Finally, it's time for "Death by Miss Adventure" - one of the episodes with a lot of Mac in it! And here, that's Phryne instead.

Jack has to arrest Doctor Fisher, since all the evidence points towards her. Lizzy is, of course, furious.


Lizzy was woken up unusually early by Mr Butler knocking on her bedroom door.

"At this hour?" Lizzy complained from the warm blankets of her bed.

"It's Doctor Fisher. She doesn't seem herself, Miss," Mr Butler said, and she was instantly alerted by the seriousness in his tone. This was no ordinary house call, and she had to wake up promptly—the late hour she had taken leave of Camellia and gone to bed be damned.

Lizzy pulled on one of her suits and made it down to the dining room, spotting Fish almost immediately. She looked very pale.

"What happened, Fish?" Lizzy said, laying her hand over her friend's.

"There was a death. At the factory. You know the one I have to go to regularly, thanks to your Aunt and her hospital board." Fish was trying for sarcasm, but her heart wasn't in it; it came out rather flat. She breathed in and started over. "His name was Dave Miller and we… I know him. Knew him. Fairly well."

"An old lover," Lizzy said, nodding.

"Yes." Fish paused. "Not that old, either. He was young and beautiful. Lively. Lovely."

Lizzy called Mr Butler and asked for a pot of strong coffee. And, after some thought, a stiff drink for Fish. When he arrived with the ordered drinks, Lizzy pressed the whisky on Fish.

"Go on, darling, take your medicine. You need it." Her tone was soft, almost cajoling. "Let me be the doctor for a change."

Lizzy could see Fish visibly relax, grateful to have someone take care of her. She never had that, Lizzy thought to herself. She was always the brave, tough, and knowledgeable one; the one people asked for advice. There was not really room for her to be weak, or sad. Lizzy squeezed her hand, trying to convey that she was there. That she would take care of her dear Fish.

They sat in silence while they drank their respective drinks, Lizzy feeling her energy slowly returning with the help of the coffee. Mr B truly was an artist in the kitchen.

After a while, she picked up the thread again.

"So this young man, Dave, he was working by his machine when the accident…" She didn't even get to finish the sentence before Fish interrupted her.

"This was no accident," she said. "By the time they let me see the body, the owners were already skulking around. There's more to this, Lizzy. I'm sure of it."

"I trust your instincts, Fish," Lizzy said. "Of course, I'll look into it."


That proved to be easier said than done. When Lizzy followed a determined Fish to the place, Hugh was there and had already decided it was an accident. The green pallor of his face gave away that he just wanted to escape from there as quickly as possible. That was not the best sign of thorough detective work, and even if Hugh was a darling, Lizzy was annoyed with him. That feeling didn't improve when she was thrown out of the factory—just for trying to assess the crime scene! At least she managed to get a good view of the machine first.

Some time later, Lizzy barged into Jack's office, determination written all over her face. Hand on her hips, she stopped before him.

"There is something fishy here, Jack. I can smell it. That owner was far too eager to get us out of there."

Jack looked at his angry investigative partner. He had no intention to coddle her.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with you barging in there like a freight train, would it?" he asked, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"I assure you, I was an exceedingly charming freight train," Lizzy said pointedly, standing as tall as she could. Even if it wasn't very tall, it was still impressive; that was a feat she shared with her Aunt, Mrs Stanley.

"I'm sure," he said, his smile almost impossible to make out, but obviously there. "So, it didn't work this time? Have you lost your touch, Miss MacMillan?"

She sized him up and told him exactly why Hugh had made a poor job on the field this morning, and she could see he believed her. There was no way blood would dry that quickly, and as much as he enjoyed seeing Lizzy's freight train technique failing for once, the case was suspicious, and he trusted her.

Jack hadn't counted on Lizzy actually being forbidden to enter the premises again, but he had to admit he quite enjoyed it. And he definitely hadn't counted on her response to that—sending Dot as an undercover tea lady. The young companion did an admirable job, cool as a cucumber, and Jack managed to stop Hugh from giving her away in his dumbstruck surprise when they visited the factory. The horror on Hugh's face was endearing, and Jack enjoyed seeing his constable come to terms with Miss Williams' bravery. It all turned out to be a rather fun case, if one looked past the actual cruel death—to see Miss MacMillan having to find other ways of investigating than studying the crime scene herself.

