Chapter Seven

"I came here to try and find you."

"Here I am. Could you perhaps have held off for a few minutes before appropriating my chair, my desk, my office, and my men?"

She tried to charm him. Hell, she'd try anything – not since Gertie's awful car crash had she found herself so drastically wrong-footed.

"Jack, darling … we're sharing a case now. You must see that. While you've been working on the cause of the break-in, I still have to try to find the owner of the vase."

"We've shared cases before, Phryne, but I've generally been allowed to retain command of the men with whom I have worked for years to build respect and rapport." That was a jolt for her; in his office, she was always Miss Fisher. Oddly, it was the new familiarity that cut to the quick.

He couldn't recall having been so angry with her. To reduce everything he and his men stood for to the status of a party in her boudoir?

A small part of his brain told him that he should be try again to have this discussion when he'd had just one proper, uninterrupted sleep; but it was shouted down by the tired, angry part which had endured a complex but successful operation which had resulted in the arrests of three leading members of a drug smuggling gang, but had taken thirty-six straight hours of patient waiting, violent arrest and questioning before he was able to come home to sleep. Then the ball; then the break-in. It was too much to handle in too short a time, and after all, wasn't she supposed to be on his side now?

Jack went to the door of his office and opened it, asking calmly if anyone had found any leads on the Qing vase; and on receiving an affirmative response, stood back to allow the unlucky constable to enter.

Phryne had rediscovered tact, and was leaning against the wall by the window – for all the world as though the light falling through it would render her invisible.

She was rather hoping it might. In any case, she was feeling a little nauseous after the latest interlude, and being out of the sunlight helped.

Jack took his chair and waited for his man to speak.

"A vase of that description was sold at auction two years ago, sir. To a Mr Robert Lloyd."

"Two years ago? Good work, Brown," remarked Jack.

"Thank you, sir," the man relaxed slightly – he should have realised the boss wasn't one to take out his wrath on the wrong person.

"I don't suppose we have an address?"

"Yes, sir." He rattled it off.

"Thank you, Brown, carry on."

The constable scurried away, relieved; Jack stood and went to the door, holding it open politely.

"Miss Fisher?"

Casting him a worried glance, she crept past him to the front desk, where one junior constable and one sergeant were busily marking paperwork in indelible pencil and studiously avoiding interacting with anyone. Lin Chung had weighed up discretion, valour, and his affection for both Mr and Mrs Robinson and decided she would be better able to defend herself if he left.

"Collins?"

The Senior Constable, who had been exchanging notes with his wife, sprang to attention. "Sir."

"Miss Fisher and I will go and interview Mr Lloyd about our respective cases in relation to the Qing vase. I don't wish to alert him unduly at this stage, so we will not need assistance. We will travel in Miss Fisher's car, and I do not expect to return to the station today."

"Yes, sir."