Kerry Greenwood - Urn Burial

‘I took a fancy for a little swim with all my clothes on,’ she said tartly. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To look for the Major. I’m going back along the bridle path, Tadeusz is going along the road as far as he can, Miss Fletcher is taking Brindle along the riverbank, and Willis is covering the paddocks.’

‘Fine. Go ahead.’ Phryne waved the cigarette. Tom stared, then shrugged. Phryne and Lin Chung began their walk back to Cave House. The poet passed them on a thoroughbred, riding as easily as if he was sitting in an armchair, with a stock saddle and long stirrup-leathers. Something about his seat jogged Phryne’s memory. She had seen someone riding that way before. A parade came back before her eyes. Men riding through Pall Mall, and hats loaded with waving emu feathers.

An hour later, much recovered, Phryne and Lin Chung watched Hinchcliff question the staff. The butler had been shocked by the danger into which the honoured guest had been put, and was adamant that he had not locked the door. He had checked the door on his usual rounds and, finding it locked and the keys gone, had assumed that Miss Fisher had concluded her visit and had carelessly taken his keys with her.

The combined anxiety of Dot and Li Pen had persuaded the household that something was wrong, and a search had revealed the cellar broken open and the prisoners gone. Li Pen and Dot had met the bedraggled adventurers as they dripped up the gravel path to the door.

Phryne had been bathed and scolded by Dot, Lin had been bathed and scolded by Li Pen, and both were feeling virtuous and comfortable.

‘Now, I will know the meaning of this,’ the Butler began portentously. ‘The keys are here, they were left on the kitchen table. Who locked the cellar door?’

The maids exchanged glances and shook their heads. Doreen plucked up courage and said, ‘It wasn’t me, Mr H, or Annie. We was together with Mrs Croft in the kitchen, having a cuppa. I couldn’t get into the room I was meant to be cleaning, because Miss Fisher’s had a lock put on her door, and Annie couldn’t do the billiard room while the gentlemen was playin’. So we came down here. We’ll do the rooms later.’

Mr Hinchcliff looked at his wife – the housemaids were her province – and Mrs H nodded. Mrs Croft spoke up. ‘And the skivvy was washing up the whole time – I could see her.’

‘We ’aven’t been in the ’ouse all day,’ grumbled the gardener, and his boy muttered, ‘Too right.’

‘I was in the stables tryin’ to fix that flamin’ dray,’ said Mr Willis, ‘and me boys with me.’

‘I was in the toolshed, looking for bits and pieces to finish that model for Alfred,’ said Mr Jones. ‘He was with me.’ The boy spoke up, impelled by a poke from the toe of Mr Jones’ shoe. ‘’Sright, Boss, we was.’

All eyes turned to the only remaining member of staff.

‘It was me,’ confessed the mechanic. Phryne looked at him properly for the first time. Mr Paul Black was a strongly built, thickset man; a contrast to the tall slim Jones. His face was scarred, so liberally smeared with grease that it was hard to guess his features, and his lank black hair was apparently styled with sump oil. ‘I saw the door open and I couldn’t see anyone inside. The light wasn’t on, so I assumed that Mr H had forgotten to close it. The keys were in the lock. So I shut the door and locked it and left the keys on the table,’ he said, in a whining tone which set Phryne’s teeth on edge. She spoke coolly.

‘Mr Black, the light was on. I have since ascertained that the string for the light has been cut. You must have known we were there.’

‘I thought . . . you mighta wanted ta be alone,’ he grinned, and Phryne fought down an urge to start throwing things. There was a fine heavy skillet to hand and she thought that Mr Black’s looks could hardly be damaged further by a good solid metallic impact. And this would make Phryne feel much better.

‘Then you knew we were there and you shut the door anyway?’ asked Lin Chung relentlessly.

‘It was a joke!’ wailed Mr Black.

‘A joke?’ bellowed Mr Hinchcliff, filling up with air like a bloater fish. ‘Out you go, my lad, and that today. Get your traps.’

‘Hang on, you can’t fire me!’ protested Mr Black. ‘I demand to see the Boss!’

‘You can’t, he’s out hunting for the Major,’ said Phryne. ‘So you want to stay here, Mr Black?’

‘Yes.’ He hung his head, then knelt and pawed at Phryne’s immaculate knee. ‘Don’t let ’im fire me, lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the water came up that high. It was just a joke, lady. Please!’

Lin Chung removed the dirty hand and Phryne stood up.

‘We shall see, Mr Black,’ she said. ‘Turn out your pockets, please.’

‘Eh?’ He gaped at her, still on his knees.

‘Your pockets, Mr Black,’ she insisted. Li Pen held Mr Black terribly still in some oriental hold while Lin and Mr Hinchcliff searched him.

‘Interesting,’ said Phryne. There was the string from the light, neatly rolled into a little bundle. There were seven shillings and threepence, a spark plug – she had never known a mechanic who did not have at least one spark plug on his person, it was a badge of office – a clasp knife, an indelible pencil, and a bunch of keys. Mr Hinchcliff pounced on them and exclaimed, ‘Mr Reynolds’ lost keys!’

‘Let’s see, what else? A few wood shavings, a box of matches, a packet of Woodbines, nothing else of consequence. Let him go, Li Pen, if you please,’ said Phryne very politely. Li Pen was holding a man twice his own weight helpless in an effortless and efficient manner. She was always likely to respect anyone who could do that.

Li Pen released Mr Black and he scooped his belongings back into his pockets, shaking with outrage.

‘There now. You shall see the Boss when he comes back from his ride. But I’d spend the time packing and paying off any small debts, if I were you. I know that the road to Bairnsdale is cut, but you can get to the township of Buchan from here, cross country, and the walk might do you good,’ commented Phryne.

Mr Black snarled, showing broken teeth. For a moment it seemed that he might attack this smooth, insolent woman, and Phryne saw a smile of pure anticipatory happiness cross Li Pen’s bronze face.

Then Mr Black spun around and threw himself out of the kitchen. Phryne and Lin Chung withdrew, hearing Mrs Croft say savagely behind them, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. Now, I’ll just put the kettle on, and we’ll all feel better for a nice cuppa tea.’

‘Was it a joke?’ asked Lin. ‘If so, I fear that I will never really understand Western humour.’

‘It wasn’t a joke,’ Phryne assured him soberly. ‘Now we know where the man in boots went with Lina’s body. Li Pen lost him by the riverbank. He just walked to that little bay, went in through the tunnel and laid the body in the sarcophagus. Doreen says that the bit of material is from Lina’s nightdress. Mrs Reynolds gives her old clothes to the staff, and Lina bagged a rather good pale-blue silk negligee, over Doreen’s spirited bidding, apparently, which is why the girl remembers it. The body was there.’

‘Then where is it now?’

‘Best place to put it would be the river, now it’s running so strongly.’

‘Yes, but wait a bit – why didn’t he throw the body into the river in the first instance? He had no need to go to all that trouble,’ protested Lin Chung.

‘Perhaps he wanted to keep her.’

‘What on earth for? You are chilling my blood, you know.’

‘Nonsense. Your blood doesn’t chill that easily, my dear.’ Phryne smiled up into his face. ‘Who can fathom why murderers do things? Perhaps she reminded him of his mother. Perhaps she still held some attraction for him – what a revolting thought. Come on, I’m hungry, let’s see if we can get something to eat.’