Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

‘I know who we need,’ said Phryne briskly. ‘We need Bert and Cec. I’ll go and call them now.’

‘Bert?’ asked Jane, bewildered but uncoiling from her defensive crouch.

‘And Cec,’ agreed Phryne, on her way to the phone. She dialled, and asked the operator for an address in Fitzroy.

‘Bert? It’s Phryne Fisher. I’ve got a bit of a job for you. Are you on?’

The telephone quacked, seeming to expostulate.

‘No, no, nothing rough, or illegal, just a spot of investigating. Excellent. See you in an hour,’ and Phryne rang off. She smiled at Jane.

‘There’s just time for lunch, and then we shall send out the troops. Don’t look so downcast, pet. You are staying with me, come hell or high water. If you remember anything else, anything at all, tell me. Now — lunch.’

Because of Mr Butler’s warning and because of her own culinary pride, Mrs Butler served up a riz de veau financiere of superlative tenderness and flavour, followed by a selection of cheeses and a compote of winter fruits. Phryne had two glasses of a nice dry Barossa, which she was trying for a vintner friend, and was in an expansive mood when Bert and Cec arrived in their shiny new taxi.

They came in and sat down, uneasy in Phryne’s delicate salon, and were introduced.

‘This is Jane Graham, or at least, we think she is. Have you seen the papers today?’

Bert nodded. Cec grunted.

‘Jane, this is Mr Albert Johnson, a staunch friend of mine.’ Jane looked at Bert. He was short and stocky, with shrewd blue eyes and a thatch of dark hair, thinning at the crown. He was wearing a threadbare blue suit and a clean white shirt, evidently newly donned. He smiled at Jane.

‘And this is Mr Cecil Yates, Bert’s mate; you should get on, he loves cats.’

Ember gave a mute vote of confidence by leaping up onto Cec’s knee and climbing his coat. Cec stroked him gently. He was tall and Scandinavian looking, with a mane of blond hair and incongruous deep brown eyes like a spaniel. He nodded at Jane.

Bert gave the kitten a polite pat and said, ‘Well, Miss, what’s the go?’

‘Jane was given to me to mind, because she was found on the Ballarat train in a skimpy little dress I wouldn’t have clothed a dog in, with a second-class ticket in her pocket and no memory of who she was or how she got there. Today a frightful woman arrived and demanded her, saying that Jane was her niece, and she has left me papers that seem to prove that this is true. I’m keeping her anyway, because she was misused in that woman’s clutches, and I’m adopting her. However, I have a good reason for wanting to know exactly what happened to her in Miss Gay’s house — was ever a harridan worse named — and I want you to find out.’

‘You say you got a reason,’ said Bert slowly. ‘Can you tell me what it is?’

‘No. But it has to do with the murder I’m investigating.’

‘What, the murder on the Ballarat train? You was on the train, Miss?’

‘I was. And I’ve got the victim’s daughter here, too. She has hired me to find the murderer, and so I shall. However. Find out all you can about dear Miss Gay. Who lives with her — especially men — who visits her, all of her background. Can you do it? Usual rates,’ she added.

‘The question is not, can we do it, but will we do it,’ observed Bert. ‘What do you think, mate?’

‘I reckon we can do it,’ agreed Cec, and Bert put out his hand.

‘We’re on,’ he said, and Phryne poured them a beer to celebrate.

Phryne took a nap that afternoon, and passed a quiet evening playing at whist with Jane and Miss Henderson, who had greatly recovered. Her blisters were drying, and Dr MacMillan had hopes that her liver was not damaged after all. Jane showed an unexpected ruthlessness, and won almost seven shillings in pennies before they broke up and went to bed. Jane took Ember with her, as usual, and he slept amicably on her pillow.

Lindsay Herbert lunched at the ’Varsity, went to his Torts lecture where he learned more than he thought that he needed to know about false imprisonment, and went home to dine with Alastair, who seemed subdued. His outburst in Phryne’s house had profoundly shocked him, and when the young men had stacked the dishes in the sink for Mrs Whatsis to clean in the morning, he lit a nervous cigarette and tried to expound.

‘I don’t know how to apologise to you, old man, for that appalling bad show at Miss Fisher’s.’

‘That’s all right, old fellow, think no more of it.’ Lindsay was sleepy with remembered satiation, and disinclined to listen to self-pity or even explanations.

‘But it’s not all right. I lost my head completely — just like those fellows in the Great War — shell-shocked, they used to call it.’

‘Why, what shocked you?’

‘First there was Eunice — poor girl, her face is all burned, she looks dreadful — then you taking up with Miss Fisher and just wafting off without a word — then a policeman had the infernal nerve to ask me — me! — where I was on the night of the murder.’

‘Well, I could scarcely say, “Sorry, old boy, must rush, I’m being ravished by a beautiful lady”, now, could I? Especially if I wasn’t sure if she was going to ravish me or not. I mean, a fellow would look a fool, wouldn’t he? And I suppose the police chappie has his job to do. Where were you, anyway?’

‘Here,’ snapped Alastair, butting out his cigarette as if he had a grudge against it. ‘Did she?’

‘Did she what?’

‘Ravish you?’

‘Old man, since the beginning of time, few men have been as completely ravished as I have been.’

‘Hmm,’ grunted Alastair. ‘Are you seeing her again?’

‘Friday night.’

‘Well, ask her how she is going on the murder. She’s taken possession of my fiancee and my friend, but she won’t solve the murder by sex appeal. No, Miss Fisher,’ commented Alastair savagely. ‘Not as easily as all that.’

‘Well, well, I’ll ask her,’ said Lindsay peaceably.

‘If you can spare the time,’ snorted his friend, and stalked out to go to bed, slamming the door.

CHAPTER TEN

‘Then two are cheaper than one?’ Alice said in a surprised tone, taking out her purse.

‘Only you must eat them both, if you buy two,’ said the Sheep. ‘Then I’ll have one please,’ said Alice. . ‘They mightn’t be at all nice, you know.’

Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass

Bert and Cec found the large and imposing house at Railway Crescent, Seddon, without much difficulty. It was in a fine state of studied disrepair. The iron lace which decorated the verandah was both unpainted and broken, and the bluestone frontage had been whitewashed by some past idiot. The distemper was now wearing off in flakes and tatters, and no maintenance had been done on the roof since the Father of All was a callow youth. The gate sagged on its hinges, the front garden was a wilderness of hemlock and slimy grass, and the bell-pull, when pulled, emitted a rasping screech and fell off in Bert’s hand.

A sign had been painted over the whitewash next to the door. It said ‘Rooms to Let. Full Bord’ in red lead. Bert had an idea.

‘Quick, you get down the path, Cec, and I’ll ask for a room. I don’t want her to see you.’

Cec caught on and retreated into the bushes, and a scatter of footsteps announced that someone was coming.

The door creaked open on unoiled hinges, and a small and slatternly girl answered, ‘What do you want?’

‘I want a room,’ rejoined Bert roughly. ‘The missus at home?’

The girl nodded, knotting an apron stained with the washing up of several years, and swung the door wide.

‘Come in,’ she parroted tonelessly. ‘It’s ten shillings a week, washing extra, and no drink or tobacco in the house.’ In a small voice, she added, ‘But you’d be better to go elsewhere.’

Bert heard, grinning, and patted the girl on a bony shoulder. ‘I got my reasons,’ he said portentously, and the girl’s eyes lit for a moment with an answering spark.

‘What’s yer name?’ asked Bert, and the small voice said, ‘Ruth. Don’t let her know I been talking to