Phryne maneuvered the Hispano-Suiza over the grassy field, hoping the various dips and bumps of the terrain would not upset the suspension too terribly. But the place where Marjorie Hyde's body had been discovered was a good distance from the main house, and Phryne wanted to be able to leave quickly if she discovered something.

Her meeting with the Hydes had been brief; Mrs. Hyde had been confined to her bed since her daughter's body had been discovered, so it was with Mr. Hyde that Phryne had conversed. Marjorie had been their only daughter, and it was unlikely that their marriage would survive her loss; this much was evident to Phryne already. Mr. Hyde was clearly disturbed and frustrated with his wife's absence, and the haggard look on his young face spoke of a man whose sanity was swiftly unwinding.

"The police are too busy worrying about the second child that was kidnapped," said Mr. Hyde through his fingers, which were clamped tightly over his face. He rubbed his hands up and down several times before placing them back on his knees, his eyes now ringed with red from the kneading. "Don't mistake me—of course they should be most concerned with the living victim. But I am concerned that, if it turns out the two cases are not connected, Marjorie's case will grow cold and we will be too late. We've already mistaken the culprit once, chasing after that cursed nanny. I need an extra set of eyes focused on my daughter. I hope you can help us."

Phryne reassured him that she would do everything in her power, then asked to be led to the place where Marjorie had been found. Thus, she found herself driving the Hispano to yet another crime scene, joined by the Hydes' groundskeeper and Dot, who was hanging on to her hat in the backseat.

"Just there," said the groundskeeper, who happened to be the poor soul who had discovered Marjorie's body. He did not look too keen to be returning to the spot; in fact he looked positively green. "She was laid there, beneath the almond tree."

Phryne stopped the car and turned the engine off. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. You may remain in the car, or walk back to the house if you wish. Come along, Dot."

The moment Phryne stepped out of the car, her mind began logging the details of her surroundings. The tree was placed far from the road, and surely Jack would have mentioned it if tire tracks had been discovered near the body. So the body was carried in on foot, a distance of at least half a mile, then laid down beneath the almond tree, which spring had kissed with luscious pink blooms.

"It's a peaceful place," said Dot, sniffling a little. "A kind place, to lay a child to rest."

"I was thinking the same, Dot," replied Phryne, her voice full of suspicion rather than sentimentality. "Whoever left the body here...they brought her home. They risked discovery, for the police had been looking for Marjorie for days before she was found. I have no doubt they were watching the house. And she was not tossed carelessly on the side of the road. She was carried out here, laid beneath the almond tree, almost as if to use it as a grave marker...those are the actions of someone who cared about her, who felt badly about her death."

Dot narrowed her eyes in confusion. "But the paper," she whispered. "The paper said her death was violent. Why would someone who cared about her hurt her so terribly?"

Phryne's pressed her lips into a grim line. "I fear the paper very much glossed over the reality of what happened to this child. Jack has hinted that the sight of the body was gruesome indeed. That image is very hard to reconcile with a person who would carry her back to her home and lay her to rest beneath such a pretty tree. It doesn't add up."

She scrutinized the grass around the tree, searching for the place where the body had lain. At length she found the spot, betrayed by a swath of crushed grass, some of which had turned brown and brittle. "This is where she was placed, Dot." Phryne swept the fingers of her gloved hand through the dirt, searching. The best she came up with were a few strands of curly blond hair.

Glad for the bright sunlight overhead, Phryne pulled Dot by the arm to stand beside her. "We will spiral out in opposite directions. Use those sharp eyes, Dot, we must see if there's anything at all the police missed."

It was slow, tedious work. The recent rain made the ground soft, and also increased the probability that anything useful had been washed away.

After an hour, Phryne and Dot were so far apart they could no longer make out each other's words, even when shouted, but a glint of metal made Phryne cry out anyway. She fell to her knees, oblivious to her delicate stockings, and fished the little circle of gold out of the mud. She was astonished she had spotted it at all, half-buried beneath soil and thick blades of grass. But there it was—a golden cufflink. An engraved golden cufflink, as luck would have it.

Dot had started to jog in Phryne's direction at her mistress's yell, and Phryne waved her closer. She used her thumb to wipe the soil from the face of the cufflink—the letters TLA were cut into the metal in a diamond shape.

This was not Alfons Verlinden's cufflink. But by now, Phryne had firmly concluded that Verlinden had not disposed of Marjorie's body himself.

—

The front page of every newspaper in Melbourne would be plastered with Alfons Verlinden's face tomorrow morning. Jack had arranged for posters to be printed and displayed in every tram car and train station in the city, and had set up road blocks on each of the major roads leaving town. It was an expensive endeavor, but money was the commissioner's concern, and he had given Jack leave to do whatever was necessary. By tomorrow, the only people in Melbourne who would not have the likeness of Alfons Verlinden burned into the back of their eyelids would be the blind.

Radio stations were announcing Verlinden's description every hour on the hour, and a tip line had been set up. Twelve constables were stationed at desks with telephones to field the tips that came in.

