Death Before Wicket: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 10 (31 page)

‘Good Lord!’ he said after he had read it, handing it to Professor Kirkpatrick, who fumbled for his glasses.

‘Perhaps I’d better read it out loud,’ said Bisset, leaning over Kirkpatrick’s shoulder. ‘It says: “I wanted to please my father so I stole Professor Brazell’s axe because I knew it was copper-bearing ore, malachite, and my father’s a miner. My father sent a man to kidnap Miss Fisher and the Professor and keep them in the old well in the wine cellar until he could register his mining claim. He’s sorry. So am I. Jocelyn Hart.” By George!’ said Bisset. ‘How did you escape, Brazell?’

‘I had the intelligence to be trapped with Miss Fisher,’ said Brazell. ‘My advice is, always take Miss Fisher along on any perilous enterprise. S-She tipped our captor into the well, and it is about time we got him out, I s-suppose.’

‘Unless the well has filled up,’ commented Bretherton. ‘In which case the rescue is immaterial.’

‘But we should find out,’ said Bisset.

‘Always verify your facts,’ said Brazell, leading the way down the stairs. ‘A good s-scholarly principle.’

The well was occupied by a very thirsty gentleman who was swearing the air blue. Phryne yelled down to him, ‘That’s enough! I told you I’d come back by tonight and I’m early. Now climb up that ladder, and after one of these gentlemen takes your statement, you can go.’

‘Fair dinkum?’ asked the voice.

‘Fair dinkum. In fact, everything is ryebuck on a straight wire and there’s a ladder in front of you. Climb out, there’s a good bloke,’ said Phryne.

A bleared figure climbed slowly out of the well, dictated and signed a statement which exonerated him and blamed his boss, and was conducted out of the cellar into the hands of a porter who was instructed to see him out of the University grounds.

‘Well, there we are,’ said Phryne.

‘Magic,’ said Edmund Brazell. ‘Pity about my funds, though.’

‘I would have got them,’ said Ayers, ‘if I could have found my papyrus. But there it is,’ he said. He raised his head and looked Phryne in the eye. ‘And you haven’t solved my little problem, Miss Fisher.’

‘Oh, yes I have,’ said Phryne. ‘You wouldn’t tell me who was blackmailing you, and you were so frightened of him that you began to sweat when you thought of him. Why are you sweating now, Mr Ayers?’

‘It’s a hot night,’ he muttered, passing a hand over his high forehead.

‘No one else is sweating. I think your blackmailer is here. And since this is a cleansing of all hearts and nothing of this will be produced before the Senate tomorrow morning, we will ask the Dean to take a short walk outside. He doesn’t need to hear this. Perhaps Bisset will go with him and make sure that he doesn’t take to his heels?’ Bisset and the Dean left reluctantly.

‘We come now to the exposition of another little puzzle. Why did Adam Harcourt not hand over the papyrus to that bounder Marrin? Marrin was in complete control of him. He had to do as Marrin said. But Marrin wasn’t actually here. The papyrus ended up in Professor Kirkpatrick’s office because someone else intervened. You saw it happen. Someone led the entranced Harcourt down the corridor to the office of the one member of staff that no one, however hysterical, could possibly suspect of stealing anything. Someone walking beside him. Someone who had no scruple about allowing Adam to be expelled. Someone crafty enough to leave the papyrus there until it could be safely removed and sold to the highest bidder.

‘Now, what do we know about your blackmailer, Mr Ayers? Someone who has come into possession of knowledge which could destroy you. You haven’t been stealing. The Dean was the thief. You knew something about the magicians, so it might be that. And in dealing with Marrin and his form of magic, it must be sex—good old sex. If we became hermaphroditic the profession of blackmailer would cease to exist. Who would know about you? Who would manage to terrify you so efficiently? One of your lovers, of course. What could ruin a university lecturer faster than the testimony of one of his male students whom he had seduced? And who would do anything that didn’t involve any effort for a beautiful life? And who tried to ruin this demonstration, not caring that by that loud yell he risked Adam’s sanity and perhaps his life?’

Clarence Ottery rose to his feet. ‘All right,’ he said insolently. ‘You’ve got me bang to rights, Miss Fisher. You’ve really done terribly well, you know. When Joss wanted to bring you into it I went along, because not to agree would have seemed suspicious, but I never expected you to find out what really happened.’ He smoothed back his hair, immaculate as ever. ‘There’s nothing you can do to me, you know,’ he told the assembly. ‘I know that Ayers will support anything I might like to suggest, eh, Ayers?’

