Murder on a Midsummer Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

such a lovely voice, deep and . . . and he knew where all the valuable things were in Melbourne. When there was an auction he was always there. Especially deceased estates. He used to say he knew more about the riches of the city than any burglar. And he bought things that you wouldn’t think would sell, like that awful colonial furniture, wood with the bark still on, like that three-legged table,’ said Sophie, pointing out a roughly circular table made of a slice of tree for the top and three not very similar branches for the legs. It had clearly been recently repaired and was clamped until the glue set.
    ‘It’s rubbish all right,’ commented Cedric, who was sipping his final beer to make it last. ‘Like you said, Soph. Old bushies made stuff out of unseasoned timber tied together with spit and baling wire because they didn’t have nails or planes or any of them other things. Then rich people actually wanted to have this stuff in their houses, when they could have a Sheraton chair—I dunno. But I remember the first lot of colonial rubbish, came out of a farmhouse in Horsham, I laughed when I saw it, but Aug said, “You mark my words, this will be worth our while, Cedric,” and blow me down if he wasn’t right.’
    ‘He had very good judgment,’ said Sophie. ‘They call it a nose. He had a lot of friends amongst the dealers and the junk shop men, old friends of his father’s, and he went round to all the shops, even the really dreadful old wares ones, just in case.’
    ‘Old wares?’ asked Phryne.
    ‘The ones which stock old tins and rusty screws and bunches of keys without locks and chain link fencing without any links,’ put in Dot.
    ‘That’s right, Dot dear, you’re a rubbish pile veteran, aren’t you? Have you ever seen anything worth buying in an old wares shop?’
    ‘No,’ said Dot. ‘But I wasn’t looking too closely.’
    ‘But the boss, he would look,’ said Cedric. ‘He used to come home filthy—and didn’t his mum create!—because he’d been burrowing into a pile of old iron. And like as not he came up with something we could clean up and sell.’
    ‘Yes, remember when he found that big silver platter? It was tarnished black and the old wares man sold it for tenpence,’ put in Sophie, showing her first signs of animation. ‘Took me eight goes of bath brick and then three of Silvo to clean it up. Had to do the curlicues with a matchstick. But it sold for fifteen pounds and Mr M gave me a commission for the extra work.’
    ‘He was good like that,’ said Cedric, putting down the empty bottle. ‘Well, this is nice but it ain’t buying socks for the baby. You want me to keep on with the work?’ he asked Phryne.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Whatever you have in hand. Mrs Manifold shall pay you until she decides what she is doing with the shop or I’ll know the reason why.’
    ‘Reckon you will,’ said Cedric, nodding, and went back to his bench. Now that she knew, Phryne could see the drag and swing of his artificial leg. He was conscious of her gaze. ‘Nice bit of mahogany here,’ was all he said, but Phryne looked away quickly.
    ‘And you,’ Eliza told Sophie. ‘You can help with the investigation.’
    ‘Well, why don’t you both stay here and go through the inventory with Sophie,’ Phryne suggested. ‘And if she can give me the address, I’ll be off to see Mr Manifold’s best friend, Gerald Atkinson.’
    Phryne collected the address and left. She could leave Eliza to cope with Mrs Manifold’s wrath when she found her beer gone and the level in her very own private gin bottle sensibly reduced.

    ‘What do they call this place, sir?’ asked Vern.
    ‘The desert of Sinai,’ replied the officer. ‘No, sorry, the bloody desert of bloody Sinai.’
    ‘In bloody Palestine,’ Vern completed the ritual.
    ‘Never mind, we’ll be going back after remounts soon,’ said the officer. ‘After Roumani.’
    There was a silence. The stars blazed as close as