him up and he got damaged. Detective-inspector Robinson is going to be furious if you let him bleed to death.’
The sergeant ripped off the paper and led Sidney away. As Sidney was leaving the room, he broke the silence he had maintained throughout his humiliation and called to Phryne, ‘You better not forget, lady. Remember — I’m not dead yet.’
‘You look like you could do with a doctor, too,’ suggested the young constable. ‘You seem to have taken a bit of a battering. I’ll just give the local man a call, shall I?’
‘Yes indeed, if you want Sidney to live to hang. He is undoubtedly the most unpleasant person I have ever met in my whole life. How I would love to squeeze the life out of the little rat. Have you heard of him, Constable. .’
‘Constable Smith, Miss Fisher. I am astounded that you have come in with Sidney Brayshaw. Why, there’s his portrait on the wall,’ commented the young man, pointing out a ‘Most Wanted’ poster. He took it down.
‘He ain’t wanted anymore,’ he said. Phryne laughed. The constable did not think he had ever seen a face so drawn. The black hat and the black collar enclosed a countenance as white as marble.
‘Where are you staying, Miss? If you don’t mind my saying, you look all in.’
‘The Queenscliff Hotel. Can you drive my car there? And make me a present of that poster? It will make a perfect souvenir.’
Constable Smith, who had a sense of occasion, rolled up the poster and presented it with a bow. Then he vanished behind the desk, presumably to ask permission to leave and to summon the doctor to Sid.
Phryne was almost asleep on her feet when the constable came back. She gave him the keys, suffered herself to be helped into a seat beside him, and by the time Constable Smith had proudly steered the big red car around the corner she was fast asleep.
Thus Phryne made her most impressive entrance, though she missed it at the time; lolling gracefully with her head on a policeman’s shoulder. He stalked up the steps in correct uniform, helmet on and every button gleaming.
He stopped at reception and asked the manager, ‘Where shall I put her?’
The manager did not flick so much as an eyebrow. ‘Ah, yes, that is Miss Fisher. Room Six. Her maid has just gone out to purchase some necessaries. Follow me, Constable.’ Phryne was carried up the carpeted stairs and laid gently on the bed. Constable Smith took off Phryne’s boots and flung the quilt over her.
‘Thank you, Constable, I think that will be all,’ observed the manager. ‘I shall inform her maid that Miss Fisher has returned. I believe that a Mr Jack Leonard was expressing a wish to speak to you.’
The Queenscliff Hotel had been built in those spacious days when an empire was an empire, and the rooms were lavishly appointed. Constable Smith brushed past a bowl of winter leaves and berries which took up three square feet and saw the strangest assortment of people he had ever set eyes on, gathered around the largest fireplace he had ever seen. You could have roasted an ox in it, as he told his mates later. There was the chink of dishes in the back parlour as breakfast was laid.
The room contained numerous soft couches and two easy chairs. On one of the couches sat a man in flying gear, playing ‘scissors, paper, stone’ with a very grubby child in a stained white nightgown. Next to him sat a well- dressed and well-groomed young woman with fiery hair who kept patting the child, as if she was not sure that she was real. Between the child and the sofa back reclined a battered teddy bear with a handkerchief around its neck.
In one easy chair sat a plump young woman in leather gear, who had taken a cup of coffee into both hands as though to absorb the heat. She was staring into the fire. In the other easy chair sat the very dapper young man with a thin moustache, who stood up.
‘Hello, old chap. That was Miss Fisher I saw you carrying up the stairs just now, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ agreed the constable.
‘Is she all right?’
‘She fell asleep and I couldn’t wake her so I put her to bed. I don’t think there is anything wrong with her.’
‘Good. She told me that if she didn’t succeed in telling you the story I was to inform you that we’ll be down to the station after lunch to tell all. By the way, there’s a dead woman in a house up the hill,’ he gave the address. ‘Sidney killed her. I’m sure that he will explain.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the dumbfounded constable. ‘I’ll see about it right away, sir.’
He left the hotel to go and find his sergeant. What a young constable needs when given this sort of information is a sergeant. However, he had a strong suspicion as to what the sergeant would say.
He was right. He was immediately sent to see if there was a dead woman in the house. There was.
Dot had found that the lady who kept the draper’s shop lived over her premises, and Dot knocked until a sleepy voice replied that she was coming. At last the door opened.
‘Well?’ asked Mrs Draper.
‘I need a lot of things for three ladies who are benighted in the area,’ said Dot. Mrs Draper opened the shop door and switched on the light.
‘You look for what you want, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘I’ll just go and make me tea.’
She tottered off. Dot selected a light travelling bag and found a nightgown and a pair of soft, black velvet slippers. Phryne’s trousers were all very well but one could not dine in them. Dot took a black skirt in a size W for Bunji and in SSW for Phryne; bought a loose white blouse with dolman sleeves and a bright red jersey top, three gentlemen’s shirts and socks and undergarments, and three sets of stockings and undies for the ladies. Then she remembered herself and added one more of each. At the back of the shop she spied a quaint beaded cap with a long scarf hanging from it. She bought a feather cockade for the black cloche, and remembered Bunji’s flying boots at the last moment and bought her a pair of slippers, too. She wrestled this mountain of purchases onto the counter and went in search of the draper.
Placidly, the old woman added up the astronomical total, checked it, and gave Dot change. She agreed that the things would be sent instantly to the Queenscliff Hotel and saw her customer to the door, which she locked behind her. Then she chose a comfortable bit of floor and fainted.
Dot hurried back to the hotel. She had the nightgown and slippers in the light bag, and the thought of a cup of tea spurred her on. An aeroplane was attracting a crowd down on the foreshore, and a stern lifeboat man was warning the children away.
Dot ran up the steps and was just in time for breakfast.
‘Oh, I say, pity that Phryne is missing this,’ opined Jack Leonard. Dot thought so, too. She went up to room six and opened the door. Phryne was half-awake.
‘What’s that delicious smell, Dot? I’ve had the most amazing dream. I was clinging on to the back of a car. . hang on. That wasn’t a dream. Dot, where are we?’
‘Queenscliff Hotel, Miss, and breakfast is waiting. Why not wash your face and brush your hair and come down? I’ve never seen a breakfast like it.’
The Queenscliff Hotel was famed for its breakfasts. Phryne put on the black slippers and brushed her hair as ordered. She and Dot descended into a cloud of steam savoury enough to make a glutton swoon. Phryne’s stomach growled reproachfully. Dot felt almost faint with hunger. They passed the formal dining-room and the cocktail bar