Ayers was leaning against the wall. ‘Why?’ he asked through white lips.

‘Because it amused me,’ sneered Clarence. ‘I liked watching you hanging onto your job and your life with one finger over the abyss. It took me so long to seduce you,’ he added, in his light, careless, boy’s voice. ‘You were frightfully moral to begin with, weren’t you? But then I took you to see Marrin, and just one night at the temple and you were mine. I didn’t love you, of course,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘I could hardly bear your contaminated touch, your wet kisses, ugh! But Bisset kept avoiding me and Kirkpatrick was a waste of effort, though it might have been amusing. But all I had to do with you, Tommy, was listen to your nauseating prattle about love and Ancient Greece and Egypt and then wait until I had you in a suitable state. Didn’t you get a shock when I told you that I had kept all your letters? And didn’t you cry buckets when you found out that I was going to tell? I had to wait until Adam was expelled, then I would have produced the papyrus and either you or Marrin would have given me enough money for a life of complete idleness as befits a gentleman.’

‘I haven’t got the money,’ Ayers choked. ‘You knew I didn’t have any money.’

‘Oh, but you would have given me the Dean’s grant,’ said

Clarence airily. ‘Or perhaps I would have gone with you to Egypt and found the tomb. Antiquities sell well on the American market. And now this meddlesome female has destroyed my nice little plan.
C’est la vie
. I’m going now. And you had better not try and stop me,’ he added, before turning his back, ‘because I know it all, and given the slightest difficulty, I’ll tell it. Might sell rather well to one of the more sensational papers, at that,’ he said.

He sauntered towards the stairs. No one moved for a moment. Then, outraged and horrified, Adam Harcourt, without thinking, stooped, grabbed and threw a bottle at the back of his immaculate head. Clarence was halted in mid-air, then knocked off his feet. He clawed for the edge, missed, and fell down the well. There was a soggy thud, then silence.

Ayers cried out and sank to the floor, sobbing wildly. The faculty stood astounded. Brazell, shuddering with disgust and pity, went to Ayers and raised him to his feet, patting his shoulder. Phryne heaved the ladder across the floor and lowered it into the pit.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Bretherton. ‘I was a stretcher bearer on the Somme.’ He climbed down into the well, reappearing moments later, shaking his head. ‘Broke his neck. Dead as a doornail.’

‘I’d be happy,’ said Ayers into Brazell’s handkerchief, ‘if the papyrus wasn’t lost. He’s been torturing me for months, months. He was mad.’

‘He came to my room,’ said Professor Kirkpatrick. ‘To talk about his soul. I thought him in earnest. But he knew where poor bespelled Harcourt had hidden the papyrus, and came to make sure that it was still there. And to practise his wiles on me! Such wickedness,’ he said sadly.

‘He was my friend and now I’ve killed him,’ said Adam blankly. ‘They were both my friends. Joss is a thief and let me be blamed. Clarence was a blackmailer and let me be blamed. I don’t know who to trust.’

‘One of the burdens of being free,’ said Phryne. ‘I suggest that we report this tragic accident to the police. He came to lift a bottle of wine and fell, breaking his rotten little neck, and not before time, the slimy little serpent. You are released, Mr Ayers, and soon will be on your way to Egypt. I suggest that you put to the Senate that both your project and Professor Brazell’s be funded. I think they’ll agree.’

‘What’s the use of going to Egypt?’ asked Ayers, wiping his face. ‘The papyrus is lost.’

‘What did Marrin say to Adam?’ asked Phryne, opening the
Proceedings of the 1902 Synod
to page 666. ‘“Give me the papyrus”, he said. But Adam was in a trance state. For Adam, Professor Bretherton’s fake was the real one. So he gave Marrin…’

‘The fake,’ whispered Bretherton.

Ayers received the original into his hands as though it was the Host.

‘And now, as Sherlock Holmes would say, “I think we will have an amnesty” in the direction of Bisset and the Book of Hours.’ They nodded. ‘And Ayers and Clarence?’ They nodded emphatically. ‘And Joss Hart? I’m willing to forgive him if you are,’ she offered. ‘And I was the one in the pit. Edmund, how about you?’

