This was not in accord with Phryne’s briefing at all. She wondered where Lydia had got her money. From her husband? It did not seem likely. Feeling increasingly unwell, she left.
CHAPTER NINE
To hunt sweet love and lose him Between white arms and bosom Between the bud and blossom Between your throat and chin.
Algernon Swinburne ‘Before Dawn’
Phryne returned to the hotel feeling sleepy out of all proportion to her exertions. She wondered what had been in the bitter tea (of which she had drunk three cups), at Madame Breda’s. She sent a boy down to the kitchen for mustard and mixed herself an impressive emetic. She began to be sure that she had been poisoned. Calmly and coldly, she drank down a large quantity of the revolting mixture, sat quietly until it worked, then dosed herself again.
Phryne began to shiver, and drank down a glass of milk in small sips. Her digestion settled down, after its rude shock, and she was suddenly very awake, purged and cold.
She decided that she was not going to be sick again, cleaned up carefully, and opened the bathroom window to freshen the air. She inhaled several breaths of smoky normality before she shut the window, and decided that the best thing to do was to go to bed until she was back to human temperatures again.
She undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor, and padded barefoot to the huge bed, heaped with covers, dived in and snuggled down. She wanted to think, but fell asleep in a moment, exhausted.
Waking about two hours later to voices in the sitting-room, she heard someone say clearly, ‘That’ll fix her!’ and the outer door shut. The lock clicked. Phryne tiptoed out to the doorway and surveyed the room. Only one thing had been moved: her coat. She picked it up and shook it. Out of the deep pocket flew the third small crunchy packet of the day, and this time Phryne was taking no chances. She opened it, and shook out some powder; touched to the end of her tongue, it had a powerfully numbing effect. She flushed packet and powder down the water-closet.
She surveyed the room helplessly. Nothing else appeared to have been moved. She was sure that the voices had not been there long; she usually woke easily. Perhaps they would not have had time to secrete any more little packages. She noticed that her main door had a bolt, and she threw it, then put herself back to bed, puzzled. The bed was heaped with bolsters and could have slept a regiment.
It was when she rolled over to the centre of the massive bed and encountered a warm human body that she realised Sasha had not gone.
He woke as she touched him, and enfolded her in a close embrace; feeling her instant resistance, he released her and fumbled until he found a hand. This he began to kiss, delic- ately, only stopping in his passage up her arm to answer her questions.
‘Sasha, what are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for you.’
‘Why are you waiting for me?’
‘I want you,’ he said in surprise. ‘You are magnificent. I also, am magnificent. We shall be magnificent together,’ he concluded placidly, reaching her shoulder and burying his face in her neck.
This accorded with Phryne’s idea of the situation, and as far as she could see Sasha did not constitute a danger to her life. Her virtue, she felt, could take care of itself.
‘Were you asleep when I went out to lunch?’ she asked, relaxing into his arms and running her hands down his muscular back with pleasure.
‘Certainly. I can sleep anywhere and I had not slept for three nights; therefore I sleep like a dog.’
‘Log,’ corrected Phryne absently, as the skilful mouth crept down toward her breast, and she felt her body beginning to react. ‘Kiss me again,’ she requested, and Sasha kissed her mouth. By the time she came up for air three minutes later, she was so aroused by the beautiful, amoral boy, his well-taught hands and the touch of his soft mouth that she would not have cared if he had lain down with her in Swanston Street.
He rubbed his face across her breasts, catching at the nipples as his mouth passed, and his hands caressed her as she drew him towards and over her, and locked her strong thighs around his waist.
As Sasha sank towards her, she abruptly recalled that his other persona was death, and joined with him in an odd mixture of ecstacy and horror. Their love-making was an encounter of strength. Phryne caught glimpses of them in the long mirror, like small bits cut from an erotic French engraving: Sasha’s mouth coming slowly down onto a nipple which strained to meet him; a flash of thighs conjoined as if welded; the curve of her breast against the upper muscles of his arm, scored across with a long red line.
They finally collapsed, quite spent, into each other’s arms.
‘You see,’ observed Sasha contentedly, ‘I told you. Magnificent.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Phryne.