Of course she was excellent also as a strategist behind the scenes.

After Gaskin's surprise death, Miss MacMillan turned up at the factory again. It wasn't like Gaskin was there to complain, was it? Jack had to concur, smiling at her quick wit, even joking with her about this being their joint crime scene. She grinned as she took in his meaning.

As they went through the case, they learned that Doctor Fisher had been there the same day to give the factory owner his injection, and Lizzy needed to check into that. A quick chat over a cigarette in the sun between Lizzy and Fish cleared the matter—she'd been there, but she'd left well before his death.

"Which puts you in the clear," Lizzy said.

"What, did you actually suspect me?" Fish asked.

Lizzy shrugged.

"Of course not. But this is officially clearing you, and I prefer it that way. Especially as everyone knows you detested the man."

Fish rolled her eyes.

"I can hardly be the only one, he was a complete prick." She produced a small, wry smile. "I'm almost sorry to disappoint you and your diligent inspector."

"Don't be," Lizzy smiled as she took over the cigarette end from the doctor. "We prefer to find the actual culprits and keep our friends out of jail."

She was feeling rather light hearted and smug—happy to see her young companion bloom in her undercover role, and to sit in the sun with her friend having a chat. Even the lurking of Murdoch Foyle, who had just sent her a letter, felt less dark when she could share it with Fish, who advised her to stay away from the murderer and not pay attention to his tricks. Not even Foyle could take away the contentment she felt at this moment, doing what she loved the most—finding out the truth, creating justice—and doing it with the people she loved.

Soon after, the case took a completely different, and much more sinister turn.


Jack wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him just the day before that he would have to arrest Phryne Fisher. But the evidence of the case was very much against her, and he found he had no choice. She was a strong-willed person who always made her views clear, and everyone knew she had hated Gaskin. She had the medical knowledge, she was his doctor, and she had given him an injection that same day that could easily have been exchanged for the poison. She was also the last known person to have seen him alive, before he fell dead out of his own window.

To summarize, things didn't look particularly good.

This meant that after having almost kissed her on a theatre stage, and then hardly seen her for several weeks—the few meetings they couldn't avoid stilted and short—he was now supposed to stomp into her office at the hospital and drag her out as a murder suspect, for everyone to see. This was the woman he had realised, at the theatre, that he might be in love with—however old-fashioned it might seem to her, and however unrequited it was. The world of a Detective Inspector truly was a bleak place.

Jack knew what he had to do—he had to do what honour and duty and evidence said and arrest her. He didn't have to believe she was guilty, though. Everything he had ever seen from her was generosity, integrity, and a fair bit of sarcasm. He couldn't believe she would murder someone, even if she hated them.

He had already written her off as a possible suspect once—that was before the new evidence had come to light—and Miss MacMillan had been pleased with him. This time, she wouldn't be, he knew that… He stood outside the women's hospital, taking a few deep breaths before entering the building. He easily found her office; he had been there before, more than once. He paused a second and then knocked; he knew this was what Rosie would call his "policeman's knock".

"Come in!" he heard her say.

He opened the door and entered. She was just putting some white powder into bags, and to see her so casual after not having seen her for weeks was a shock to his system, rattling him just when he needed to be steady. He wanted to tell her how much he'd thought about her since their talk on the stage. But this was not that kind of meeting.

He stayed silent.

She looked so at home here, her every movement elegant even as she was just clad in a generic doctor's coat on top of her other clothes. It felt like a trespass to come and take her away from this environment. Without looking up, she said "One moment" and sealed the last bag. Then she turned to her visitor.

"Inspector! What a surprise," she said, scrutinizing him, obviously trying to figure of why he was there. "Do you need help with some lethal substances?" she asked, which made him wince. She knew the case they were working on, had been the one to alert Lizzy from the beginning, as it had been one of her acquaintances, even lovers, who had been so brutally slaughtered in the factory's machine—something that just added to the suspicions against her. Could it have been a revenge for his death? That didn't sound the slightest like Doctor Fisher to Jack, but other people wouldn't see it that way. "Or have you come to see how the hospital works?"

