The Green Mill Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

receiver away from her ear. When the shrieking had died away somewhat, she began to listen.
    ‘Oh, he hasn’t been home all night, and Charles is never away all night. What can have happened to him? And he was always delicate, if he’s caught a cold it will go straight to his chest, and . . .’
    ‘Listen!’ yelled Phryne. ‘Put a sock in it, woman, you’ll give yourself hysterics. Now, tell me quietly. Has Charles not come home?’
    ‘No,’ said a cold voice, shocked into calm.
    ‘And he has not called?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And you don’t know where he could be?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And you want me to find him?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All right. See how easy that was? I shall be over directly, Mrs Freeman, if you promise to have a good stiff dose of valerian and a nice cup of tea and not to cry any more. All right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who is your doctor? Have you called him?’
    ‘Yes. He left me some drops.’
    ‘Good. Take them, and I’ll be with you in two shakes.’ Phryne rang off and called to Dot to supply her with a hat and coat. The doorbell rang and Phryne, being nearest, opened the door.
    Detective Inspector Robinson came in looking tired and lined. Phryne conducted him into the breakfast room and ordered strong coffee.
    ‘Tea, if you don’t mind, Miss Fisher. You going somewhere?’
    ‘Mrs Freeman has asked me to find Charles.’
    ‘Has she? I can’t find no trace of him.’
    ‘Well, if I find him, I’ll hand him over to you, Jack dear, though I cannot see him as murderer material. Do you want to talk to me, or can you wait until I’ve seen Mrs Freeman?’
    ‘I want to talk to you,’ said the policeman with unusual abruptness. ‘Mrs Freeman can wait.’
    ‘All right, Jack, of course. Mr B, could you ring Mrs Freeman and tell her I have been delayed? If she cuts up rough give her Miss Rousseau’s address and tell her that she is a professional detective with more skill than I. Thanks. Jack, you look tired to death.’
    Robinson shed his coat and dropped his hat and rubbed his face with hands which, he noticed, were dirty.
    ‘Perhaps a bit of a wash and brush up, eh?’ said Phryne. ‘Guest bathroom is through there, yell if you want anything. Then you can have a brief and refreshing look at Mrs Butler’s new orchid—a cattleya, I believe—then a cuppa and you will be a new policeman.’
    Jack Robinson did as he was told, washing his hands and face with Floris soap, and going out to the fernery to be shown Mrs Butler’s flowering orchid. It was a pink and white cattleya and it cheered his heart. When he came back to the breakfast room he absorbed two cups of tea without comment and sat back feeling, if not a new policeman, at least an improved one.
    ‘Thanks. That really hit the spot. And that’s a beautiful plant. Mrs Butler certainly has a way with orchids.’
    ‘She has a way with breakfast, too, if you’re hungry.’
    ‘No, I had mine at six. Boiled grease from the pie cart. This case, Miss Fisher, is, if you’ll forgive me, bloody. I never had a case before with so many witnesses who didn’t see anything! I’ve talked to every person near the dead man in that hall, and no one saw the murder. Even a good observer like yourself didn’t see it. I can pinpoint when it happened—bar thirty-five in “Bye Bye Blackbird”. All the band saw was the man falling. Three of them stepped down to pick the poor bloke up, and he was a goner. Does that bear out what you saw?’
    ‘Yes. I had my back to him when he fell. He sort of fell straight back, stiff, dead before he hit the ground, I fear. I fell over him, his partner dropped to her knees, the other dance marathon couple fell down as well. In a moment the floor was covered in bodies. The band stopped playing and three of them came down, I remember; the trumpeter, Tintagel Stone, and someone else . . .’
    ‘The clarinet player, Hugh Anderson.’
    ‘Yes. And the man was dead then. I could see that he was dead. I said so to Charles and he