Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher (30 page)

And when they were up they were
(bang)

And when they were down they were
(slosh)

And when they were only halfway
(thud)

They were neither up nor
(bump)

Oh, the grand old Duke of
(thump)

Phryne began again, when she heard the buzz of a plane engine. She strained her ears, and risked a brief glance over her shoulder.

Riding up, circling majestically, the Fokker came into sight in the moon-glow, gleaming as silver as a trey bit. A faint stream of light radiated from her belly. It had worked. Phryne cheered silently, and barked her knuckles as the driver turned off the main road.

The plane was being flown by an expert—Bunji was to be congratulated. Phryne saw that the slow, sweeping circles, the most dangerous and difficult of all manouevres to attempt at night, covered the road with light while not making it obvious to the drivers underneath. They had not, as it happened, seen any other motors, as the winter attracted few people to the coastal resorts, and the locals knew better than to be out at this hour in this weather.

The road surface had worsened. Phryne kept her face pressed against the car, as the big machine spurned the stones and flung them high. One sneaked through her guard and cut her over the eyebrow. She wondered how Candida, a well-brought up little girl, would react if she had to catch her before Phryne had a chance to wash her face. Probably scream and run.

She wiped some of the blood off to clear her eyes, and then remembered that she had goggles. The struggle to extract them from her pocket, keep thumping, and not fall off in the process took her mind off the pain for five miles of gravel and a mile-and-a-half of mud.

Relieved of the fear of road gravel in the eyes, she donned the goggles and looked for the plane. It was about a quarter of a mile behind, flying as evenly as an eagle. Bunji was credited with the ability to smell the ground. The sweeping swing would have taken a less brilliant pilot straight into the deck, and it was very hard to judge how much height had been lost at the edge of each circle. The mud road was more comfortable, and Phryne prayed that they did not get bogged.

She listened for the familiar sound of the Hispano-Suiza but could hear nothing above the roar of Sid’s car.

In the cockpit of the Fokker, Bunji Ross was examining her instruments by the light of a torch. Flying speed was satisfactory, they had plenty of fuel, and the moon was giving almost enough light to fly by. At the bottom of each swoop she dropped the plane to within fifty feet of the road, and waited for Henry to call, ‘Got it!’ before she took to the air again. The engine was running sweetly. Bunji took a swig of black coffee from her thermos and offered it to Henry.

Henry gulped the bitter brew and returned the flask. He was lying on his face with the binoculars out of the hole which Jack and Bill had cut in the superstructure. Bill had not turned a hair when Bunji had announced that this was the only way she could devise of seeing out of the bottom of a plane. Hard struts dug into all the sensitive portions of his anatomy, including some which he had not known were sensitive before, but he did not care. He was on his way to retrieve the infuriating but beloved Candida.

Jack Leonard was controlling the big car with a minimum of effort. She was fleeing along this dirt road as softly as a spectre. Dot was handing out cups of thermos tea, and ham sandwiches. Jack bit into one absently. He kept the plane in the right-hand corner of the windscreen. He could not see the car which it was following, but that was according to Phryne’s orders. They would not just chase along behind and be seen, or seize the pick-up man and beat him to a jelly, because of Candida. Nervous kidnappers kill their charges. Molly drank her tea and ate two sandwiches without prompting. She was half-tranced by this midnight ride on the empty road, and was possessed by the odd illusion that all the outside world was flying past, and the car was still, at the heart of the darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When in doubt, win the trick

Hoyle’s Games: Whist 24 Short Rules for Beginners

Bert and Cec had discovered the street repairs. Bluestones were stacked into a rough wall all along Paris Street, where the workmen were replacing them with cement gutters. Several local households had helped themselves to a wheelbarrow load to construct their own rockery or a garden wall.

‘This is the place, Cec. They’ve been here a few days, too, see, the grass is starting to grow over them. What’s the last item on our list, eh? Oh, yair, the kids. This looks like a good street for kids. There’s a gang of ’em now . . . what have they got? A cat, is it?’

Cec was already running towards the group of five children who appeared to be tormenting a cat. Cec plucked the half-grown kitten out of their grasp and caught it under his arm so that he could examine it. It seemed to have sustained only a wounded front paw. One of the claws had been unskilfully cut.

