Chapter Fourteen
Jack could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw what Phryne drew from her bag, when they returned to the safety of her room. Together they deciphered the details, which were exactly as they'd suspected; a transfer for five hundred pounds to an account in the Bank of New South Wales in Melbourne. Under the name McCullum Marine Maids (the mind could only boggle).
"You do realise, Phryne, that because we have this sheet of paper, the funds won't be sent?" Jack commented. "Not only do we have the proof of the McCullums' collusion, you've single handedly turned off the funding tap – at least this time." He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, soundly and jubilantly. "And it gives me enough to go to the Met for help in closing down this end of the operation. Although admittedly I'm going to have to tap dance around the felony you committed to get the evidence. If anyone asks you, we went straight from the bank to Scotland Yard."
She smiled fondly. "That's my Jack. Such a stickler for procedure and doing things the right way." She tilted her head quizzically at him, her bob swinging jauntily, "I didn't know you could tap dance, mind you? You'll have to show me some time. If it's anything like your waltz, I don't stand a chance."
He shook his head, and went to his room to retrieve his letter of introduction to Chief Inspector Alastair Warren of the Metropolitan Police. Returning via the connecting door, he took her arm.
"I think this time, we can treat ourselves to the main hotel entrance and let someone else do the driving – don't you?" She nodded regally, and they sauntered out of her room, along the corridor and descended to the front hall. The doorman touched his top hat, swept the door open for them.
"Cab sir?"
"Yes please," Jack replied. An imperious wave from the doorman summoned a cab from the entrance, and the two of them stepped in, tipping the doorman handsomely.
"Where to, guv?" asked the cabbie.
"Scotland Yard," stated Jack, and settled back with his arm around Phryne's shoulders. To hell with decorum; he'd earned this one. Phryne's hand resting lightly on his thigh suggested that she concurred with his judgement.
"Right you are."
The interview at Scotland Yard went better than Jack could possibly have hoped. Far from resenting interference from an overseas force, Warren was pleased to be handed so much of the solving of several crimes on a plate. The evidence of the telegraphic transfer was acknowledged not to be damning in itself, from an English perspective, but was retained for the Met's files in the expectation that it would shortly be joined by evidence of the criminal source of those funds. A raid of the warehouse would be needed straight away – they didn't want Lachlan to get the chance to find out his funds transfer hadn't gone through.
Phryne was at her most gracious, coming into her own when the fate of the young women was raised. She had identified two charitable organisations – one that could help those who wished to return to Australia, and the other to accommodate those who wished to legalise their stay, and seek the kind of work they had been promised when lured on to the boat. As a man whose chief concern was the apprehension of an international white slaving operation, it was understandable that Warren's capacity to cope with the white slaves wasn't a primary skill, and he gave a good impersonation as a drowning man clutching at the straws she offered.
When she was explicitly excluded from the raid on account of the risks involved, her good humour slipped just for a moment; but she reminded both officers that she was the only woman available of anything like the calibre to deal with this challenge. In fact, she went a little further. If they didn't want to add multiple homicides to the tally, they needed someone on the inside.
A woman. Obviously.
They were both taken aback for a moment. Even Jack had hoped that he might have been able to keep her out of the almost inevitable crossfire. He couldn't deny, though, that she was right. The evidence the police needed was threefold – the money, the records … and the women. If they raided the premises, they would have to expect someone on the inside to make the same connection.
Phryne's proposed solution was met with blank rejection from both of the men in the office.
One hour later, she walked out with a verbal mandate from Scotland Yard for what was almost certainly an Entrapment. At least, Coercion. She had her hopes up that she wouldn't have to settle for Mild Affray. She hadn't settled for Mild Affray for at least five years, and a girl had her reputation to consider.