The Green Mill Murder Read Online Free PDF

for waking! The slimy creature in the heart of the rose, I wonder what it means? And I wonder what time it is?’
    She found her watch. ‘Six-thirty. I haven’t been up this early for years. And I really don’t want to go back to sleep, not if that snail is still lurking. I shall dress and go out for a nice walk. That’ll astonish the neighbours. And Dot, too. It really looks like it means to stay spring for a while; October is an iffy month.’ She found a dress and some sandals, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and caught up a handbag and house-keys.
    Phryne tiptoed down the stairs and let herself out at her own front door with a click. The sun was rising, the sky was a fetching pastel barred with dark clouds, and the air smelt fresh. The esplanade was silent as she crossed over to the path that ran along the beach. One hardy fisherman hulked over his basket on the jetty. Phryne shook her head, losing the dark remnants of the dream.
    The milkman’s horse was clopping resignedly along the road when she returned from a brisk half-hour walk. There was a massive, tank-like clattering of bottles as the cart moved. The horse stopped at each house as though it knew the route better than its employer. Phryne stopped to pat it, marvelling at how huge the creature was; six feet high at the shoulder, and as docile as a lamb. It snuffled hopefully at her hands, its lips as soft as a baby’s, and allowed her to stroke its neck.
    ‘Morning, Miss!’ hailed the milkman. ‘You been out or going out?’
    Phryne often met the milkman on her return. She felt unaccustomedly virtuous. ‘Just out for a walk,’ she called. ‘Nice day!’
    ‘Yair, it’ll be a sunny one,’ said the milkman, cocking an eye at the cool sunrise. ‘Here’s your milk, Miss. And one of cream. Gidday,’ he said, hoisting a jangling crate of empties onto shoulders almost as broad as his horse’s.
    Phryne entered with the milk, surprising Mrs Butler, who had just put the first kettle of the day on the stove.
    ‘Morning, Mrs B, I couldn’t sleep so I’ve just been out for a walk. I ought to get up early more often. I haven’t seen sunrise for ages.’
    Phryne swept past the dumbfounded Mrs Butler, and, collecting the newspaper from the front step, sat down in the drawing room to read it.
    The papers had certainly enjoyed themselves with the murder at the Green Mill. There was a photograph of Detective Inspector Robinson looking as though he would love to run the photographer in for something, and of the Green Mill itself, with Flinders Street Station in the background. There was Signor Antonio, looking distraught. And there was a photograph of the dead man. Phryne read on:
The victim has been identified as Mr Bernard Stevens, a stock clerk employed by Myer. He was thirty-four years old and lived in lodgings in St Kilda with some other young men. It appears that he was stabbed in the heart as the dance marathon neared its end. The winners of the baby Austin car were Mr Percy McPhee of Carlton and Miss Violet King of South Yarra. They danced for forty-seven hours and twenty-one minutes before the marathon was brought to an untimely end by this dreadful occurrence. As yet, no arrests have been made, though Detective Inspector Robinson (pictured above) is said to be confident of solving the mystery.
     
    Phryne smiled. Jack Robinson had not seemed all that confident when she had seen him last. However, things might have happened in the night.
    There was just time to eat her breakfast and read the rest of the meagre information in the paper before the phone rang. She had guessed who it would be before Mr Butler called her.
    ‘Mrs Freeman, Miss Fisher.’
    ‘Oh, Lord, Mr B, I bet she wants me to go and find Charles,’ she groaned, putting down an interesting column of spicy divorce news. ‘Is that it?’
    ‘Yes, Miss, I believe so. The lady is very upset,’ he added.
    Phryne went out to the telephone and said, ‘Yes, Mrs Freeman?’ then held the