‘Give me a bit of that rag,’ ordered Cec, pointing with his free hand to a pile of bandages on the ground. One of the children, a grubby girl, burst into tears and another bit the end of her plait. The smallest urchin began to howl.

‘It’s all right, kids, don’t go crook. We ain’t going to hurt you, nor take you home to your mothers neither. We just want some information.’

Cec had bandaged the cat’s front paw.

‘We weren’t going to hurt it, mister, but it wouldn’t keep still, and kept on scratching, so we thought we’d cut its claws. We didn’t know that they’d bleed,’ said a wiry little kid with a collarless shirt and knotted braces. Bert had caught up by now and was getting his breath back. The children stared at him righteously.

‘We didn’t know it was going to bleed, did we?’ repeated the kid. Heads all nodded in chorus. The grubby girl wiped her face on a far-from-clean calico petticoat. The plait-sucking child said nothing.

‘Are you the kids who play in McNaughton’s?’

They nodded again. The smallest one howled and one of the others stopped his mouth with a pre-loved rainbow ball.

‘That’s Mickey. He howls,’ said the wiry kid. ‘I’m Jim. This is Elsie,’ the plait-chewer nodded. ‘And Janey,’ the grubby girl made a bob. ‘And Lucy—she’s Mickey’s sister and she has to take him with her.’ Lucy grinned, showing that she had not received two front teeth for Christmas. Mickey was silenced by the gobstopper.

‘Listen, kids, I want some information and I’m willing to pay for it. What will it be? A deener’s worth of lollies?’

Mouths watered all around the circle. Jim considered. ‘That’s old Mother Ellis’s cat,’ he said. ‘We sort of borrowed it, and if she finds out that we hurt its paw, she’ll tell all of our mums and we’ll all get a hiding. If you can fix it with Mother Ellis, and give us the lollies, it’s a deal.’

Bert looked at Cec, who was cradling the cat. The cat, which was a fine midnight-black pedigreed short-hair and no doubt very valuable, had placed one paw on either side of Cec’s chin and was gazing lovingly up into his eyes.

‘Can you do it, mate?’

Cec nodded. Jim escorted him to the house and watched with admiration as Cec walked straight up to the front door and banged the knocker, loud. The door opened and Jim ran for his life.

Mrs Ellis was a vicious old bitch, who punctured footballs kicked over her fence and shot at trespassing dogs with an air rifle. She had never given back a tennis ball, either, or a kite, and the children believed that she sold them. Mr Ellis had thankfully given up the ghost twenty years before and no man who was not a relative had crossed her threshold since. The house was offensively clean and stank of carbolic. There was a trail of newspapers laid down the hall over the polished floor. The children called her a witch and her letterbox never missed its cracker on bonfire night.

Although the house was cold as a grave, no smoke ever trailed from its chimneys. The kids believed she had the fires of hell to warm her. She wore her thin web of hair scraped over her scalp and knotted at the back of her head, and was always dressed in black. Her face reminded Cec of a boarding-house pudding with currants for eyes.

‘Mrs Ellis?’ he asked in his soft, warm voice. ‘I’ve brought you back your cat.’

The black cat turned in his embrace and stared the old woman straight in the eye, as if daring her to start something. She saw the bandage on the paw.

‘What’s happened to him? Have those little devils hurt him? I’ll have all of their bottoms tanned if they’ve touched a whisker.’ Her voice rose to an eldritch screech.

‘The kids might have had nothing to do with it,’ said Cec reasonably. ‘It’s only his front claw that’s broken. He might have caught it in something. Does he like climbing trees?’

‘Yes, he does, the varmint,’ she said, patting her cat.

‘And it was the street kids who put the bandage on his paw and told me where he belongs,’ continued Cec, as if there was nothing in the world such as perjury. ‘He’ll be as good as gold after dinner and a sleep. The claw will grow again in about a month.’

‘You know a lot about cats?’

‘A bit,’ said Cec, who had inflicted six of them on his long-suffering landlady.

‘Come in,’ she invited, and Cec stepped inside. The watching children gasped in chorus.

