Chapter One
"Phryne, it's going to be dark, and rough ground, and we don't know how many of them there'll be!"
Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end in disarray that accurately reflected his wits. The Honourable Phryne Fisher was determined, furiously angry, and nine months into the expectation of the delivery of his child.
(Strictly speaking, it would be nine months on the following Sunday, and this was Thursday, but anyone speaking strictly to Mrs Robinson at that stage would be taking their life in both hands and well advised to ensure that their affairs were in order before opening proceedings).
At this stage, Mrs Robinson was not being The Little (sorry, pun not intended) Woman; she was largely (sorry again) engaged in being The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective. She was also engaged in being immensely (your reporter is now giving up trying to avoid painful – gah – puns) angry.
"Jack, this is my collar. I found them, I baited them, and I am handing them to you on a plate." She braced both hands on the arms of her chair and pushed herself up to loom over him – as much as she could from a point somewhere short of his chin. She had, however, learned Looming from some truly inspirational teachers, foremost among whom was her maid's great-grandmother. Mrs Lin made up in ancestors what she lacked in inches, and every generation was more terrifying than the last.
Miss Fisher may not have researched her ancestry that much, but there were generations of criminals in both of the Earth's hemispheres who could attest to her ability to deliver on the threat that glittered in her eyes. Jack hesitated, weighing the merits of trying to force her to remain at home against the dangers of having her wreaking havoc at his crime scene.
She, naturally, spotted the hesitation and the argument was won. "If you absolutely insist, I'll stay in the car until you've got them," she conceded. "Much as it pains me."
Wordlessly, he stepped back to allow her to precede him to the door.
As he did so, though, the telephone rang. The two sleuths hesitated on the doorstep, watching as Mr Butler lifted the receiver. After a brief exchange, he held it out to the lady of the house.
"Mr Johnson, Miss. Asking for you."
Phryne rolled her eyes. "I'll make it brief, Jack. Don't you dare stir without me."
He shrugged resignedly, and turned to inform the young constable waiting to chauffeur them that they would only be a moment.
The prognosis, however, might have been overly optimistic.
"Bert, what is it? Oh? Well, you're in the right place, then, aren't you? WHAT? Good Lord. Oh, bother. Can't it wait … no, I suppose not." She heaved a sigh. "Oh, very well. Wait there."
She slammed the receiver down crossly then looked down at her immense waistline and up at Mr Butler. "I'm sorry, Mr B, I'm going to need you to drive me." As the factotum bowed and went to get the car out, she scowled at Jack. "You win. Take careful notes, and be sure to tell those lowlives who they have to thank for their misfortune."
He tipped his head enquiringly, not at all sure he was going to be any happier at her new plan than he'd been with the old one. In her current state, he was still nursing the heartfelt desire that she would remain at home with her feet up as much as possible - while acknowledging that any such languid spirit would not have been the Miss Fisher without whom his life would be incomplete.
"What's Albert done now? Where is he?"
"Hospital," she replied briefly. "The Alfred."
"What on earth does he need you for, then? If he's got hurt in a blue, the place is full of nurses. He doesn't need you to rally round with the sticking plaster."
She shook her head. "No, he was working. Unfortunately, his fare asked to go into town from the docks and then upped and died in the back of the cab."
"Good God," exclaimed Jack. "So Albert took him to the hospital. Fair enough. I'm still not clear why he needs you, though?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Apparently Matron's giving him the Evil Eye and won't let him go. Thinks it's his fault." She grinned, despite everything. "He even offered to forgo the fare."
"It must be serious," he deadpanned. Then looked at his watch, and started. "I have to get going. Telephone here, won't you, to let us know how you get on? Then I can ring up to find out, even if I can't get over there personally."
She opened her mouth to object that she didn't need his help, and caught the silent plea in his eyes. Relenting, she nodded, and with a brief kiss, he sprinted to his waiting car.
She watched him go, and saw the gleam of the Hispano-Suiza in the street lights as Mr B drew up where the police car had been only seconds before.
She called to her maid. "Soo? I'm sorry, I need to ask you to man the telephone, and I'm not sure how long we will be."
The girl only nodded matter-of-factly, and proffered a light wrap for her mistress.
"In this heat? Thanks, but no," said Phryne decidedly. "I'll pass out if I get any warmer - then you'll have to be the one to confess to my overly-protective husband that it was your fault."
With which parting shot, she sailed like a stately galleon to the kerbside, where Mr B was waiting with the door of the Hispano held open. Sinking into the passenger seat, and trying not to wince at the twinge in her back, Miss Fisher watched him take his seat at the wheel. Waving a regal hand, she shouted to the night air.
"The Alfred Hospital, Mr B! We have a red ragger to rescue from an onslaught of nurses!"