‘Perhaps you will bear my baby,’ commented Sasha. Phryne smiled. Carried away by passion she certainly was, but her diaphragm had been in place since last night. She had always had a realistic view of her ability to resist temptation. She did not reply. Sasha, having slept so long, was now awake. She threw him a gown and said, ‘Do you wish to bathe? Dot will be back soon.’
‘You are anxious not to offend your maid?’ asked Sasha, puzzled. ‘But I do not wish to bathe. I wish to keep the scent of you on my skin. My sister will be jealous! She wanted you, also.’
‘I’d rather have you,’ said Phryne, and leaned across the bed to kiss him. He really was a darling.
Sasha pulled on the tights and leotard, which Dot had mended and washed. Phryne donned a lounging robe and ordered tea. The tray came, and with it an anxious manager.
‘Excuse me, Miss Fisher, but there’s a policeman below, and he has a warrant to search your room for. . for. . drugs! I don’t know whether we can stop him from coming in. So I will bring him to your door in about ten minutes. Perhaps you will arrange matters, if you will be so kind, by then.’
With an economical gesture, which indicated Sasha and the mess of garments, the manager left. Phryne poured a cup of tea.
‘What would you have me do?’ asked Sasha. He was lounging back in his chair, seemingly unmoved by the imminent invasion. ‘Are you still concerned that my presence will shock your maid?’
‘No,’ said Phryne. ‘And here she is at last.’
Dot opened the door, closed it behind her, and leaned on it, as if prepared to defend the portal with her body.
‘The cops!’ she gasped. ‘That snooty manager said the cops are waiting! He’s having a real ding-dong go with ’em in his office. Oh, Miss, what are we going to do?’
‘First, we calm down. Next, we search the rooms for anything that might have been hidden.’
‘What kind of thing?’ stammered Dot, staring wildly around.
‘Small packets of white powder,’ said Phryne. ‘Where would you hide one, in this room, Dot?’
In answer, Dot took a straight-backed chair, stepped up onto it, and scanned the top of the wardrobe. She leaned at a dangerous angle, reached and clutched, and showed Phryne her hand. Another small packet, crunchy and made of muslin.
Phryne lost no time in flushing it, also, into the plumbing, reflecting that if the storm-water mingled at all with the drinking water, the whole of Melbourne would be out on a jag of truly monumental proportions.
‘Dot, you are a brick! Now, quick, a little tidying, so that we shall not shock the policeman.’
‘What about ’im?’ demanded Dot.
‘He stays where he is,’ stated Phryne. ‘I am not going to be involved in a French farce.’
This went right over Dot’s head, but she flew into action, sweeping up armloads of clothes, making the huge bed with a few economical movements, and hanging up coats and dresses. In five minutes the rooms presented a thoroughly respectable facade, belying the frantic activity needed to produce it. Sasha drank tea and smiled.
When the expected knock on the door came, Dot responded. She swung the heavy oak aside, and greeted the manager and his attendant policeman with freezing hauteur. Phryne was impressed.
‘This
is the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Miss Fisher, these gentlemen have a search warrant. I have had it checked and there is no doubt that they are policemen, based at Russell Street, and that their warrant is valid,’ said the manager, his eyes darting about the room, seemingly pleased by the transformation from bohemianism.
Phryne uncoiled herself from the sofa, in a stiff tissue brocade which whispered as she moved. She bestowed a nod of appreciation on the manager, who had provided this breathing space on the pretext of checking the warrant and the policemen. He smiled frigidly.
‘Well, gentlemen, might I have your names, and inquire what you are looking for?’ she asked pleasantly.
The taller and older of the two said stiffly, ‘I’m Detective-inspector Robinson, and this is Senior-constable Ellis.’
‘We have a warrant to search this room for drugs. Woman Police-Constable Jones is available to search the ladies, and we will search this gentleman. Your name, sir?’
‘Sasha de Lisse,’ said Sasha politely. ‘Delighted.’ This appeared to disconcert Detective-inspector Robinson. He shook Sasha’s outstretched hand, and then did not quite know what to do with it.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Phryne again.
