Chapter Six

The Detective Chief Inspector extricated himself from the boudoir at a horribly early hour the following morning, in preparation for a hard day's prosecution of blackmailers. Miss Fisher, having dozed off successfully only an hour previously in her half-recumbent position, was not available for comment, and he wisely left her to sleep.

It was therefore a couple of hours later that she swam back gradually into consciousness, with the awareness that she was not alone.

Determined to assess the threat as soon as the gentle fog of sleep reluctantly released her, she struggled to open her eyes slightly, and met a remarkably similar pair which were regarding her solemnly.

"I didn't wake you up, did I, Mumma? Mary Lou said I mustn't wake you up because the baby won't let you go to sleep." She regarded the bump accusingly.

Sensing a problem that needed nipped in the bud, Phryne pushed herself up a little in the bed, and patted the space beside her invitingly.

"If you'll go and ring the bell for Soo, I'll tell you about all the things you got up to just before you were born, Elizabeth. And I might just mention that letting your mother sleep didn't seem to be particularly high on your agenda!"

Elizabeth Jane Robinson giggled, ran to press the bell and then launched herself at the bed in a fashion which made her mother whimper involuntarily. Soo arrived, bearing recuperative coffee, and as the bath was running, all three of them participated in the discussion of what Miss Fisher should wear that day. As the temperature was once more verging on the tropical, a light cotton wraparound was selected, after which Elizabeth recalled that Mr Butler had been making biscuits, and thought she might go to check if they were finished yet and needing tested; so Miss Fisher was able to complete her ablutions in peace.

After a breakfast which consisted chiefly of fresh fruit, Miss Fisher and Mr B sallied forth to drive to Footscray. The lodgings in which Gillander had stayed proved to be small, but very neat; the curtains in the window were a little threadbare but scrupulously clean, and the front step, Phryne noted approvingly, had recently been scrubbed.

The lady who answered the door appeared recently to have been scrubbed, too - her complexion was ruddy, suggesting that in this house, Friday was washday. She blinked at the vision of fecundity before her, but the combination of the impeccable accessories, up to and including Mr Butler, had her standing back to invite the visitor in even as the visitor was proffering a business card.

"Come through to the front room, Ma'am" said her hostess, a Mrs Little. "How can I help?"

Selecting a chair as much for its height from the ground and the availability of arms to assist with the process of exiting it in due course, Miss Fisher regally accepted, then explained, with due solemnity, the reason for her visit.

"Oh dear! Oh, poor Gill," was the response. Mrs Little flourished a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with what was evidently real grief. "How did it happen?"

"His heart," said Phryne briefly. "Although the doctor wasn't immediately sure why it should have given out just then. The post-mortem is being conducted this morning, and we'll know more soon."

"Oh dear," said Mrs Little again, this time with a hint of distaste so often found amongst the law-abiding classes for the due process of law.

"He didn't seem particularly old?" asked Phryne. "I'd have guessed … in his forties?"

"Just turned fifty," corrected Mrs Little. "We had a special tea for him last month, and I baked a cake and everything. Oh dear!" her eyes watered up and she resorted once more to what was clearly a favourite litany.

"Really? He was in very good shape, then," observed Phryne.

"Oh, he was always up and doing," sniffed Mrs Little. "Every waking hour he'd be somewhere around Port Phillip. Him and his rocks!"

"Yes," Phryne agreed, "there are certainly plenty of those. Did he collect them from all over?"

"No-o-o," replied Mrs Little, considering. "No, I think most of what he collected was quite recent - up in Keilor he was, most of the last few weeks. Come home every night filthy, and with another bag of the things." She shook her head. "I tried to put my foot down, time and again. But would he listen? Says Keilor's really important," she paused, and smiled wanly, "Important for sheep, I said, but he just kept right on digging up his rocks."

"I must say, I hadn't heard of there being a dig at Keilor," commented Phryne, "but if he found artefacts there … I should perhaps ask one of my contacts at the University for advice. Unless you think I should send them to his sister?"

That, at least, raised a smile. "I don't think she'd thank you any more than I would, Miss Fisher! No, you write and tell her, but I don't think she'll want all those dirty old rocks. Gill said they were his heritage, and that nobody had a right to them except the Aboriginals."

"Was he working with anyone?" Phryne pressed.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. No, I'm sure he wasn't. He didn't trust anyone, you see. He said that as soon as the white men knew about his find, they'd steal it all." Phryne mused, and guessed that there was a great deal of substance to the fear; her disposition of the artefacts would need to be done sensitively.

"Could I, perhaps, see his room?"

Mrs Little flung out a hand. "You're welcome, I'm sure, but there's little enough to see. He said his spare suit could go to charity, because there wasn't room in his box."

"So he was leaving for good?" Phryne remarked. "I suppose that explains why he wanted all the artefacts with him."

She rose; promising to keep in touch with Mrs Little, Miss Fisher rejoined Mr Butler in the Hispano.

"Home, please, Mr B," she announced. "By all accounts, the late Mr Gillander was a healthy sort who spent most of his time in the outdoors. I want to see if the medical profession concurs. In fact …" she mused, "I wonder if I could get the medical profession to come round for a cocktail this afternoon? Dr MacMillan does rather like my whisky." She patted her bump resignedly. "It's just a shame that this thing has yet again put paid to my taste for spirits."

"A medicinal glass of champagne might be just the thing, madam," offered her driver consolingly.

Miss Fisher smiled wryly. "The sheer excitement will probably have the child popping out straight away. I shall tell Mac to bring a pinny!"