Free Ruddy Gore by Kerry Greenwood Page B

please.’
    ‘White peaches,’ Phryne picked one up and sniffed the furry skin. ‘Divine! Get me an oodle or so, Mrs B.’
    Mrs Butler gave the order for five pounds of peaches, and Phryne watched as the man trotted out to his cart, weighed out the vegetables and fruit, then came back to tip the basket gently onto the table. Peaches rolled and Phryne caught one.
    The Chinese trader took the money and went; Phryne had not heard him speak.
    ‘The best fruit, Mrs B?’
    ‘Yes, Miss, but it has to be washed. They use 75
    nightsoil on the fields.’ She took the peach out of Phryne’s hand and rinsed it under the tap. It looked depressed.
    ‘I believe I’ll wait until it fluffs up again, Mrs B.
    Have you always bought our fruit from the Chinese traders?’
    ‘Yes, Miss, except for the heavy stuff, potatoes and onions, they get delivered by the greengrocer,’
    Mrs Butler told her a little stiffly, as if her house-keeping might be in question. Phryne smiled.
    ‘I leave it all in your capable hands, Mrs B, you know that. I’m just curious. Now I’d better get back to my conference. They may have got to fist-icuffs by now.’
    A heated argument about the reality or otherwise of ghosts had resulted in Sir Bernard calling Robinson a bone-headed rationalist and Robinson retorting that Sir Bernard was credulous. Dr Fielding seemed bemused. Phryne walked decisively between them.
    ‘Gentlemen, please. Jack, I’d remind you that Shakespeare believed in ghosts. Bernard, you are not to insult a policeman who is trying to help.
    Now, I suggest that you all go home and get some rest, and I’ll see you tonight at the theatre. Five o’clock – that should give us time to talk to everyone again, without keeping the poor darlings up all night. Even actors need their sleep, you know.’
    Sir Bernard bowed, and Jack Robinson, recalling that he was full of this lady’s tea and muffins, said, ‘Sorry, Sir Bernard.’
    ‘Until five o’clock, then,’ said Phryne, and saw 76
    them all to the door with a certain relief.
    ‘Dot,’ she called up the stairs, ‘I’m not going out. Come down to lunch and then I favour spend-ing the afternoon in some research. Find me those books we were given by Madame Stella. I feel a call to the other world coming on.’
    77
    CHAPTER FIVE
    MAD MARGARET (to Rose Maybud): And he loves you!
    No, no! If I thought that, I would treat you as the auctioneer and the land agent treated the lady-bird –
    I would rend you asunder!
    Ruddigore , Gilbert and Sullivan AFTER SKIMMING seven books on the subject, ranging from the grave proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research to some extremely individ-ual tomes penned by those in constant contact with the other world, Phryne came to two conclu-sions about ghosts. One was that they demonstra-bly did appear, sometimes, in a place or for a reason, or at least a lot of otherwise sane people had encountered one. The other was that there was no scientific way to demonstrate their existence, if they had any. These theories being entirely unhelpful she shelved the topic along with the books and drove into the city.
    She was met at the stage door by Herbert Cowl.
    78
    ‘What do you want me to do, Miss?’ he whispered.
    ‘I want you to tell me everything you know about all the people in this theatre.’
    ‘Might take a while, Miss. I know an awful lot,’
    he said dispassionately.
    ‘Well, then, find out where everyone was last night. Was anyone out of their place? You know where everyone should be. Find out if that’s where they were.’
    ‘All right. When do I report?’
    ‘Come to my house when you can. Here’s a quid in advance. Is it a deal?’
    The boy nodded, stowed the bank note in his pocket and vanished up the stairs as the doorman came wheezing out of his cage.
    Phryne climbed the stairs to Sir Bernard’s office to find it uncharacteristically messy and, for once, empty. He had recently been there, for she could smell his cigar.
    She took a chair