‘Drugs,’ answered the senior-constable importantly. ‘On information received. .’ He desisted as his chief elbowed him in the ribs. Robinson hesitated, but Phryne waved a hand.
‘By all means search everywhere,’ she smiled. ‘Shall I order some tea?’
‘That is not necessary,’ said Robinson. He and the senior-constable began to search, watched by Phryne, Dot and Sasha. They were self-conscious, but they were thorough.
The senior-constable was older than Robinson, whom Phryne assumed to be about thirty. Ellis was short and plump; he must just have cleared the minimum height.
He had black hair, slicked back from a low forehead, and something about his eyes made Phryne anxious. He seemed to be too happy and too smug for one who did not know that he would find anything. She summoned Dot to her, and instructed her to keep a very close eye upon Senior-constable Ellis. Dot nodded, her teeth biting into her lower lip. Phryne patted her hand.
‘Calm yourself, old dear; I don’t take drugs,’ she whispered, and Dot released her lip long enough to flash her a small, tense smile.
They had searched all of the clothes, the bathroom, and the bedroom, and had found nothing. Sasha laughed quietly at some private joke. The manager stood stiffly by the door. Dot and Phryne had accompanied the searchers into the bedroom, and emerged as they began to rummage through Dot’s room and the sitting-room.
As a last move, Constable Ellis took Phryne’s cloth coat down and shook it. A package, done up in white paper with sealing wax at each end, shot out and broke on the parquet flooring. The manager stared. Sasha sat up, his jaw dropping. Phryne therewith acquitted him of any knowledge of the attempted plant. Dot gasped. Only Phryne seemed unaffected.
‘Just as she said!’ exclaimed Ellis, diving for the packet and scooping the powder into his hands. The detective-inspector looked at Phryne.
‘Well, Miss, what is the explanation of this?’
‘If you taste it, you’ll see,’ replied Phryne, composed. ‘I have been attending too many dinners lately. It’s bicarb, man,’ she urged. ‘Taste it!’
The detective-inspector wetted his finger and dipped it in the powder. There was a hushed silence as he conveyed his finger to his mouth. He smiled.
‘It’s bicarb all right,’ he told Ellis. ‘Now, Miss, there’s just the personal search, and then we’ll be on our way.’
‘On one condition,’ said Phryne, standing up. ‘I’ll be searched, and so will Mr de Lisse and Miss Williams, but only if you will be searched, too.’
‘You want me to be searched?’ asked the detective- inspector, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Just a whim,’ said Phryne lightly. ‘Come, won’t you allow this small liberty? You have found no drugs, although your information received said that you would. This visit has caused the worthy Mr Smythe, the manager of this excellent hotel, a lot of trouble. He is waiting for you to leave before he asks me to follow, so I shall have to remove to some lesser hostelry.
‘I might also say,’ Phryne continued, ‘that I have never used drugs. Proper investigation beforehand would have told you this. I detest the stuff, and to be accused of using it is wounding to my feelings. Unless you accede to my request, I am going to complain, and I shall continue to do so until I have had you both put back on the beat, directing traffic in Swanston Street. Well?’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ said Robinson. Ellis drew his chief aside by the sleeve.
‘But, sir, we’re policemen!’ he stuttered.
‘I know that,’ agreed Robinson. ‘So?’
‘We could arrest them and take them down to the station; search them there,’ suggested Ellis. ‘It isn’t right, us being searched.’
Phryne unbuttoned the brocade robe.
‘If you try to take me to any station,’ she declared in a cold, remote voice, ‘you will have to take me like this.’ She dropped the robe and stood revealed, quite naked, pearly and beautiful. The manager, averting his eyes, allowed a small smile to cross his lips. You couldn’t outmanoeuvre the Windsor’s clients that easily. The policemen were taken comprehensively aback.
‘Very well, Miss,’ agreed Robinson. Ellis was gaping at Phryne open-mouthed, and his chief nudged him in the ribs.
‘Call WPC Jones,’ said Robinson, admitting defeat.
‘The ladies can have the bedroom, and we’ll stay in here. Mr Smythe can search us. If you will, sir?’
