She had reached the door and was leaving when she remembered something, and beckoned to the sergeant. He joined her.
‘Did you find the cloth?’
‘The one with the chloroform? Yes, Miss. It’s in the station. Want to walk over there with me?’
Phryne laid one hand on his arm and he escorted her down the street to the small wooden building that housed the police station. It was bare but tidy, with ledger and telephone and desk. The sergeant produced a cardboard box, from which emanated a strong stench of chloroform. He held it out. Quickly, holding her breath, Phryne shook out a strip of common white pineapple towelling, such as is supplied in public toilets and at cheap hotels. It had a faint blue thread running through it that indicated that it had belonged to someone who had their laundry commercially done.
‘Cheap and nasty, and he hasn’t even used the whole towel,’ she commented, handing the rag back. ‘I think that shows a really unpleasant form of economy. Nothing there, Sergeant. Are you going to keep this case, or will it go to CID in Melbourne?’
‘Probably to CID, Miss, which is a pity. I would have looked forward to working with you,’ he said, greatly daring, and Phryne took his face between her hands and kissed him soundly.
‘I would have liked that too, my dear Sergeant Wallace, but I’m afraid that I must love you and leave you. Farewell,’ she breezed and left to catch the train to Melbourne, abandoning a deeply impressed policeman without a backward glance.
‘If she’s a flapper,’ mused the sergeant, wiping Passionate Rouge lipstick off his blameless mouth, ‘then I’m all for ’em, and I don’t care what Mum says.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘She’ll have to go back from here as luggage!’
Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass
Phryne caught the train with seconds to spare, as Johnnie had seriously objected to parting with Jane, and had to be placated with yet more cake. Dot, with customary efficiency, had loaded all Phryne’s belongings, Miss Henderson, Jane and herself aboard ten minutes before, and was in a fever lest Phryne should miss this train and have to wait for the next, which was a slow one, stopping at all the intervening stations. Miss Henderson smiled wryly through her blisters and remarked, ‘She must be a sore trial to you.’
Dot immediately bridled. No one criticised Phryne in front of her and got away with it.
‘She’s the dearest, sweetest, cleverest mistress any woman could get,’ she declared. ‘She’s only late because she’s stopped to soothe that crying child. She’s been very good to me and I won’t hear a word against her.’
‘My apologies,’ muttered Miss Henderson, rather taken aback. ‘I did not mean any insult.’
Before Dot could reply, Phryne herself came running, flung herself aboard the train, and sat down panting.
‘Whew!’ she fanned herself. ‘I thought I’d never bribe that small monster to silence. He’s going to be as fat as a little pig if someone doesn’t take him in hand.’
The train started with a jerk, and Phryne found the novel which she had been reading, and handed to Miss Henderson her copy of Manon Lescaut. She accepted the book, nodded her thanks, and opened it. The carriage was silent all the way to Melbourne.
Phryne had telephoned ahead, and Mr Butler was at the station to meet them. Phryne’s houseman was proudly at the wheel of the massive and elegant fire-engine red HispanoSuiza, Phryne’s prize possession. Even she did not like to think of what she had paid for it, but it was worth every penny. The coachwork, applied by a master, had been lovingly polished, and all the brass and chrome glittered in the still, cold air. Jane drew in an audible breath at the sight of the magnificent car.
‘Is it not lovely?’ asked Phryne dotingly, as Mr Butler climbed out to pile the luggage in the back, and to seat the ladies. Jane nodded, awed. Even Miss Henderson seemed impressed.
‘Soon be home, ladies,’ said Mr Butler bracingly. ‘Mrs Butler has a nice small luncheon on the stove and your rooms are all ready. Nice cup of tea as soon as you get in,’ he added, as he was convinced that the cure for almost all feminine woes was a nice cup of tea.
‘I’ve rung Dr MacMillan as you asked, Miss,’ he said in an undertone to Phryne, who had seated herself in the front seat, consenting to be driven for this time. ‘She’ll be along directly, she says, and she can come to lunch.’
‘Very good, Mr B., you’ve done well. Sorry to land back on your hands after promising to be away for a week,’ she said, and Mr Butler grinned as he started the big car and moved away from the kerb.
‘Oh, that’s all right, Miss. It’s too quiet without you around.’
‘You know that we have had a murder?’ she asked, and the grey head nodded, his eyes on the road.
‘Yes, Miss, them newspaper reporters were around this morning, looking for a story. I told ’em you weren’t here, and they slunk away, but they’ll be back, though perhaps not tonight. It’s in all the papers, Miss. I’ve bought ’em, as I thought you’d like to see ’em.’
‘Excellent. Quite right. But we might keep them away from Miss Henderson. It was her mother, you know.’
Mr Butler whistled. ‘They’re up in your sitting-room, Miss,’ he said. ‘Mrs B. thought as how you might be bringing the poor lady home.’
They arrived at Phryne’s bijou residence somewhat shaken and partially frozen, and did not see much of the house as they were ushered inside to a blazing log fire and the cheering scent of hot buttered muffins, cinnamon toast, and potpourri, of which Phryne was very fond. She had two big Chinese bronze bowls, encircled with dragons, and these were filled with rose leaves and petals, verbena and orris root. Beside the fireplace was a tall famille rose jar filled with wintersweet.
‘Come in, my dears, and sit down,’ said Phryne solicitiously, ushering her guests into the salon and taking their coats.
‘A bitter day for tragedy and train journeys! Mrs B. will have some tea made instantly. Sit down, Jane, warm your hands. Miss Henderson, perhaps you’d like to lie down.’
‘No, dear, I would hate to miss this fire. What a quantity of wood. And what a heat! Oh, I do love a fire. It makes even winter bearable.’
This was the first sign of enthusiasm which Phryne had seen from Miss Henderson, and it seemed genuine. Mr Butler, having helped the ailing lady into the house, went out to park the car and assist the boy in bringing in more wood for the house. Miss Fisher was not afraid of expense in a reasonable cause and she had purchased a pyramid-sized heap of dry, split wood.
The seating provided was in the form of large, overstuffed leather armchairs and a big club settee, drawn close to the fire. The overwhelming blues and greens of the room were set off by the red light. Phryne had dropped her red mantle and kicked off her shoes, flinging herself into one of the armchairs and holding out her frozen feet to the flames.
‘Gosh, I think that all my toes would have dropped off if that ride had lasted another ten minutes. Ah. Tea,’ she added with deep appreciation, as Mrs Butler brought in the trolley loaded with the big silver tea pot and further plates of goodies. A glass of brandy and milk had been provided for Miss Henderson, and she sipped it decorously through a straw.
Jane took a cup of tea, added three sugars and a lot of milk, and was given a plate and free range among the edibles. Restraining a small cry of delight, which Phryne found very touching, she took a wedge of toast and a muffin to begin with.
A ring at the doorbell announced Dr MacMillan. She bustled in, shaking water off her rough tweed coat, and was provided with tea and muffins.
‘Oh, Lord, what a nasty day!’ she exclaimed. ‘Cold as a Monday morning in Manchester, so it is.’