Chapter Three
"Is this it?" asked Phryne, gazing in dismay at the tray beside the bed. If so, the deceased's entire property consisted of a few pounds, a travel ticket and a latchkey.
"Afraid so" replied McCafferty. He reached for the sheet covering the face and looked enquiringly at her. She nodded, and he lifted it away. The face underneath was of swarthy appearance; a full head of hair was only slightly greying at the temples.
"Aboriginal," she observed, and gestured for the sheet to be replaced. "And it was definitely his heart that gave out?"
"Oh, certainly," McCafferty assured her. "It will take a post-mortem to find out if there was an underlying condition, or if something else might have caused it, but the actual cause of death isn't in question."
Her attention turned to the effects. She picked up the ticket, and examined it. "The Marella. Passage to Queensland." She looked up at Bert. "Did he have any bags at all with him?"
The cabbie shook his head. "Nah. Said he'd put them on board."
"Then in that case," concluded Phryne, "the only thing we can do is get back to the Marella straight away. Right now, we don't even know his name."
"Are you sure you should …" McCafferty regarded her doubtfully and was glared at for his trouble.
"Oh, stop fussing, Ross. The baby's not due for ages; I'd die of boredom sitting at home, and someone's got to find out what happened to this poor man! Cec - you bring the taxi, I want Bert to come with us so that I can find out more about what happened" Before anyone had the chance to argue, she was striding out the door in determined fashion. The four men exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed; Mr Butler to try to get to the Hispano before his mistress, the red-raggers to follow orders and Ross McCafferty to find and placate his Matron.
In the meantime, Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was having a thoroughly boring time in a railway shunting yard. On the plus side, it was serving to remind Sergeant Collins that detective work wasn't exactly a laugh a minute; on the minus, the chilly atmosphere between him and City South's newest recruit, Detective Constable Lennox was doing nothing whatsoever to cool the temperature in the shed they occupied.
"Sir, it's almost ten thirty," whispered Collins. "Surely if they were coming, they'd be here by now?"
Jack held up a hand to quiet him, but was a little concerned. They'd taken position almost an hour prior to the designated rendezvous, but what if it hadn't been long enough? If they'd been observed, the whole exercise would be for nothing - and Miss Fisher would be furious.
A hiss from Lennox, though, made his heart leap. Sure enough, there were shadowy figures moving between the trucks on the adjacent line.
Jack waited for them to pass, then opened the shed door, and beckoned the others forward; a single flash with his torch had the three men positioned at the far end of the yard stealthily breaking cover. All six men approached the target, splitting so that all four avenues of escape were covered. Jack stayed on his side of the train, while Collins and Lennox ducked across to the other side; the three approaching split similarly, so that there were three men on each side of the train. They edged forwards and were almost level with the open door of the truck containing their quarry when one of the men approaching from the other side kicked a stone which bounced off the tracks, making a slight "chink" which sounded to Jack's aghast ears like the Crack of Doom.
In an instant, the door on the other side of the truck was flung open, and two figures sprang out to escape in the opposite direction to that by which they'd arrived.
That therefore had them landing straight in the arms of Collins and Lennox.
Collins' pugilistic talents stood him in good stead - the taller, lankier opponent was felled swiftly by a punch that he didn't see coming. Lennox, however, tried the approach learned on the sports field, and went for his man with a low tackle.
It didn't work. For his pains, he received a punishing knee to the forehead that would have had his opponent sent off - except there wasn't a referee for this bout. He rolled, head reeling, and were it not for Collins turning swiftly and sticking out a foot to trip the second felon, he might have got a good head start. As it was, he stumbled enough for Jack to vault over the coupling and pin him down with a knee in the middle of the back. Snapping on cuffs, he glanced over his shoulder to see the first suspect being similarly treated, and both were hauled, cursing, to their feet.
When they'd finished questioning the parentage of all the representatives of the State of Victoria there present, they turned their attention to the absence of a key person they'd planned to meet.
"Where's that b_ Fran, then?"
Jack smiled grimly. "She sent her apologies. Had a prior engagement. She wanted you to know, though, that the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher sends her compliments and looks forward to seeing you later - in the dock."
Miss Fisher's parentage was then also called into question, but as the suspects were now being loaded into the police van, no-one paid too much attention. Just as Jack was about to slam the door shut on them, one whined, "But she likes those books! She was the one supplied the last lot! You should get her for it - pure filth, they was!"
"I'm sorry you can't tell the difference between Filth and Art," replied Jack easily. "Miss Fisher certainly can. She also isn't in the habit of blackmailing the people who have it; and I think you'll find that it's an important distinction the judge will make, as well."
He slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned to the grinning man at his elbow.
"Take them away, Constable."
He saluted, and ran to join his two colleagues in the front of the van, which drove off, bouncing over the rough ground with scant regard for the occupants in the back.
Jack turned to face Collins and Lennox, the latter still rubbing his head and looking a little pale.
"A good night's work, all told. Come on, let's secure the rest of that merchandise and then get out of here."
They fell in beside him, and Lennox muttered gloomily, "A good night's work for the rest of you, sir." He glanced over at Hugh Collins. "I'm afraid you showed me up, Sergeant. Any chance you could show me that left of yours, in less pressured surroundings?"
Collins returned the look, and hesitated only for a moment. "I'd be pleased to. I run training sessions two or three times a week for some of the local lads - you'd be welcome to join us."
Jack said nothing, and neither of his subordinates saw his fleeting grin.
Diplomatic Relations Were Improving.