Surely it was enough. They would find him. They had to find him. Then the only difficulty would be getting him to reveal the whereabouts of Lily and Rosemary.

Ah, yes. Rosemary. He made a mental note to mention Rosemary to Phryne before the day was out, for she would be furious if she had to read about the second disappearance in the paper.

There was a tap on the door frame followed by a thread of French perfume curling beneath his nostrils. Confident that it must be Phryne, and resolving to tell her about Rosemary immediately, the shock registered clearly on his face when he looked up to see Lady Océane standing in the doorway.

"Oh dear, forgive me if I've startled you, Inspector," she apologized, sashaying into the office in a sensible tweed suit that ran more to Dot's tastes than Phryne's. Jack was not sure what to make of this change of costume, and watched the woman closely as she took a seat opposite him, crossing her legs smartly and fixing him with a pleasant smile.

"Not at all, Madame de Ligne. What can I do for you?"

"I hoped you would come clean with me, Inspector, and tell me what is all this fuss over Alfons. It is something serious, that much I know, for you to have men stationed at my house day and night. Please, I would just like a little more information."

As she spoke, Jack studied her, analyzing every piece of her, determined to solve her, somehow. At home she wore jewels and evening gowns, in public she wore a conservative suit. But it was not so conservative, on second glance. The creamy silk blouse she wore beneath the jacket was unbuttoned almost to the point of indecency, so that when she leaned forward, as she was doing now, an unseemly amount of cleavage spilled forth. Perhaps a button had dislodged itself without her knowledge, but somehow Jack doubted it. She seemed too careful a woman to miss something like that. What was more, the wide-eyed, sugary-sweet expression she gave him bespoke a woman using her body as a distraction. Jack had to admit, it was artfully done...she was chastity and sex, all wrapped into one polished package, and there were men out there that would fall at her feet just to have her look their way.

Jack was not one of those men, however. "What would you like to know, Madame?"

"The officers at my house, they will hardly speak to me. They think whatever it is Alfons has done is too horrible for my fragile female sensibilities. They should realize. They should know, like every other Belgian woman I forgot what fragile was the moment the Germans invaded."

Just that quickly, Jack was forced to regard her in a whole new light. Somehow he had assumed, because she was wealthy, that the war had not touched her the way it had her countrymen.

"You did not escape Belgium in time?"

She shook her head, a strand of silvery-blond hair drifting out of her coiffure and into her eyes. "My father would not abandon his country. Like many he thought neutrality would make us immune. He moved us from our village in the Ardennes into Leuven. He thought the city would protect us."

Jack swallowed, knowing all too well what fate had befallen the city of Leuven. He felt a sudden, stinging guilt for passing judgement on her clothing. "I'm so sorry. Your family?"

Madame de Ligne gave a sad smile, her eyes shining with a thin film of tears. Her head gave a tiny shake that said everything. "Please, Inspector. I only want to know what he is accused of."

She would find out from the morning paper in any case. It was the least he could do to tell her himself.

Jack leaned back in his chair and propped his elbows on the armrests, clasping his hands together at his middle. "Murder. He is suspected of killing a child, and abducting two others. I am sorry, Madame de Ligne. The whole thing is an ugly business."

Madame de Ligne covered her gasp with her gloved hand and let a tear spill from her eye. "Oh, no. Alfons? Murder! How can it be?"

Once again, Jack found himself watching her, struggling to differentiate between sincerity and playacting. If acting, it was very good; if sincerity, it rang just a tiny bit false. But this could have many causes, Jack justified. Perhaps she was less surprised than she pretended to be. Or maybe she was just one of those people who did not experience strong emotions, and had taught herself to put on a show so people didn't think her strange.

Whatever it was, Jack did not have time to riddle it out. "I'm so sorry, Madame de Ligne. But I can refer you to an agency, should you need to hire a new bodyguard."

"That's very kind, Inspector. I may take you up on that."

Jack heard the front door to the station open and close.

"Ja-ack!" sang a voice from outside his office. He felt every inch of his skin flare with awareness at the sound of it.

Phryne had entered the station looking worse for the wear. Her knees and white gloves were smeared with dirt, and there were smudges on her blouse as well. She was walking towards him, her palm held out to display something small and golden. When she noticed Jack's guest, however, her fingers closed hastily over her prize.

"Madame de Ligne!" exclaimed Phryne, smiling at said lady while flashing Jack a questioning look. "How nice to see you. I hope I haven't interrupted. Is the Inspector is being helpful?"

Jack was surprised that Phryne had not commented on Madame de Ligne's discomposure, but when he looked back at the woman her face was dry and clear. Playacting, he concluded to himself. That, or a very efficient handkerchief.

"Miss Fisher, a pleasure as always. And yes, he has been most helpful. Anyways, I was just leaving—thank you, Inspector, for your time."

