Murder in Montparnasse Read Online Free PDF Page A

dinner or after?’
    ‘Before,’ he said. ‘As soon as I’ve had this sherry.’
    He sat sipping nervously, eyeing Phryne as though he had never seen her before. He exhibited, in short, all the hallmarks of a Man Grappling With An Ethical Dilemma. Phryne decided to sit him out. At last he spoke.
    ‘Got a favour to ask,’ said Jack bashfully.
    ‘Ask,’ said Phryne.
    ‘My missus . . .’
    ‘Yes?’ said Phryne encouragingly. Was the estimable Robinson about to confess to adultery? Surely not.
    ‘She’s always wanted to . . .’
    He stuck again. Phryne gestured to Mr Butler to refill his glass.
    ‘Well, you see, she knows that I often work with you, and she knows that you’re one of the nobs, and she wondered . . .’ He was actually writhing. He was, she reflected, an extremely honest policeman and this looked too much like bribery. What was he going to ask for?
    ‘Spit it out, Jack dear. Even unto half my kingdom. What can I do for the worthy and charming Mrs Robinson?’
    ‘I mean, I’d pay for them and all. But you have to be asked. Invited. Tickets to the Lord Mayor’s Ball,’ said Robinson, very fast.
    ‘And supper afterwards?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘Is that usual?’
    ‘If you’re a nob,’ said Phryne affectionately. ‘I’ll telephone the Mayor tomorrow. Anything else?’
    ‘No. Rosie will be so pleased. She’s always wanted to go to the Lord Mayor’s Ball. You’re sure you can do this?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Phryne, who was sure. The Lord Mayor had been attempting to get her to go to the ball for some time. A couple of extra tickets would be cheap at the price in return for Miss Fisher’s presence. She could suffer a few hours of having her toes trodden on by St Kilda’s Best and Brightest— a small return for Jack’s friendship and help. ‘The invitations shall be delivered in the next couple of days. Was that all, Jack?’
    ‘Quite enough,’ said Robinson, who felt that he was walking a perilous line on the edge of peculation. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’
    Phryne told him about the two dead soldiers.
    ‘I can get the inquest reports easy enough, but they probably won’t tell us much. Did they get the number of the car that attempted to run them down?’
    ‘No, they were trying to extract their friend from my hedge. I can’t judge whether this is a real case or not, but Bert and Cec think it is and they are not prone to panic.’
    ‘No, they ain’t.’ Robinson did not approve of red-raggers, but Bert and Cec had been in some tight places and seemed stable enough. Besides, they were diggers, and Gallipoli diggers at that. Any small tendency to diffidence or anxiety they may have had would have been burned out of them on those hot cliffs.
    ‘Then there is the disappearance of Elizabeth Chambers.’
    She explained again.
    ‘She’s over eighteen, still a minor though,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Can’t do much. Most runaway girls come back after a year or so with a husband . . . or a baby . . . or both, sometimes. I can put out the word to the Vice chaps and make sure she isn’t in a “house”. Not much I can do about the other states, though. I can ask,’ he said dubiously.
    ‘Also, was there any investigation into the death of Miss Chambers’ mother?’ asked Phryne. ‘Died young and unexpectedly.’ ‘If there was an inquest there’ll be a record. Someone must have signed a certificate. I’ll look into it.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Anything more?’ asked Robinson, who could smell savoury scents drifting in from the dining room. He personally never wanted to look a baked bean in its good, nourishing face again.
    ‘A funny thing, possibly nothing. Standover men in Fitzroy Street. Sabotage in the form of a burning rubbish bin and paint thinners in the butter. One was thrown through a window this morning. Anything leap to mind about them?’
    ‘I know a bloke who’d know,’ said Robinson, trying not to drool. ‘And I used to be on that beat