Chapter Six
Phryne, meanwhile, had wandered off to the hangar in search of aviators – or at the very least, a mechanic or two. In her experience, there was always some oil-covered individual to be found at an airfield.
She drew a blank in the hangar itself, where Collins and Matthews were methodically working their way through checking each of the aircraft, but ran her quarry to earth in the workshop at the back of the hangar. Two overalled individuals were engrossed in an engine.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," she called cheerfully. Two heads were raised and turned to look at her suspiciously. "Phryne Fisher, Detective. Can I have a word?" She stuck out a hand to the nearer of the two, who automatically reached to shake it, before recollecting himself, glancing down at the oiliness of the member, and making do with a slight nod. Phryne grinned understandingly.
"Jed," he introduced himself succinctly. Then, with a jerk of the head, "That's Larry."
"I was here to see the Englishman go up with the Wing Commander," she informed them. "I'm afraid there's been an accident." At this, she had their full attention and they were all set to rush to the scene. She held up a hand. "The plane's fine – mostly – but before the accident happened, there were some pretty impressive aerobatics going on. I was surprised to see a Moth managing the stress of a slow roll."
Jed jerked his head in confirmation, "That'll be the Wing Commander's kite. He's strengthened the fuselage a fair bit, to make it better able to handle aerobatics."
"Ah, that would explain it," remarked Phryne calmly. "Sadly, the strengthening wasn't applied to the front seat harness – quite the opposite. Who might have had access to the hangar since yesterday afternoon, do you know?"
They exchanged glances, and shrugged. "Anyone, really," said Jed. "The hangar's not locked. We finished up at around five in the afternoon, and the place was empty when we left, but if you wanted to get in overnight, there's not much to stop you." He raised his eyebrows. "After all, most of the folk who could fly one of these are the people who own them."
"When did you find out that the Wing Commander was taking Sir Andrew for a spin?" she asked.
Larry decided it was time he took an active role in proceedings.
"S'morning."
With the air of one who had completed a maiden address in Parliament House, he sat back and nodded firmly. Phryne thanked him warmly for his help, and wondered whether Jed and he had been near the plane during the course of the morning – they confirmed that they had not (or rather, in Jed's words, that they had been far too bloody busy to play nursemaid to the Wing Commander's baby).
Satisfied that she had learned all she could for the moment, she thanked them again and strolled back to the car, where Jack was waiting.
"Would I be right in assuming that you have just been undertaking an investigation not mandated by the police department, Miss Fisher?" He was, she noticed, getting worse and worse at the stern glance, and decided to pour balm on his professional wound.
"You would, Inspector, and I do hope you will forgive me. I have, I believe, found out some quite useful information."
"In that case, Miss Fisher, why not step into my office?" He opened the door of the Hispano and gestured to her grandly to enter. When they were both seated, and sharing some of the picnic Mr Butler had unpacked for them, they compared notes.
"You first, Jack – I think there's something you might have that I need."
He gave her A Look.
She gave him A Withering Stare.
"Specifically, Detective Inspector," at her most formal in response to a form of wit which was, frankly, beneath him – no, not that, oh, for heavens' sake, focus on the task in hand, Phryne "were any of the other planes tampered with?"
He relented. "No, Miss Fisher, they were not."
She gave the smuggest smile she knew.
"In that case, Detective Inspector, you can narrow down your search to the people who knew that the Moth belonged to Wing Commander Matthews. It was his own plane, strengthened to enable it to perform some fairly limited aerobatics. So, the chances of him taking a guest up in anything else would be slim to none."
As a reward, he forked up some of Mr Butler's special gratin and presented it formally – or as formally as a policeman could, in the back of an Hispano-Suiza and in the absence of a Royal Herald.
It was rather later when they arrived back at 221B The Esplanade, that Phryne bethought herself of another question that needed asking. As Mr Butler deployed the cocktails for her and Jack, she halted him with her glass raised.
"Mr Butler."
"Miss?"
"Are you going to tell us now precisely what the issue is relating to the deceased? It's more than a little coincidental for you to have such a pronounced reaction to Pallister's name in the car yesterday, and to have insisted so strongly that we be there today, at the time that he just happens to be murdered?"
Mr Butler pursed his lips.
"I shall have to think about it, Miss," he declared.
This did not suit Miss Fisher one little bit. "What is there to think about? The man's been murdered, Mr B, you can't just pick and choose whether to help the investigation." She appealed to the Inspector, "Jack tell him!"
Jack concurred mildly. "If there's anything you know that helps us find Pallister's killer, Mr Butler, you really should tell us."
Mr Butler's expression was pained. "My difficulty is that all I have is really hearsay, and so far from helping the investigation, I might both hinder it and slander an innocent person." He straightened up. "If you will forgive me, Inspector, I will have to say nothing for the moment. There is one thing it occurs to me that I may be able to do, which will clarify the position. If I may be allowed a couple of hours off in the morning, Miss, I should be able to resolve the matter."
"By all means, Mr Butler, take all day if necessary," said Phryne. "I've got a lunch appointment I want to make, but I can go to the Windsor for that." He bowed his thanks and shimmered off to the kitchen.
"I'm seeing a new side to your Mr Butler," remarked Jack. "And what's this about a lunch appointment?"
She eyed him in what could only be described as a wary fashion.
"I … need to consult an expert on something that's puzzling me," she said carefully.
"Oh? In what field?" he enquired, equally carefully.
"Er … aviation," she replied with just slightly too much nonchalance.
All became clear.
"This expert – would it by any chance be a certain Group Captain of our acquaintance?" Jack asked with a faint smile.
"It might," she admitted.
"Please pass on my regards," was all he said, though.
Phryne was clearly taken aback. Where was the jealous, territorial Jack who had first met Group Captain Compton and taken him in instant dislike?
Though he played a poker face, Jack was smirking inside; and decided he could milk the situation further.
"Perhaps I should come along? I don't have anything planned," he suggested.
"YES!" she replied overenthusiastically. Then realised she may have gone too far. "I mean, by all means. Do." Politely.
He relented. "Phryne, please don't worry. I'm teasing you – enjoy lunch with Lyle Compton and please come and see me as soon as you can afterwards to tell me what you've discovered."
Palpable relief was closely followed by very feminine rage. He enjoyed it enormously and dinner had to be put back by almost half an hour.