"No, Doctor Fisher." His gaze lingered on her face, before looking around for a chair free enough to sit down on the edge of. "I have come to arrest you."

She sat stock still, trying to take in his statement.

"Arrest me?"

He reached out to touch her hand, then thought better of it and instead placed it on her desk.

"All the evidence of Gaskin's death points at you right now, Phryne. He died from bleach in his veins, distributed intravenously, and only a few minutes after you left."

She paled. His use of her first name didn't go past her and made the gravity of the situation stand out even more.

"Sounds serious," she finally managed.

"It is." He looked down on his hands. "I really don't want to do this."

For a moment she looked stricken, but almost immediately she raised herself up into her full height.

"No matter, Jack. Do what must be done." She paused. "And I'd rather it was you than anyone else."

They rose at the same time. Jack held out his hand, touched by her declaration; she took it and felt his reassuring squeeze for a moment. Then she raised her head in a proud arch and told him: "Let's do this."

Thus, Inspector Robinson took Doctor Fisher by the arm and held her close as he exited her room and walked her through the long corridor—the nurses staring as they walked by, most of the patients not taking much notice. She looked like a queen, holding her head high and serene, pretending not to hear how the nurses they passed started to whisper.

When Jack opened the door to the back seat of his police car, he saw tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but the defiance of the woman seemed to make them not dare to obey gravity. She entered the car without fuss. Jack walked over to the front seat and started the car. He thought about the couple of times he had driven her home, and she had sat next to him in the front seat, talking, laughing, and making him feel things he hadn't felt for a long time. Now she sat in the back seat, completely silent.

"I don't believe you did it. For what it's worth," he said without turning his head.

He drove to City South, where he again exited the car to take hold of her arm—he touched her ever so gently, while it looked decisive to an onlooker—and led her to his room.

"Tea, Doctor Fisher?" he asked.

"Am I allowed?" She looked at him, a surprised arch to her eyebrow that felt like a stab to his heart.

"I will have to put you in the cells later, I won't deny it. But there's nothing saying we can't go civilly about this."

"In that case, thank you, Inspector," she said, her overly formal speech followed by a very proper folding of her hands in her lap as she sat down. She looked strained.

He busied himself with the tea, fetching a teapot in the kitchen and coming back to let it brew. Then he pulled out a drawer and brought out a tin can. He opened it to reveal homemade, imperfect biscuits, offering them to her. She took two.

"Mmm," she responded to the first bite, then watched him, her curiosity clearly overtaking her distress. "Do you bake them yourself, Inspector?"

"Now you sound just like Miss MacMillan," he smiled. "I always tell her I don't want to give away all my secrets."

"The two of you have such a peculiar working dynamic," Doctor Fisher said, watching him curiously. "It's like sibling love."

She bit her tongue then, realising the last word she wanted to use in his office, while being arrested by him, was "love".

"We're… partners. Friends. She's an amazing woman."

"I know," she said. "She is."

It was of course typical of the scientific mind of Phryne Fisher, that even as she was arrested for murder, she would focus her mind on something else, a curious puzzle. The dynamics of her friend and her investigative partner.

He wished he wasn't the acting Inspector but instead someone who could sit by her side, caress her hand, and tell her that everything would be alright. Maybe even caress her cheek and that perfect bob of hair that always seemed to point out the way to her brightly painted, soft lips. If he had been more forward when she challenged him at the theatre, maybe he could have been that someone; the person allowed to caress Doctor Fisher. But he hadn't, and he couldn't. He really couldn't. His hand tingled with the anticipation of a movement he would never make.

Jack had lost himself in his contemplation; when he met her eyes again, she had a curious look on her face.

"Don't you want to ask me about where I've been and when?"

"I'll do a short questioning now, but for more, I'd rather wait until Miss MacMillan hears about this and comes storming in to tell me off."

Despite all, they shared a smile; a small, but warm smile. He proceeded to ask her the basic questions, jotting down her answers.

"Does no one ever call you 'Miss', Doctor Fisher?" he asked spontaneously, watching the name he had scribbled on the top of the page. "Miss Fisher? I kind of like the sound of that."

