Death Before Wicket: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 10 Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t want Joan’s sister to hear,’ said Phryne, laying a pound note on the table. Mrs Ryan scanned Phryne’s face. The widow laid a workworn hand over the money.
    ‘God love you, you’re fast on the uptake for all you’re a highborn lady. I think Mrs Thompson took the bad path. I saw her collected from here every night for a week by Tillie Devine’s motor car, and she came home God knows how late. Her husband knew, too. Pleased to take the money, maybe, though he beat her for being a whore. Where she is now I don’t know, but you could always ask Tillie, though she’s a wicked strong brawling woman. Hush! They’re coming back. She’s lucky to have a devoted sister who is a good girl, anyone can see that,’ added Mrs Ryan. ‘But I don’t know that she wants to be found.’
    That was Phryne’s fear, also. But she said nothing to Dot: she would find out soon enough. If twenty pounds was the price for a man’s life in Sydney, what could a woman possibly hope to realise on her own virtue?

Three
     
But this measure [to establish the University of Sydney] this which is to enlighten the mind, refine the understanding, to elevate the soul of our fellow men; this, of all our acts, contains the germ of immortality—this, I believe will live .
    William Charles Wentworth, speech to the Legislative Council
    B y the time Phryne arrived at the lodgings of that advanced young Modernist Chas Nuttall it was already three o’clock and she was getting tired. The slums were oppressing her spirits and what she had heard about Tillie Devine had not elevated them to any degree. She had come a long way from the East End slums where she had been born. Somehow, Phryne doubted that she had a heart of gold. In fact, she was reputed to be even more dangerous than Kate Leigh, Queen of Sly Grog, who ruled the other vices in the Cross. No one seemed eager to assist Phryne in her inquiries as to where the elusive Miss Devine could be found and she had been tracking in circles all afternoon.
    ‘Dot, I think I need some advice before I go any further,’ she said to her maid.
    ‘Advice, Miss?’
    ‘Yes. I need to talk to a cop; I’ll ring Jack Robinson and get him to find a useful one for me, and I’ll comb the dens of iniquity tomorrow. If Chas and his friends haven’t seen Joan, of course.’
    ‘Miss Phryne, you don’t think my sister is in any danger, do you?’ asked Dot. ‘If you did, you’d go and find her right now, even if you do have to dine with the Vice Chancellor.’
    ‘Sorry, Dot dear, I really am sorry,’ said Phryne. ‘But you’re right. I don’t think she’s being held against her will, no. I think she’s fallen into bad company. That doesn’t make her any less your sister, nor am I less concerned about her. But I’m not getting anywhere asking questions from the outside. I need an insider—perhaps Chas, perhaps someone else. I need the equivalent of Bert and Cec. This looks like the bell,’ she added, and pressed it.
    A window opened far above and a female voice called, ‘Who’s there?’
    ‘Phryne Fisher,’ Phryne yelled back. ‘Looking for—’
    ‘Don’t say it!’ urged a male voice behind the woman. ‘Cop this and come in, Phryne. Third floor.’
    A key tied to a celluloid baby doll bounced down the flaking blue paint of the facade. Phryne caught it. The kewpie had been filled with sand and was quite heavy.
    Phryne and Dot mounted the hollowed sandstone steps through a peeling blue door and climbed stairs. The house smelt strongly of frying onions and old mattresses. They avoided a pram on one landing (it contained a collection of newspapers and bottles) and a dismembered bicycle on the next, finally arriving out of breath at the third floor attic. The landing was gritty with fallen plaster and Phryne was out of humour. When the door opened and she could speak again, she demanded, ‘What’s going on, Chas? You knew I was coming today.’
    ‘The landlady’s been around,’ whispered