Jones accompanied Phryne and Dot to the bedroom. She was a tight-lipped young woman with black hair dragged back into a bun. Dot went first, stripping off each garment with sullen fury, then reassuming them in cold silence.
Phryne had merely to remove the robe again. Outside, they heard Mr Smythe ask politely, ‘What is this, then, Senior-constable?’ A rending noise followed. All three women were pressed to the bedroom door.
‘What do you think has happened?’ asked Dot.
‘They’ve found a little packet of white muslin and paper on Senior-constable Ellis,’ reported WPC Jones. ‘I never did like him, smarmy little hound. But what could have possessed him to do such a lame-brained thing?’
‘Money,’ said Phryne quietly. ‘I thought so.’ The police-woman looked Phryne in the face.
‘We haven’t got many rotten apples,’ she observed. ‘It’s a good clean force, on the whole. If you’ve winkled out a bad’un, we owe you some thanks.’
Surprised, Phryne shook hands with Jones, something she would have given good money against ever happening, some ten minutes ago.
‘Can we come out?’ asked Jones through the door, and Detective-inspector Robinson assented, gruffly. Dot, Phryne and WPC Jones emerged to be confronted with an unusual sight. The manager and Robinson were holding a semi-naked constable by the arms, and brandishing a small packet of the type with which Phryne had become wearyingly familiar. Colloidium plaster still hung from the packet in two long strips.
‘You see? He had it attached to his chest by this plaster. And the next time you seek to execute a search warrant in my hotel, Detective-inspector, I shall have every policeman searched before they come in. I never heard of such a thing! Innocent guests have been persecuted and the reputation of the Victorian Police has been fatally compromised!’
Phryne agreed. ‘Yes, what Mr Robert Sanderson, MP, is going to say when I tell him, I can’t imagine. A most shocking thing. My guest and my confidential maid have been stripped and searched in a way only felons usually experience, not to mention myself. What are you going to do about it?’
Detective-inspector Robinson shook his colleague ferociously. ‘Speak up, you silly coot! Who paid you? Why did you do it, Ellis? You violated your oath, you’ll be flung out of the force, you’ve got a wife and four children, how are you going to live? Out with it, man!’
Ellis strove to speak
, choked, and shook his head. Robinson struck him hard across the mouth. Dot watched unmoved. WPC Jones sat down, composed. Sasha watched amusedly, as though it were an indifferent show put on for his benefit. Mr Smythe released the arm he was holding and retreated a little. He neither liked nor approved of physical violence.
Ellis spat blood and said, ‘It was a woman.’
‘Old or young? Any accent?’
‘Can’t tell, it was on the telephone. No accent that I heard. She said, fifty pounds to plant the stuff.’
‘Where did you get it?’ asked Phryne, sharply.
‘She sent it. Just the one little packet. I picked it up, with the fifty pounds, from the post office.’
‘What post office?’
‘GPO, sir, she said. .’
‘She said what?’
‘That if I didn’t do it, she’d kill my wife and kids.’ ‘And you believed it?’ spat Robinson. Ellis seemed surprised.
‘Not at first, sir, but she said she’d give me a demonstration. You recall those children, found with cut throats, dead in the beds, with their mother dead beside them? That was her work, she said, and you know we don’t have a motive or a suspect for that.’
‘Fool,’ snapped Robinson. ‘The victim’s husband did it. He’s down at Russell Street this moment, spilling it all.’
‘You’re sure, sir?’
‘Of course. I told you so at the time, you cretin.’
‘I. . I believed her. .’ stammered Ellis, and began to cry.
Detective-inspector Robinson dropped the arm he was holding and turned away in disgust. ‘Christ have pity,’ he exclaimed.
‘Pour the Senior-constable some tea, Dot. Now, take my hanky and blow. That’s right, now drink this,’ and Phryne administered tea and a small glass of Benedictine. The young man drank and blew.
In a few moments, he was recovered enough to speak.
‘So I got the packet and I was going to plant it. I did believe her, sir. I needed the money, my wife has to have an operation. . please, sir, don’t sack me. We wouldn’t be able to live.’
Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher Page 10