Candlelight dipped the small kitchen into a warm glow, an island in the storm raging outside.

"That's the last one," Dorothy Williams said, setting a big white cylinder down onto the middle of the table. Mr. Butler smilingly nodded his thanks at her from where he was attempting to rescue a pot of cocoa that had lost heat halfway through cooking.

"I think that will do, Dot," Miss Fisher said, stretching her sore limbs. She had spent the last hours bent over the table, trying to make sense of the little book Alessandro had given her. The power outage had given her a welcome moment of reprieve.

"I think these are older notes," Dot said, after having another long look at the pages. "Maybe we need to focus on the last entries."

"I was hoping they would give me some indication on how they are coded," Phryne explained. "But I do not recognize any of the events noted here."

"If those people are who they claim to be, they are probably quite good at hiding them from the public eye," Mr Butler said from the stove. She didn't know how to argue with that. She kept coming back to a line halfway down the last page.

'18, syd, Vrd, 7m, Srno, mrt."

She couldn't help coming back to it. The 18th was the date of Jack's wedding. Her detective's soul screamed that it couldn't be a coincidence. But the letters and numbers just continued without any obvious pattern revealing itself. She rubbed her hand over her tired eyes.

"I'm wondering if Cec and Bert will find anyone named Syd," she thought aloud.

"What about Sydney?" Dot suddenly asked.

"Sydney?" echoed Phryne.

"Well, it could be the city."

Miss Fisher sighed. Maybe she was on the wrong path after all.

"That's a little bit out of the way for what we are looking for."

Mr Butler set a cup of lukewarm cocoa in front of her with a small smile, briefly distracting her.

"There is a Sydney Road in Brunswick," he offered.

Phryne gaped at him.

"Mr Butler, do we have a map in the house?"

"Of course, Miss."

He bustled away, a candle in hand, leaving the two women stare at each other in breathless silence. It took him a mere minute to find the required item and his mistress threw herself at it as if her life depended on it. Dot was a little more cautious, but bit her lip in concentration as her finger trailed along roads.

"Here," she said. Miss Fisher's nail slipped along the drawn line leading straight to the north. "St Abrose," she said. "Alessandro was right, they are planning something at the wedding."

"Shouldn't we warn the Inspector?" asked Dot, wide-eyed.

They didn't get any further. Loud rapping against the kitchen door made further thought impossible. Mr Butler opened to the two dark figures and the cabbies slipped inside, both drenched to the bone.

"Bloody storm," Bert swore, shaking himself like a puppy after a bath. Mr Butler appeared with a couple towels which wouldn't keep them from dripping onto the kitchen floor, but maybe lighten the floods somewhat.

"Wouldn't stop bloody pouring the whole time we were out," Bert added, while Cec was already busy attempting to dry his hair.

"I hope it was worth the effort?" Miss Fisher asked, when neither seemed to be forthcoming with any information.

"Depends what ya consider worth it," Bert grumbled, earning himself an elbow to the ribs by his fellow cabbie.

"We've kept our ears out, Miss, as you asked," Cec said, wrapping his hands around a cup of cocoa Mr Butler had helpfully provided. "The word on the street is that there's some trouble within the Camorra at the moment."

"What kind of 'trouble'?" Phryne asked, now all ears.

"Not everyone's happy with the boss," Bert threw in, shrugging.

"With Antonio Strano?"

"That's the one. There's another bloke who thinks he should be the big gun."

Miss Fisher pulled herself to her feet.

"Interesting. So, if the loyalties are split..."

"We'll have a bloody war in the middle of Melbourne," Bert finished her thought.

Phryne chewed her lip.

"But how does the Inspector fit in there?" Dot asked from where she had been forgotten by everyone else. "It is his wedding, isn't it?"

Miss Fisher's face darkened.

"He's a poliziotto," she said grimly. Three frowning faces stared back at her. Mr Butler spoke enough Italian to hide his confusion perfectly fine. Phryne decided to explain.

"If Strano's star is sinking, the last thing he needs is his daughter to marry... unfavourably."

"So, Mr Strano is planning to stop the wedding?" Dot asked.

"No, Dot, I think he's planning something much, much worse."