Jack observed good manners, rising to his feet to see his guest out though still feeling rather out of sorts about her. She rose from her chair with an almost regal grace, acknowledging Phryne with a light kiss on the cheek before promptly departing.

"That was cozy," Jack commented as Phryne closed the door behind her. "I didn't realize the two of you were on cheek-kissing terms."

Phryne shrugged and moved towards him, warm desire in her eyes. Jack did not think twice, welcoming her into his arms for a kiss that lit fires in even the deepest, darkest places of his heart. "Phryne," he breathed as she pulled away, stroking his fingers down the side of her neck.

"I've already made a mess of you," she laughed, brushing crumbs of dirt from where her gloves had clutched him and wiping lipstick from his mouth. "But look, Jack, you won't believe this. I've found something."

He plucked the little golden object from her palm. It was a cufflink, engraved with the initials TLA. Or TAL, more accurately, if the surname was in the traditional middle position.

"I'm sure you're about to explain its significance to me," he prompted, examining her lovely face. He was glad to find that familiar light in her eyes. When Phryne's eyes lit up like that, it meant she was on to something. It meant she was about to solve a case. And God knew he could use one of her miracles right now.

"I found it," she explained, "On the Hydes' property. I estimate about four hundred or so yards from the tree where the body was found."

Jack held up a hand to stop her, not believing his ears at first. She had gone to Marjorie Hyde's crime scene without telling him? "Phryne. What were you doing at the Hydes'?"

She gave him a sheepish look. She did not wear contrition well, and Jack prepared himself for whichever misdeed she was about to cop to.

"I got a call this morning after you left, from Marjorie Hyde's great-aunt, who happens to be a friend of Mac's."

Jack gave a little smirk. Such a coincidence could only happen to Phryne. "Ah, but of course. I should have guessed. In fact, I'm surprised it took this long. And they hired you on, yes?"

She watched his face, and he knew she was trying to judge how upset he was with her. In truth, Jack really hadn't the energy to be upset. He had not even really considered her banned from the Hyde case since unburdening himself to her at the Maison de Ligne yesterday. Any frustration he might vent towards her now would be for the sake of pettiness alone, because she had not told him of her plans beforehand, and he was too delighted with her for other reasons to summon any such negative emotions.

Besides, she had never asked his permission before taking a case and he would be a fool to try and impose such a rule now. Far be it from Jack to attempt to place restrictions on Phryne Fisher, whether he was sharing her bed or not. He was a wiser man than that.

"They did," she replied. "So I went out this afternoon to the place where Marjorie's body was found and discovered the cufflink."

Jack shook his head in disbelief. "I had a row of twenty constables walk that field back and forth for hours. The found nothing."

"I suspect the owner must have dropped it then stepped on it, burying it in the ground. Then, when it rained the other day, just enough soil was washed away to see the gold. If it had anyone else's initials on it, Jack, I would say this had nothing to do with the case. That it arrived on the field after Marjorie was found, or perhaps even years before. But look—T-L-A. Try and guess, I bet you can't!"

But she was wrong. From the eagerness on her face, as well as his mind for details, he knew immediately what she was thinking. "Phryne," he said breathlessly, "What was the name of Walter Lipscomb's father?"

Phryne bounced on her feet with excitement. "Yes, Jack! Before we found this, Dot and I were formulating a theory. A theory that someone who cared for Marjorie had brought her body and laid her beneath the almond tree on her parents' property. Why would the man who brutalized her take such care in the placement of her remains? We both agreed, someone else had been charged with the disposal of the body. But who?"

Jack was growing impatient. "Phryne…"

She rushed on. "Tom Lipscomb. That was Walter's father's name. I'm not sure what the A is for, but I know this cufflink belonged to Walter. He was wearing its brother when we interviewed him. I only noticed because it was strange that he would be wearing them at all, and I didn't think a thing about it at the time, other than making the tiniest mental note that they were mismatched, but this...Jack, we have to call Walter back in, you said he was holding something back. I'd say this is a pretty big something."

Jack snatched the telephone hastily from his desk and told the operator to connect him to Madame de Ligne's residence. In a few moments, a maid answered. "Quickly now," said Jack, trying not to bark at the girl. "I need you to get me an officer, whichever is closest, please."

There was some fumbling over the line and before long one of his colleagues spoke. "Yardman here."

"Sam, it's Jack Robinson. I need you to find the houseboy, name of Walter Lipscomb, and hold him until I get there. Something has come to light. Sit him down somewhere and don't let him out of your sight."

"About time we had some excitement around here. Consider it done."

"Do you think he might know where Verlinden is? Or where he's keeping Lily?" breathed Phryne, right at Jack's heels as they all but fled the station.

"All I know is that he certainly did not participate willingly. You drive, it'll be faster."

Phryne looked at him in shock, but rushed to her own car obediently. "Who are you, and what have you done with my Inspector?"

He waved away her disbelief. "Pedal to the metal, Miss Fisher, we have a killer to catch."

The engine roared to life and Phryne fixed Jack with her most devastating smile. "You needn't tell me twice!"