Chapter Two
"Miss Fisher's residence, Mr Butler speaking."
"Mr Butler, it's Hugh Collins. Er … can I ask, is the Inspector there … by any chance?" One could hear in Hugh's voice the way he was squirming under the burden of knowledge that the answer was almost certainly Yes.
"I believe he may be – would you like to speak to him?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr B – if it wasn't urgent, I wouldn't ask."
"This may take a little while, Constable – hold on."
Mr Butler placed the receiver on the table and trod up the stairs of 221B The Esplanade. Stopping outside one of the doors, he tapped gently.
"Just a minute!" came a voice from inside.
A moment later, a tousled head of black hair appeared round the door; the Honourable Phryne Fisher had hastily wrapped a chinoiserie robe around herself, and now looked at her factotum enquiringly.
"This had better be good, Mr Butler."
"I'm very sorry, Miss. Constable Collins is on the telephone, asking to speak to the Inspector. He says it's urgent."
"I think I'm prepared to take Constable Collins at his word. Righty ho, Mr B, I'll send the Inspector down in two ticks."
Closing the door, she leaned against it and chuckled at the sight of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson hastily pulling on a pair of trousers.
"You could have borrowed one of my robes, Jack – I'm sure Mr B wouldn't mind."
"He might not, but I would have," he growled. "Allow me a shred of dignity, Phryne. Where on earth's my shirt?"
She scanned the room, including a quick glance at the chandelier (based on one particularly memorable past experience). The shirt had somehow become draped over her dressing table mirror.
"Here you are." She held it for him and he slipped his arms in, doing up the buttons as he ran barefoot down the stairs and picked up the receiver.
"Jack Robinson".
"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you on your day off, but I think you're going to want to come over to St Peter's."
Jack closed his eyes. "Collins, I'm struggling to imagine anything that I would want to do less than visit a church right now."
As he spoke, a sly hand snaked around his chest and undid one of the buttons on his shirt again, sliding inside. Absently, instead of slapping it away, he covered the hand with his own and laced their fingers. A head settled on his back, just above his shoulder blade. Blessings came in all shapes and sizes, after all.
"Not for Mass, sir. There's been a murder."
At this, the head lifted abruptly. Clearly, Phryne could hear every word.
Jack sighed.
"On my way, Collins. And call the coroner's office, would you?"
He replaced the receiver. Removing the hand carefully from under his shirt, he turned to its owner.
"I suppose it's useless to suggest that you stay here and avoid getting involved, Miss Fisher?"
Phryne grinned cheerfully.
"Quite useless, Inspector. Dot will need me. They were both there, it was one of their meetings about the twins' baptism. Anyway, you know me better than that."
He quirked a smile.
"I can't deny that I do … know you quite well these days."
His words were accompanied by a sly finger running across her abdomen, across a particular spot that would make her give an involuntary shudder. With a gasp, she backed away, then turned and ran up the stairs, calling back over her shoulder in harried tones.
"I'll be dressed in a jiffy – ask Mr B to bring the car round!"
Mr Butler appeared in the doorway.
"I will fetch the Hispano, Inspector." As Mr B effaced himself, Jack turned to follow Phryne up the stairs, and attempt to locate the rest of his clothes.