Chapter Four
"So, he seemed okay when he got into the taxi?" mused Phryne, as Mr Butler wended his way towards the docks.
"Right as rain, Miss - at least, we're all a bit hot and bothered right now. He was glad to have a seat, and said he was going to have a sleep for a few minutes. That was the last thing he said," replied Bert morosely from the back seat.
She gazed unseeingly at the passing traffic. "Perhaps someone gave him something on the boat that made him ill - or before he got on." She shrugged. "Oh well, until we know more about him there isn't much we can do."
A few minutes later they pulled up at the gates to the docks. Phryne was all set for an argument, but Mr Butler took control. "The Honourable Phryne Fisher, to see the master of the Marella" he announced to the gatekeeper, in a manner which suggested that the master in question would be cowering in gratitude at the honour being done him.
This particular gatekeeper had previous experience of Miss Fisher in any case, and went hastily to unlock the gates (or at least as hastily as his lumbago would allow, but none of the occupants of the Hispano thought it worthwhile objecting to the pace of the operation), and Cec managed to sneak the taxi in too, in the Hispano's illustrious wake.
It was thus a small convoy that pulled up in the moonlit shadow of the Marella as she lay waiting for the tide. Miss Fisher was first out of the car, but paused for a moment as she stepped onto the dockside; her head was turned away, so no-one saw the grimace, but Mr Butler hastened around the vehicle to offer his arm. Had he done so with a concerned look, his head would have been bitten off; as it was, he gave only his most charming smile, and Miss Fisher therefore acquiesced in the pretence that they were only going for the most casual stroll up the gangplank.
"Can I 'elp you?" asked a midshipman with more aggression than was strictly necessary, as she reached the deck,
"A word with the Captain, please," said Phryne, suppressing her breathlessness as she offered her card. "I need to explain why he's going to be a passenger short for the voyage."
The jolly jack-tar was markedly unjolly, but even he could see the logic, and a few minutes later they were joined by a gentleman who hadn't bothered a barber for years, and whose girth announced that wouldn't be climbing any rigging in the immediate future.
"We're sailing in an hour, so make it quick," he advised brusquely.
"Enchanted to meet you, too," remarked Phryne drily. "I'm here in connection with one of your passengers. Or at least, he would have been - he's currently on his way from the Alfred Hospital to the City Morgue."
At that, she had the Captain's full attention. "Who was it?" His gaze switched from bored to watchful.
Phryne shrugged. "Can't help you there - the only clue we have to his identity is his ticket for tonight's sailing."
The captain's attention shifted to the midshipman. "Who are we still missing?"
The man consulted a clipboard. "Nearly at full complement. Just the Ryders left to come back on board. And the Abo."
The captain nodded. "The Ryders were going for dinner. I know him - they'll be here."
Phryne, however, was focussed on the other absentee.
"And the other passenger? I think that could be our man."
The captain looked askance. "The Abo? Yeah, that's his trunk there."
"He presumably has a name," Phryne prompted gently. Her tone made the red-raggers take an involuntary step backwards, but the captain only jerked his head at the clipboard-bearer, who ran a pencil down the list.
"Gillander," he announced with the air of one pronouncing final judgement.
"Mr … Gillander?" asked Phryne.
The man shrugged. "No idea. He just said Gillander."
Phryne looked from one to the other, impatience barely contained. "And his physical appearance?"
"Abo," said the captain. "What else do you want to know? If he isn't coming back, I want that trunk taken off."
Phryne nodded to Bert, who went forward to collect said luggage.
"Approximate age?" Phryne wasn't giving up.
The captain shrugged, but clipboard-monitor was more helpful. "Pretty old, I reckon. He couldn't even lift the trunk."
"Really?" asked Phryne, interest sparked. "So he needed help with his trunk?"
The question, though, appeared to cause some discomfiture. "He managed," muttered clipboard-monitor.
Everyone's gaze switched to Bert, who had now arrived at the box in question. He bent down, prepared after the conversation to find it a challenge, but not beyond the strength of a red-blooded Australian. He grasped the handles at each end of the box firmly, knees bent, and stood up.
Or tried to.
There are occasions where the word "strewth" is sufficient shorthand for "In God's Truth, this challenge is too great for an Australian to master".
This wasn't one of them, so Bert muttered something less admissible and yelled to Cec to Give Us A Hand.
Obliging as ever, Cec trotted up the gangplank and took the other end of the trunk. The two men took the strain, and then carried it off the boat. It may have landed on the dockside more heavily than was strictly intended by the designer, and the sweat pouring from both men was a clue to the task they had undertaken. The sun might have departed a few hours since, but the heat wasn't noticeably diminished.
As they relinquished the load, Cec straightened, and pushed his cap back on his head. Bert, belligerent as ever, put both hands on his hips and gave vent to his emotions.
"You let that bloke carry that trunk by himself?"
The captain fired up. "You think I'm running a ruddy holiday camp? Trunk's gone, I'm happy." He turned to his midshipman. "As soon as the Ryders get on board, we're casting off." As he started to return to the bridge, a stern voice followed him.
"Thank you, Captain. We'll get out of your way now. I don't think I caught your name?"
Every so often, the Collingwood girl could produce cut-glass tones.
They certainly cut the Captain to the quick.
"Bailey".
The word was thrown over his shoulder ungraciously as he launched himself at the stepladder.
The "thank you" was only mouthed after him by the Lady Detective, who then processed in dignified manner to the quayside.