Chapter Seven

Both of the craftsmen from Lampeter's workshop were, Phryne decided, very decorative. In a former life, she might have pursued the acquaintance further, and wondered at her own change of heart which rendered them uninteresting.

Well, Declan was uninteresting because any degree of interest a woman might find in his clever hands and cleft chin was undoubtedly outweighed by his own interest in himself.

Narcissism, thy name is Declan, she decided, and took only the most cursory note of his rant against his co-worker. She'd once met a boxer with the same issues, and discovered that a fairground ride at Luna Park was more fun than a soiree in the boudoir.

Funnily enough, the differentiating factor had been a certain Detective Inspector then, too.

"What did you think, Dot?" she asked as they climbed back into the Hispano.

"Nothing to go on at all, Miss," said her former-maid-now-investigative-partner said firmly. "If the other bloke can't give us any more, then it'll just be a case of one person's word against another and we're no further forward."

Phryne had been trying for quite some time to get Dot to drop the honorific and just use her name; and she was becoming resigned to the possibility that it might never happen.

Cosmo was uninteresting for entirely different reasons.

A young woman answered the door when they knocked, and showed them through to the kitchen where a late lunch was in the process of being tidied away. A stocky, fair-haired young man was up to his arms in soapsuds. A tea towel was being deployed efficiently by Lucas.

"Cosmo, these ladies are here to see you," announced the girl. She gave Phryne and Dot a cheerful smile. "Don't let him bore you. He's my brother, I know what he's like. I'm going to get back to my essay."

The cleaner-uppers voiced assent, and she vanished up the stairs of the tiny house.

Phryne pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and gestured Dot to do likewise. Lucas continued to dry the same plate that he'd had in his hands since they'd walked in the door.

"Lucas," said Phryne calmly. "I had no idea that you would be here. We have to ask Cosmo a couple of questions. Is that all right?"

"Of course," said Lucas quickly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason at all, but if you aren't trying to rub the pattern off that plate, you can stop drying it now."

The washer-upper, in the meantime, was looking from one speaker to the other in mystified fashion. Lucas handed him the towel to dry his hands, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Cosmo. Miss Fisher came to the shop yesterday. It's about the thefts isn't it, Miss?"

Phryne agreed, and wondered whether Dot had picked up the silent messages being telegraphed between the two young men.

Well, my virtue's safe from these two, anyway, she reflected; and realised that the entire thought process had been gratuitous. An important decision was made, and filed away for future action by the committee of one.

Again, though, the interview itself was inconclusive. Yes, both Cosmo and Declan had had projects disrupted by thefts of precious stones; yes, their security methods were scrupulous – they would even lock their work away in the safe when they went out for lunch; no, no-one knew the code apart from the workshop staff and Mr Lampeter.

The two sleuths sat in the car and debated what to do next.

"I don't think either of them did it, Miss," announced Dot. "If Declan did it, he'd at least have been able to afford new shoes – did you see how down-at-heel his were? And I saw the stock that was in the pot on the stove behind Cosmo – must be at least three days boiled, you're not going to tell me they're able to afford a good steak."

"They could be stashing it away, Dot, but I admit it feels unlikely." Phryne sighed. "I think we have to go and see Mr Lampeter again. There's someone missing from the story, I'm sure of it." The Hispano's self starter did its job and Miss Fisher did the rest.

Dot released her hat with relief as the Hispano pulled up outside the Lampeter house. She was accustomed to Phryne's driving style by now, but she would never be able to relax until the handbrake was on.

They both got out of the car and stopped short. Another vehicle was parked in the driveway; one with a familiar number plate. They exchanged glances, and then strode to the front door, where Phryne pulled the bell firmly.

A white-aproned woman opened it for them, and invited them abruptly to come in. She explained that she was the cook, and that she was sorry, and that they were all at sixes and sevens; Phryne reassured her that it didn't matter a bit, and should they just announce themselves?

The door to the drawing room stood ajar, and the sound of voices in the hallway drew one of the occupants to peer round it. Phryne swung around and beamed.

"Hello, Jack."