She looked questioningly at him.

"It happens, Inspector. Though usually not when I'm at work."

"I can see that." He paused. "Right, shall I take you down to the cells, until the whirlwind that is Miss MacMillan comes along?"

She stood. "Sounds like a plan, Inspector."


It took about half an hour, then there were fast footsteps in the corridor and Lizzy entered his office, dressed in a brown three-piece suit and a dashing black and white waistcoat. She was furious. She had been told by none other than an agitated Aunt Prudence that Fish had been taken into custody—"This is the limit, Elizabeth! I have reached the end of my patience and I can no longer protect your extravagant Doctor Fisher," she had said, describing how Fish had been marched through the hospital for anyone to watch, and by none other than her dour Inspector friend.

Before this, the case that had been such a success. Suddenly, it turned into disaster.

"Jack!" she said as soon as she entered his office. "You can't be serious about this. We've already gone through this!"

He turned to her and answered, clearly annoyed by her bluntness:

"Gaskin was dead before he hit the ground. Heart attack induced by bleach poisoning."

"I don't understand."

"There was no bleach in his stomach. The only way it could have been administered is intravenously."

She paused at that, hardly believing what she heard.

"It would have taken ten to fifteen minutes to take effect, which is long enough for the doctor to return to the hospital," he continued.

"You think it must have been done by Fish?" She almost spit out the words. "There is no reasonable motive!"

"Believe me, Miss MacMillan," he said. "I would be happy to clear the doctor's name. But then we have to find out how it could have happened another way."

Lizzy continued to explain why it couldn't possibly be her friend. She was the one who had called her in in the first place! She was not a woman to kill in a fit of passion! There was something up with Gaskin's sister! Clearly, something was wrong.

"If you have any other explanation, I'd love to hear it." He sounded angry and tired. Defeated. This was not easy for him either, Lizzy realised. In her anger, she had almost forgotten he had his own relationship to her doctor friend.

"Simple. Someone else tampered with the vial," she answered decisively.


It took until the next day for Lizzy to show that the evidence against Phryne didn't hold. Someone else had tampered with that vial. This gave Jack the pleasure of opening the cell door for Doctor Fisher, his relief more palpable than in any normal case.

"You are free to go. All suspicions have been cleared."

She looked at him, trying to read his mood.

"Thank you, Inspector," she finally said, and rose to leave the cell.

"Please, Miss Fisher," he said, knowing that he stripped her of her professional identity at that moment and just talked to her as a person, perhaps even with a kind of endearment. "Please don't find a reason to be arrested again."

As she passed him in the doorway, on her way to Lizzy waiting in Jack's room, she squeezed his arm lightly.

"Thank you, Mister Robinson," she whispered.


After further discussion, Lizzy and Jack had finally realised who the culprit must be—not the sister, but the tea lady, which made them realise undercover Dot might be in danger. When Lizzy jumped into her Hispano-Suiza, Phryne was still with her and came too. Jack and Constable Collins took the police car. They arrived at the factory just in time to see Dot grapple with the murderer, far too close to one of the lethal and active machines.

"Dot! Dot!" Miss MacMillan shouted, rushing towards the two women, aiming to separate them and managing to get hold of Dot just in time as she was about to fall into the machine. Doctor Fisher instead set out for the machine itself, taking hold of an axe she found on her way, attempting to stop it by slamming the axe into it.

Jack realised what she was about to do milliseconds before she did it.

"Phryne, no!" he shouted.

But it was already too late. She had hit the machine with full force. It spluttered to a standstill while the doctor was thrown from it, landing on her back. A few seconds later, Jack was at her side, kneeling—those seconds felt like hours.

"Phryne?" he entreated. "Phryne?" That was the most he had ever used her first name, but he didn't notice.

The silence rang in the room, deafening, until he heard a faint reply: "I'm alright."

Slowly, she rose to sitting and looked around her, a little bit dizzy, and repeated "I'm alright. Is Dot alright?"

Jack nodded. As he offered a hand to help her stand—her hand soft and warm and firm in his—he realised just how much this woman meant to him, and he had no idea how to handle the revelation.


This is the second to last chapter of this story. Now we only have the season finale to go!