Mrs Ellis took Cec into her kitchen, where an electric heater warmed the room. The four cats who had draped themselves over the dresser and chairs lifted their heads and pricked their ears. They were all beautiful. Apart from the midnight-black in Cec’s arms, there was a tortoiseshell, a silver tabby, a mackeral tabby and a ginger tom. They were all well fed and groomed. The old woman went to the ice-chest and took out two jointed rabbits.

‘Dinner, my dears,’ called Mrs Ellis. The cats rose, stretched, and approached their food with royal leisure. Cec set the black cat down by his plate and he began to eat hungrily. Mrs Ellis stroked it with her gnarled hands, and Cec found himself close to tears. He swallowed.

‘Well, Mrs Ellis, I must go. Hope that the little fellow recovers well. I’m sure he’ll be bonzer in a couple of days. Your cats are beauties,’ commented Cec. Mrs Ellis accompanied him to the door and thrust a penny in his hand.

‘Tell them kids not to make so much noise outside my house,’ she snapped, and slammed the door with less than her usual force.

Cec was met at the gate by Jim.

‘She gave me a penny for you,’ he handed it over. ‘She’s not such a bad old chook if you leave her cats alone.’

Jim stood open-mouthed. A man invited into old Mother Ellis’s house who emerges not only with his life but with a reward!

‘All right,’ said Jim, gathering his clan around the cabbies. ‘What do you want to know.’

Bert told them the story of poor Bill McNaughton, unjustly accused of killing his father. He reminded them that on that very Friday they were going to a party with Miss McNaughton, where they would be entertained and fed. Could they take the lady’s jelly and buns and ginger-beer and refuse to help her brother? Jim thought about it, and they drew off to confer. Elsie uncorked her mouth and said her first words. ‘Tell them, Jim. I trust them.’

This seemed to be some sort of talisman. Bert had the whole story in ten minutes. He marvelled at the perspicacity of Miss Fisher once again, and handed over the shilling. He had just got some new change from the bank, so it was a bright and shiny shilling. The children gazed at it as it lay in Jim’s hand. Unnoticed, little Mickey edged close to him and made a sudden grab.

‘Quick, he’ll swallow it!’ screamed Lucy. Bert, the eldest of six children, acted with dispatch. He seized Mickey and turned him upside down like a chicken to be slaughtered, then gave him a hard thump in the middle of the back. Out shot the shilling. Elsie dived on it and tied it into her handkerchief. She stowed the hankie in the leg of her bloomers. Bert put Mickey down on his feet. He howled. It seemed to be his forte.

‘Lost my rainbow ball!’ he screamed. Lucy found it on the pavement and stuffed it back into the gaping mouth. Bert shuddered, but then reflected that children, like ostriches, seemed to be able to digest anything.

‘All right, kids, we’ll see you at Miss McNaughton’s party on Friday. Not a word until then, eh?’

The heads nodded in a row. Bert and Cec went to reclaim their cab. A sudden thought struck Bert. He came back.

‘What did you want to do to that cat?’ he asked. Jim looked up from the old envelope on which he was taking orders for lollies.

He told Bert what they wanted with the cat. Bert roared with laughter.

‘You’re supposed to wait until they’re dead!’ The children blushed.

Seconds before the last of Phryne’s sinews gave out, the car arrived at its destination. It stopped in a dark spot under the gum trees. Phryne untied herself and fell backwards onto the road, before the roar of the engine died. Ann and Sidney got out of the car without noticing her, and walked into the house.

Phryne was bruised all over, and her hands and feet were cramped and pinched. For a minute she lay still, unable to move, then gently she flexed and stretched until she was able to get to her feet.

There was still plenty of paint in the bladder. Lavishly, she traced a big cross on the road. The plane flew over and dipped both wings in salute.

Success. Phryne shook her shoulders and the folds of her jacket fell into place, loaded with equipment. She drew a line to the front gate of the house, and crept around it like a Red Indian tracking a particular scalp. The only light she could see came from the back of the house. She guessed it was the kitchen.

Sidney opened the front door with his key and took the gun out of his pocket. Ann was behind him, soft-footed. The house was silent. Just three shots, thought Sidney, and I’m home and dried.

