It was late afternoon by the time they made their way back to Jack's office. To all outward appearances Phryne had already pulled herself together entirely after their trip to the morgue, but Jack called to Collins to bring tea along with an update on the enquiries he had designated to him. Hugh, always eager to please and especially to please his idols, somehow managed to locate not only two matching tea-cups with saucers but also a genuine china teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, plate of (admittedly slightly stale) biscuits, and a tray to put them all on, and deposited the lot on the Inspector's desk before retrieving his file and making his report as Phryne poured and the two sipped appreciatively.
"I spoke with Vice, Sir, and they're looking into whether Mr. William's name or anyone matching his description had come up in connection with anyone involved in the gambling underworld. So far I haven't heard anything back. I rang Mr. Archibald's club, and they confirmed that he didn't sign in at all on Tuesday, but he does sometimes come in late at night. And Mr. Archibald's doctor confirms that he has a prescription for barbiturates."
"Good work, Collins. And good work on this tea, too. Have you been getting some pointers from Miss Williams?"
"Uh, yes sir, thank you sir." Dot had been adamant that tea needed to be made in a clean tea-pot, with fresh, dry leaves, and water that had just come to the boil. It really did seem to make a difference.
"Very good. If you see Sergeant Moreston, tell him I'd like a report on his progress. Otherwise, I think I'll begin work on a search warrant for both Postlethwaite residences, and we'll call it a day. You might as well head home, Miss Fisher."
"I can't stay for Moreston's report?"
"If you wish." He paused, then, with uncharacteristic daring, added "or I could stop by your house later on tonight and fill you in?"
She smiled, pleased by his suggestion. It had been far too long since they had enjoyed an evening together in her parlour. Of course, she had had plans, but nothing that couldn't be cancelled at the last minute. "An excellent idea, Inspector. I'll look forward to it. Shall we call it seven, and I'll provide a light supper as well?"
He smiled in return. "That sounds wonderful. I shall see you at seven."
...
"You really will have me looking like Bernard Postlethwaite," Jack commented later that evening, after he and Phryne had exchanged the obligatory pleasantries.
"Never," she responded, leading him into the well-lit dining-room. "Just a light meal of sardines on toast, followed by a baked apple with custard. Hardly more than a snack, really."
He smiled, but said nothing more. Phryne had confided in him once that she had been no stranger to hunger in her childhood, and he knew what it meant to her to have plentiful access to food and to be able to offer food to others. And he couldn't pretend that he didn't benefit by her generosity: had he been responsible for his own supper tonight he likely would have bought a rather inferior pie from a cart on the way home and washed it down with a quick pint at the pub before closing, more for the sake of company and to save himself the bother of lighting the stove to heat water for tea than because he actually wanted a beer. Instead, here he was, being brought perfectly-toasted rounds of bread liberally spread with butter and topped with sardines in a delicious savoury sauce. Mr. Butler poured them each a glass of wine and quietly withdrew.
"So, what did Sergeant Moreston have to say?"
"About what we expected. No leads on the 'robbery', and William's wallet turned up in a rubbish bin a couple of streets away. But someone did spot a car parked in the area at around 11pm. No license plate, but it matched the description of Archibald Postlethwaite's vehicle."
"So Billy was drugged with sleeping pills matching those prescribed to Archie. Archie's butler heard him leave in the car at around half-past ten, but he never signed in at his club. Billy's maid thinks she heard Archie's car outside the house just before eleven, and the car was also seen at the crime-scene a short while later. And of all the family, ex-military man Archie is the one most likely to have the physical strength to manhandle his unconscious brother out of his bed, down the stairs, and into and out of the car." Her eyes met Jack's across the table.
"I think we've found our man," he agreed. "I'll have the search warrants tomorrow morning: we'll see if the blade used to murder William turns up at either of the houses, and I'll have some men canvas William's street: find out whether anyone actually saw Archibald's car, or better yet Archibald himself, back at the house that night."
Phryne sighed. "A double-bluff after all. And to think I almost believed him when he said that he was too clever for that."
"Not everyone is possessed of your intelligence and resourcefulness, Miss Fisher." He tilted his head on one side. "Speaking of which, at the moment our evidence is primarily circumstantial. I want that pill bottle and, if possible, that knife, and I want them to be admissible in court, so no sneaking off tonight to execute your own private search."
She stretched her eyes wide in exaggerated innocence. "Why, Inspector, whatever are you implying?"
He leaned closer, his expression and tone half-teasing, half-serious. "I don't believe I was implying anything, Miss Fisher: I was outright telling you not to jeopardise our case by breaking in to either William or Archibald's houses tonight."
"You're almost as boring as Archibald Postlethwaite."
He gave her a meaningful look, a silent reminder of all that passed, spoken and unspoken, between them. "Only 'almost', Miss Fisher," he reminded her pointedly.
...
They sat together on the love-seat in the parlour after their meal, Jack angled into the corner and Phryne curled up at the other end, not quite touching, each sipping from a tumbler of whiskey.
"I've missed this," Phryne remarked suddenly.
"Surely you have plenty to keep yourself occupied?"
"Surely you do as well." He tilted his head from side to side in answer. "But it isn't the same."
"No," he agreed, "it isn't." Aware that the topic was edging perilously close to dangerous territory he shook himself and abruptly changed the subject. "So, tell me about your latest case. I understand that you were out of town for a day or two."
She smiled at the thought that he had cared enough to know that. "Almost a week, actually."
"And yet, not a single dead body?"
"None at all, but you wouldn't believe the trouble I had..." and she launched into a tale of runaway ne'er-do-well fiancés, parochial backwater towns, and unexpected mobs of kangaroos that soon had him chuckling quietly to himself and wondering, not for the first time, whether he should consider leaving policing and asking Phryne to take him on as a partner in her detective business. It really did seem to be much more fun.