Chapter Eight
No words were uttered on the journey to return to the boat to the hire shop; nor as the Inspector got into the car, ignoring the likely effect of Wet Policeman on its smart leather upholstery; and certainly not when she pulled up outside 221B. Mr Butler had heard the engine and opened the door to them; his jaw dropped at the sight of the Dripping Detective, but a glance at Miss Fisher, whose eyes danced as she held a finger to her lips, had his poker face restored in an instant and he helped the Inspector out of his overcoat as though it wasn't twice its normal weight and getting them ahead with the next scheduled mopping of the tiles on the hall floor.
Jack squelched upstairs. Phryne stopped to whisper to Mr B that the picnic basket was still in the car, and crept after her husband.
Not until he had surfaced from an extended period ducked under the surface of the hot bath she drew for him, took the glass of scotch she handed him and sipped it gratefully did he look her in the eye.
"The worst part is that whoever it was got away."
Deciding that least said, etc, etc, was probably the most tactful approach, she agreed.
"We'll just have to move on to plan B, Jack. Go and ask the University about their former employee who's suddenly decided that a life on the ocean wave is more fun than polishing dreaming spires, or whatever it was he did for them."
By the time Jack emerged from the bath, Mr Butler had magically spirited away his wet clothes and left replacements laid out; and Jack took a moment to wonder what on earth he'd done before he had a Mr B to look after him. The memory was, however, so dim, so distant and so utterly devoid of Miss Fisher that he decided not to linger over it.
"Then I'd like to get Collins back again, and Dot if she can join us. We could end up having to interview the entire staff of the University, so the more people we have, the better."
His suggestion was welcomed with alacrity, and a telephone call was all that was required to encourage Mr & Mrs Collins – or, in professional terms, Senior Constable Collins and Miss Dorothy Williams – to meet them at the University.
As the University had already been observed to welcome Careful Drivers, the Inspector took the wheel of the Hispano. Miss Fisher whiled away the journey spotting traffic infractions on the part of other motorists, which became more and more ridiculous as time went on.
"She clearly can't drive. She's going far too slowly for safety. I demand you arrest her instantly, Jack."
"Inspector, can't you arrest him for having a very loud sign on the side of his van? Last time I checked, people are entitled to peaceful enjoyment of their property and there's nothing peaceful about O'Malley & Sons' taste in advertising."
"I'm quite sure he doesn't have a licence to carry that chicken in the front seat."
Suffice to say that when he pulled up outside the University buildings, he had to spend a few minutes with his face buried in his hands before he felt quite able to present the necessary solemnity to the academic authorities.
"Sir?" The worried face of Constable Collins appeared at the window. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Collins, thank you," Jack responded, manfully ignoring Miss Fisher's mutterings about how properly to apply the handbrake when turning on gravel.
Instead of marching through the front door, they decided to try the Servants' Entrance – or rather, the door at the back of the building marked "Estates Manager".
The Estates Manager was wearing a smarter suit than Jack's (albeit Jack wasn't in his best suit, because being on a case with Miss Fisher was rapidly proving destructive in the suit department) and had an abrupt manner that suggested someone who Got Things Done.
"No, Inspector, no staff missing, I'm happy to say. All present and correct," he announced firmly, and stood as though the interview was over.
Jack prevaricated. "Are you sure? You must have a great many people to supervise – isn't it possible that one has failed to report for work, and simply been overlooked?"
The pitying look was thinly veiled. "Inspector, you may have difficulty keeping track of your men – I know where every one of mine is from one hour to the next, every day, and the first thing I hear of in the morning is the failure to report for duty of one of the staff."
Jack could almost trace the mud of the trenches in the man's demeanour.
"In that case, sir, I'm sorry to have wasted your time. What I would like to do, though, is – with your permission – waste some of ours."
"What on earth are you talking about, Inspector?"
"There is a man who claimed he worked here who has now gone missing. We would like to speak to him in relation to a recent crime," said Jack cagily. "If it is at all possible that one of your men has seen our suspect, that would help us a great deal."
The man clearly thought that the police must have more time to waste than he originally supposed, but he agreed to allow them free rein, even going so far as to suggest the places at which the greatest concentration of his very diverse team might be found.
They split up; Hugh and Dot started with the kitchen staff and Jack and Phryne in the grounds. Both couples had a copy of the Luna Park photograph.
The grounds staff were marvellous, thought Miss Fisher. The weather was warm, and they were generally engaged in the trimming of one of the long hedges while stripped to the waist. She let the Inspector ask the questions while she stood to one side, smiling admiringly.
The Inspector was slightly less enamoured, not least because none of them had seen either Ellie or Fred.
"If there's any more of that, I'm confiscating your illegal copy of Lady Chatterley" he muttered as they walked away.
"Oh, Jack, don't be such a spoilsport," she grinned.
As they returned to the main building, they met the Collins' hurrying towards them.
"Miss!" exclaimed Dot in an urgent whisper. "Miss, we've found something!"
Jack looked to his constable. "What is it, Collins?"
"Sir," he was as excited as his wife. "It's about that bloke Fred. One of the cleaners recognised him."
"So he does work here?" asked Phryne.
"Not in the way we thought, Miss," replied Hugh. "He's not an employee – he's a student. Or rather, he's just finished being a student. She – the cleaner, that is – thinks he's very clever. He's studying medicine. His name's Frederick Hawkins."
"And – let me guess," asked Phryne, "He hasn't run away to sea?"
"No, Miss," confirmed Dot. "She thinks he's usually in the lab around now."