The kitchen door creaked and woke Mike. It also woke Candida who was lying curled up against his back, her thumb in her mouth and the singlet doll clutched to her chest.

As Sid crept in, Mike said contemptuously, ‘I thought you’d try that. Put it down, you murdering swine.’

‘You were right,’ agreed Sidney. ‘In a few moments the whole five thou. will be mine.’

‘You double-crossing bastard,’ spat Ann, standing in the doorway. ‘You promised you’d take me, too.’

Mike shifted his concentration from Sidney, to his wife, then lunged at her. But he was too late. Sidney had turned as she spoke and fired at point-blank range into her heart. She fell, and instead of strangling his wife Mike was now cradling her lifeless body in his arms. Sid swung round to take wavering aim at Candida. She shrieked, Mike dropped his wife and dived across the kitchen, shattering the back door with his shoulder. He pushed Candida out into the night. ‘Run!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll deal with this bastard.’

Sid fired. The bullet scraped along Mike’s arm and buried itself into the mistreated door. Then Mike had hold of the gun hand. Sidney was the smaller and weaker, but he was a tough street fighter. Mike could not get him down.

‘Excuse me,’ came a clipped voice from the back doorstep. ‘Could you possibly hold up the gun hand?’

It was an indescribably dirty young woman. Her face was streaked with blood and mud, and her features could not be told, but she had a steady hand and held a pearl-handled revolver with it. Mike gaped briefly, then hauled the gun wrist up until Sid was nearly clear of the ground.

‘Thanks,’ said Phryne coolly, and placed a neat hole in Sid’s wrist. He dropped the gun. Mike knelt on him and tied him up with the length of rope that the surprising young woman produced.

‘I really should tie you up, too,’ she commented. ‘Except that I saw you rescue Candida. We’d better go and find her.’

‘I told her to run,’ frowned Mike, kicking Sidney in the ribs as an aid to meditation. ‘She might not have stopped yet.’

‘I’ve got a lure that will bring her back,’ smiled Phryne, and produced the teddy bear from the sling.

‘Is that Bear?’ asked Mike. ‘That’s good.’ He was contemplating his wife’s body.

‘I gather she gave you a hard time,’ said Phryne.

‘It was my own fault,’ said Mike ruefully. ‘Candida!’ he called. ‘The lady has brought Bear.’

A small voice spoke from somewhere close. ‘I don’t believe you. Put him on the step.’

Phryne placed Bear reverently on the step and a rustling was heard in the bushes. A small dirty hand shot out, seized Bear by the leg and dragged him off the step. There was silence. Phryne began to be rather worried.

‘Candida? Daddy and Mummy are on their way. They will be here soon. Come inside and er, no, don’t come inside. Go out to the car and I’ll meet you there.’ Phryne heard a faint, relieved sobbing, muffled in teddy bear fur.

‘Oh, Bear, I knew you’d come. And now Daddy is coming and Mummy is coming and my lollies are coming and the nasty man is caught and the nasty lady is dead.’

Phryne went back into the kitchen. Candida was fine where she was.

‘Who are you?’ she asked the big man.

‘Mike. Mike Herbert. I didn’t want to be in this, but I had to support my wife.’

‘Did you? Why?’

‘She liked pretty things and I couldn’t afford to buy them—I lost my job, the factory closed down. I’m a carpenter. She borrowed some money off . . . a certain person . . . and then she couldn’t pay it back, and I couldn’t either, so . . . the certain person was going to send the boys around, and . . .’

‘Break both her legs, eh? Let’s have a look at her. Where did she fall?’

‘In the bathroom. I think that she’s dead. Poor Ann. She should have been born rich.’

Phryne bent over the body, supine on the oilcloth. She felt for a heartbeat in the cooling breast, and found none. The flesh was clammy and limp against her palm. She stood up and wiped her hands on her trousers.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Mike. ‘She can’t have felt anything, you know, the bullet drilled her heart.’

Mike knelt, drew his wife’s skirt down until it covered her knees, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

‘Goodbye, Annie,’ Phryne heard him say as she tactfully withdrew. ‘I would have done anything to make you happy, but it never worked. You shouldn’t have got involved with me. I can’t even bury you properly.’