"Tell me we have a case against her," Phryne asked an hour later, as Jack carried Bernard's signed statement back into his office.

Jack shook his head grimly. "She's been very clever. The evidence against her is all circumstantial, and Bernard's statement can be dismissed as he said, she said. We've no witnesses, not a drop of blood on Mrs. Postlethwaite; not even a fingerprint to connect her to any of our murder weapons."

"So what are we going to do? We can't just leave her running around at large; at the rate she's going the rest of the family will be dead within a week, and while process of elimination may be a perfectly sound deductive method, in this case I really think that would be carrying things a little too far."

"I agree." He drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "Which is why I'm going to arrest her anyway."

"Even without a compelling case against her?"

He nodded. "Indeed. Arrest her and hope like hell we turn up some new evidence before she walks."

...

"Oh, sir, thank God you're here!" Jack glanced at Phryne in confusion. This was not the type of greeting he was used to receiving from butlers, and he felt an immediate surge of alarm.

"What's going on?"

Mr. Standley wrung his hands, his distress palpable. "Oh, it's just terrible sir. Miss Postlethwaite arrived, barged on in here, and went straight to the parlour. Oh, sir, she has the master and Mrs. Postlethwaite at gunpoint. We've telephoned the police, but we don't know what to do!"

"Out of my way!" Jack pushed the man unceremoniously aside, Phryne hot on his heels. "Tell me you have your gun?" he asked over his shoulder as they headed swiftly towards the parlour.

"Of course." She drew it from her handbag as she spoke. Jack wasn't armed: if it came down to a shoot-out it would be up to her to defend them both, along with Archibald Postlethwaite. Josephine, she thought grimly, could take her chances.

They entered the parlour together, separating immediately in order to avoid providing their gunwoman with a single target. Marjorie Postlethwaite did indeed have her sister-in-law at gunpoint, although her brother appeared to be no more than a confused bystander.

"Margy, really, this is madness. Just put the gun down, old girl. Inspector, tell her."

Phryne's impression of Marjorie as a woman of considerable resolve was confirmed in those few moments. She barely glanced around as she and Jack crashed into the room before returning her attention to her target, and her aim never wavered.

"Oh, do shut up Archie, there's a good boy. It's your neck I'm interested in saving, for heaven's sake."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Archibald, hands held appeasingly in the air even though his sister had no apparent intention of shooting him, demanded in evident confusion.

"Put the gun down, Miss Postlethwaite," Jack urged in a tightly controlled tone, edging around the room. If he could tackle Josephine and handcuff her he had no doubt that the situation could be brought swiftly under control, but he knew better than to make any sudden movements while there was a gun in play. From the corner of his eye he saw Phryne moving into the space he had occupied, a position that allowed her to cover both women with her deceptively dainty golden revolver. But Jack would have to pass close to Archibald in order to reach his wife, and at this stage the man still had no idea what was going on; he might well choose to tackle him rather than allow him anywhere near Josephine.

"Sorry, Inspector, but I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, I rather suspect that my sister-in-law has at least one weapon secreted about her person, and I'd rather not join her growing list of casualties." And then, to her brother. "It seems your beloved wife has decided our family tree would benefit from a little pruning. She killed Billy and Charlotte. Three guesses who was next on her list."

"That's preposterous! Tell her, Josephine."

Up until now Josephine Postlethwaite had sat still and silent, hands held up, but otherwise seemingly unconcerned by the gun pointed at her, but now all at once she appeared to break down. "Oh, Archie, of course it is! Your sister is mad, I'm quite certain of it. As if I could ever harm anyone."

"Oh, save the melodrama," Marjorie snapped, reaching with her left hand into the pocket of her sensible lady's jacket. She pulled out a sheaf of paper and held it out slightly awkwardly in Jack's general direction. Phryne took the papers in her own free hand and passed them across. "Suicide notes," Marjorie explained. "In a progressively improving imitation of your husband's hand. Careless of you not to burn them, but I suppose even the criminally insane have their off days." She glanced briefly at her brother. "I'll spare you the more florid details, but suffice it to say you confess all: how Billy's recent return to gambling was threatening the family's fortunes once again, and how Charlotte's affair and impending divorce threatened our reputation, and how those twin threats drove you to kill them. Consumed by the fear of impending exposure, you took your own life rather than face the music." She gave her sister-in-law a scathing look. "As I said, all very melodramatic, but it was careless of you to leave them lying in your wastepaper basket. Your maid couldn't help but be curious, especially after seeing you sneaking in and out of the house the last few nights. She thought they were letters to some secret lover, but when she realised what they really were she brought them to me."

The change which came over Josephine's face at this was remarkable. In an instant the mask of submissive docility was stripped away, and her features contorted with ferocious hatred. Suddenly she was on her feet, a gun in her hand and pointed straight at Marjorie. "I'll kill that little bitch!" she snarled.

Margy's finger hesitated on the trigger. Phryne cocked her own gun, but glanced at Jack. At such close quarters she would have to kill with her first shot to prevent Josephine from killing others while she had the chance, and that was a call she was reluctant to make. Jack tensed, he but was too far away to spring, and risked placing himself in the crossfire of all three women if he tried it.

It was Archibald Postlethwaite who saved the day. Archibald the reluctant soldier, the man who, even more than Jack, was willing to do the right and decent thing no matter what the personal cost might be. Archibald, who had never laid a hand on his wife in anger, but who now leapt unhesitantly to the fray, smashing his wife's arm down and wrestling the gun away before pinning both her arms behind her back with ruthless efficiency and turning her towards Jack. "Here's your murderer, Inspector," he panted. "For God's sake, get her out of my sight." And, as Jack handcuffed and searched Josephine (turning up in the process a slim stiletto blade and a small vial of something that he could only guess to be poison), "why, Josie? Why?"