‘S-Since his theft meant that I met you, Miss Fisher, I am willing to s-state that I have been over-rewarded for merely being thrown into a pit,’ said Brazell.

‘Oh, very well, Miss Fisher, since you and Brazell have forgiven the boy. No harm done, I suppose. But not the Dean,’ said Kirkpatrick, firmly. ‘The Dean has stolen in breach of his trust, and not only has he broken that commandment, but he has borne false witness, and if that was not enough, he has shown no remorse. He must face judgment.’

‘Certainly the Dean is not to be excused,’ she agreed. ‘And now, a bottle of wine, I think. Will you join me, Professor?’

‘You may do as you wish,’ said Professor Kirkpatrick. ‘But I never drink wine on the Sabbath.’

Fortunately, everyone else did.

Sixteen

Of all the English athletic games, none, perhaps, presents so fine a scope for bringing into full and constant play the qualities of both body and mind as that of Cricket. A man who is essentially stupid will not make a fine cricketer
.

John Nyren,
The Young Cricketer’s Tutor

A
dam Harcourt struck lustily. The ball whistled past deep mid on and continued unchecked to the boundary. ‘Very pretty,’ said the aged Professor Jones, clapping both veined hands together. ‘I’m rather relying on Hart, though. Very sound, Hart. Holds up his end like a good ‘un, generally. Just the chap to support Harcourt’s aggression. And six again! Very good.’

Phryne settled back lazily to watch the game. This was, after all, why she had come to Sydney. After belting his way to a solid thirty-two, Harcourt miscalculated a Chinaman from that cunning Scotsman, Professor Kirkpatrick.

‘Wrong ‘un!’ exclaimed Professor Jones, as the ball unexpectedly rose and caught the outside edge, and was collected with efficiency by Sykes, who appeared perfectly confident when he kept wicket. He was crouching behind the stumps like a small, greying tiger.

‘Well done. As I said, there’s Hart: not wasting a ball, nudging one to give the strike to Harcourt. Next man in is Tommy Smith. Good stroke player, but rather rash. I’ve had a full account of your doings, Miss Fisher, from Brazell. Nice chap, Brazell. Of course my lips are sealed, he knows that. Never been one to gossip. Have to be sorry for poor Ayers. Imagine not appreciating sitting here in the shade and talking to a pretty woman, eh?’ He chuckled and patted Phryne’s knee. ‘Some chaps are just made like that, I suppose. It’s a hard road for them, and there’s always the chance that they’ll be put in Ayers’ position. Well, well, the wretched boy has gone to his reward and it will probably be a hot one. But there are several things I don’t understand. Who put the snake venom in Harcourt’s shoe?’

‘Marrin. But it wasn’t meant to kill. He’d been using diluted snake venom on poor Harcourt, to make him malleable and put him into trance. He knew that something had gone wrong with his attempt to steal the papyrus, and he wanted to put Harcourt back into trance, but Harcourt had broken with him, so he had to do it by stealth. I imagine that the wretch Clarence stole the shoe for him. They were hand in glove, those two. We found some very nasty publications in his room. Harcourt was meant to go back into a trance state and repeat his movements on the night he stole the papyrus. But he was out practically first ball; the inner sole of his shoe was thicker than Marrin had anticipated, poor Joss got the dose instead, and he wasn’t used to it. It was nearly death before wicket, Professor.’

‘Hart seems to have recovered well,’ remarked Jones. ‘We’ll miss Ottery, of course. It’s a terrible blow to learn that someone with such a beautiful cover drive could be a wicked person. Still, we can make do,’ he said philosophically. ‘Is that a six?’

‘Yes,’ said Phryne, watching the umpire.

‘Rash,’ said Professor Jones. ‘I always said so. See? I don’t know what they teach young men these days.’

The hapless Smith, having belted his six, had played on entirely the wrong line to Bisset’s most vicious ball, which pitched and instead of rising fizzed through at knee height and demolished the middle stump.

‘That was a very good ball,’ offered Phryne, attempting to mitigate Professor Jones’ wrath against T. Smith.

‘Yes, Bisset’s fast. He can only bowl that one once a match, but it always works. Who’s next? Ah. Smith’s brother, Mike.

Something of an oak tree. Always think we should have an oak tree at number four. Steadies the side and tires the bowlers.’