Chapter Four

Getting back to Bairnsdale was laborious. Joe, understandably, didn't want to use the engine again, so they had to return under sail, upriver. The wind was broadly in their favour, but they still had to reach back and forth far more often than was commensurate with a relaxing day, and eventually Jack took duty on the sheets to starboard, allowing Sam to stay on the port side. Phryne stayed astern with Joe, who'd let the mainsail down rather than make too rapid passage in the confined space of the river. She decided that the poor man had enough to do without answering questions.

When they eventually tied up at the hotel's private jetty, though, she pounced – even as Sam was making the boat fast.

"So, I'm guessing Mr Baker wasn't a very popular chap?"

He looked at her askance, clearly adjusting his former view of his client.

"David was fine. Straight as a die. Not sure why you need to ask, though, Mrs Robinson?"

She explained succinctly.

"Robinson is my married name. This is me," and handed him her card.

"'The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Detective'?" he read out, suspicion ringing loud in his voice.

"Quite right, Joe," came a voice from behind her. "And I should confess, it's actually Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of Melbourne Police."

He met Joe's disbelieving gaze.

"We are on our honeymoon, though – admittedly, it's not quite how we envisaged spending it."

He met Phryne's eye, and in that moment, the holiday changed its nature for them both.

It was perhaps as well that they had a different view from the rest of the world of what constituted 'fun'.

"Joe …" Jack said diffidently, "it would probably help things along if Miss Fisher and I could have a look at the cabin where you found Mr Baker. Get Sam straight to the police station to report it though – who's the senior officer here?"

"Ned Stanford" said Joe distractedly. "Sergeant. But he won't be there just now, it's Saturday. He'll be up at the farm."

"The farm?"

"Yeah, his aunt has a dairy farm. He helps out when he can. Good bloke."

With no more than a blink, Jack accepted the priorities – and PR – of Victoria's local force – and, inclining his head to invite Phryne along, headed down the galley steps. His last words to Joe before heading below were to suggest mildly that if Stanford's aunt, or a neighbour, was on the telephone, it might be worth trying to let him know, because he'd probably be interested.

The cabin in question was in the stern, and directly adjacent to the engine compartment.

The late David Baker was sprawled face up on the single bed, and Jack moved swiftly to close the deceased's eyes. Phryne looked closely at the body.

"Pretty clearly asphyxiation – skin's got that blue tinge to it."

Jack nodded. "And the body's still warm. He must have died while we were motoring downriver this morning."

They both took a moment to absorb the enormity of the fact that they had been happily sitting on deck in the sunshine while Baker was dying in this cabin.

"You could almost say it was our fault he died," remarked Phryne, in typically clinical fashion.

He winced, and requested that she not repeat the sentence in anyone else's hearing. So far, they had both experienced arrest – she was far more relaxed about the experience than he was – but he wasn't at all anxious to go through the whole rigmarole again.

"Why didn't he let us know he was here, though? We weren't exactly tiptoeing about when we arrived."

Phryne looked at him consideringly for a moment, and then leaned close to the victim's face.

She sniffed gently, and nodded.

"Slightly sweet. I'm guessing that at some point someone gave him enough chloroform to ensure he would stay unconscious until the air he was breathing became deadly."

"But why would it become deadly?" Jack objected. "This is a well maintained boat. When we came on board, there was nothing out of place. Look at the brass – the brightwork – it's perfect."

She inclined her head in agreement.

"I think ..." she looked around the cabin, "we are going to find some tampering somewhere. Shall we ask Joe to join us?"

He agreed, and took a couple of steps up the ladder until he could see Joe, who was apparently on autopilot, furling and stowing sails, coiling ropes and otherwise tidying the boat for the day.

"Joe?" he called. The man raised his head reluctantly. "Can you come and show us what you found?"

There was a full ten seconds pause before the polite request from a fairly senior state police officer received its response, which gave Jack a fair idea of what they might be up against if they needed to dig deeper. For the moment, he chose to ignore it, and set out to put himself and Phryne on the side of the angels – assuming that was the right side to be on to secure Joe's co-operation.

"Was this how you found the cabin, Joe?" he asked calmly.

The captain glanced round, and nodded.

"What about the towel?" asked Phryne. The towel in question was still lying on the floor near the door.

"Yeah, it was there when I tried to get in. Jammed right behind the door."

Jack looked at him, brow furrowed.

"Jammed behind it? From the inside, you mean?"

Joe realised, too late, the implications of what he'd said, and clammed up.

Phryne, in the meantime, had been prowling the edges of the cabin, and came to a sudden halt.

"Jack, look!" she pointed at the juncture of the wall, floor and bunk.

A neat hole, no more than half an inch wide, had been drilled through. Unless a sharp-eyed detective had been searching for it, it might have been passed over as an intentional detail. Smooth-edged and varnished to match the rest of the woodwork, it could have escaped notice altogether.

Crouching to examine it, Jack met Phryne's glance. He spoke.

"Any bets that the engine's on the other side of this? And that the exhaust has also miraculously developed some kind of flaw?"

Their gazes both turned to the captain's; whose face turned to a shade of green that clashed terribly with the victim's blue.