Chapter Two

Don't worry? Don't worry? The woman was certifiably insane. All of the sentient world knew that to Miss Fisher, fishing was the kind of activity undertaken for a few hours on a sunny day with a picnic and a man who would do all the difficult parts (as, for example, carrying the picnic basket, rods and reels, tying on flies, administering the services of a Priest to the catch, gutting it and so on).

And how soon was 'soon'? An hour? Lunchtime? Might she be away all day?

And did it have anything to do with last night's altercation? He fervently hoped not, for two reasons. First, he didn't want her queering the pitch for the team tasked with tackling the problem of mendicants.

Second, and much more importantly, she'd given her word. He knew she would find a way to bend the rules if she could, but he'd been pretty confident that the reason for her anger was that she couldn't bear to sit idly by and do nothing when vulnerable humans were being abused – but her commitment to him meant she had to do just that.

The idea that she might, despite everything, go and ride roughshod over the strategy of the Victoria Police upset him more than he liked to admit.

Still fulminating, he shaved, dressed and descended to the breakfast table, where the apple of his eye was demolishing an apple, lovingly peeled and quartered for her by her nanny, the indefatigable Mary Lou.

"Daddy!" the child announced cheerfully.

"Daughter!" he riposted in what was becoming a time-honoured tradition. They beamed at one another with justifiable smugness, and he pulled out a chair next to her, enquiring as to her plans for the day.

"I'm going to paint a picture to give to Mumma when she comes back from her trip," announced Elizabeth Jane.

Jack choked. Miss Elizabeth patted him on the back with more affection than effect.

"Her trip?" he asked cautiously. Elizabeth nodded firmly.

"She came to give me a kiss, 'cos she said she wouldn't see me for a couple of days, and so she had to make it a Really BIG kiss," the tot explained. "Did she give you a Really Big Kiss too, Daddy?"

Jack recalled the scratches on his back, winced and decided that what Mrs Robinson had given him to remember her by could probably qualify as a Fairly Monumental Kiss, and nodded wordlessly.

"Did she tell you where she was going?" he asked, feigning nonchalance as he buttered a piece of toast.

"No. Is it a EXCITING place?"

If it wasn't before she got there, it will be in pretty short order he thought ruefully, and gave a noncommittal reply; then, fearing he would get the third degree from his remarkably prescient two-year-old, moved the conversation on to Appropriate Subjects For Paintings, and escaped shortly afterwards to the relative safety of the City South Police Station.

He was in a quandary. He couldn't launch a formal search for Phryne; but he didn't want to wait until her body turned up on a slab (fishmonger's or coroner's) to at least try to find out what she was up to.

He decided to seek out a sounding-board.

"Collins?"

"Sir?" the Sergeant put his head around Jack's office door.

"Come in and close the door, please."

Hugh Collins was a great listener. Mrs Collins often said so. On the downside, his MO was usually of the Determined Procedural Plodding rather than Inspirational Flashes of Genius approach. When the Inspector had finished outlining the problem, he was rewarded by no more than pursed lips and a shaken head.

"What're you going to do, sir?" he asked.

Jack sat back and sighed. "No idea, Collins. What would you do?"

The young man shrugged. "Probably just ask Dottie."

Jack nodded absently. Then sat forward eagerly.

"Collins, that's exactly what I'll do! Maybe Miss Fisher's confided in her anyway." He was already on his feet and reaching for his hat. "Come on, you can drive."

Never one to turn down an opportunity to spend time with His Dottie, Hugh was first to the car.

They caught Mrs Collins as she was about to accompany her twins and their nanny to the park, and managed to persuade her to turn back to the house and be Miss Williams for a few precious minutes.

"But, Inspector, I don't know what I can do!" she said anxiously, while simultaneously filling the kettle, lighting the burner on the cooker and pulling out a chair for the Detective Chief Inspector.

(Her husband had to pull out his own chair, because she'd inconveniently been provided by her Maker with only two hands, and three of them were currently engaged. Fortunately, Miss Stubbs was looking after the twins – otherwise, she'd also have had to deploy her three emergency hands and the back-of-head eyes that she'd discovered were a huge boon when small children were part of the reckoning).

"Dorothy, please don't worry," Jack tried to placate her. "I was just wondering if Miss Fisher had perhaps said something to you about her plans for the next few days?"

The biscuits fresh-baked that morning appeared as if by magic, alongside the cups, plates, milk and sugar. Napkins were neatly placed in front of every person, and Miss Williams produced her notebook, apparently part of the same motion.

"Not a word," she confirmed, settling herself comfortably at the foot of the kitchen table as the kettle progressed to the boil. "But is there something I can do to help look?" Pencil to the ready, she looked up enquiringly.

Jack grimaced, and sat back. The pause in conversation allowed the water to be poured on the leaves and the masking process to commence.

"If she's not said anything, we're not much further forward." He focused on his cup, but Mrs Collins resisted the urge to pour the tea too soon.

"All you know is that she was angry about the man taking the beggars' money?" she asked instead. "Are you sure she was angry?"

Jack chewed his cheek. "Quite sure." He set quietly to one side his memories of the evidence and Moved Swiftly On. "If you were Miss Fisher …?"

Everyone magically had a cup of tea in their hands. Miss Williams grasped hers and pondered the matter, then asked a hesitant question. "What are the police doing about the mendicants?"

Hugh cringed. Jack did a double take. "Everything we can, Dorothy. Of course. We move them on, quietly. We try to make sure they're not aggressive. There's no point in creating a drama right on the street."

"Sorry, Inspector," Dot shook her head and smiled. "I meant to ask, what are the police doing to stop them needing to beg?"

All of a sudden, Jack's hot cup of tea was scalding his hands, and he had to pull them away. It was the only possible explanation for the discomfort he felt in response to Dot's very reasonable question. He looked at the plate of biscuits, and couldn't quite find an appetite to take one.

He sipped some tea and swallowed it, with difficulty. "We're just doing what we've always done, in the way we've been trained to do it, Dorothy." He looked up at her squarely. "What would you have us do differently?"

She was flummoxed for a few moments, but then she looked up and smiled.

"I don't know what I'd do, but I think I know what Miss Fisher would do."

Both men leaned forward, half their energy already geared towards the next move.

"She'd ask them."