Death at Victoria Dock (13 page)

Someone laughed. Dot stopped crying and tried to wipe her face.

‘Stay there,’ said a guttural male voice. ‘Stay there until it is all over. Then you shall die, Miss Fisher!’

A door slammed. Dot fought her way out of the blanket, which had indeed been used for transporting engines, wiping the grease and tears from her eyes. She was in a small room in a house, with a window which had been boarded up. She was not alone. Huddled into a bundle in one corner was a figure with straggling red hair who was crying like a funeral. The room contained, otherwise, only a litter of boxes, a grindstone, and whole generations of spiders.

‘Here, let me out!’ yelled Dot. There was a laugh from the other side of the door, but no answer.

‘Do not call,’ said the red-headed girl, wearily. ‘They will mistreat you if you make a noise.’

She unwound herself and sat up, revealing a face discoloured with bruises. She had lost two teeth.

‘You aren’t Miss Fisher,’ said the girl through her split and puffy lips. ‘Who are you?’

‘Dot. I’m Miss Fisher’s maid. Keep your voice down. If they think they’ve got Miss Phryne, so much the better. What’s your name?’

‘Nina Gardstein. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Dot Williams, and I ain’t altogether pleased to meet you. What’s happening? Where are we? Why are they keeping us here? And who beat you up?’

‘Too many questions. We are in Collingwood, in their house. They are keeping us safe until they do their bank robbery. Then they may just leave us here or they may kill us. Max and Karl beat me. Casimir held me while they did so because I was seen talking to Miss Fisher. They think I have told her about the robbery. And they are right, I have. So they were right to beat me. But if Bill finds out where I am, he may come and rescue me. I hope that he does not.’

‘Why?’

Dot had her bearings and was replaiting her hair. This action always soothed her nerves.

‘Because they will kill him. They have a Lewis gun.’

‘What’s that?’

Nina twitched a canvas cover from a large metal object. It looked disassembled.

‘This is. We cannot use it. They have the magazine. It is just stored here, like we are stored.’

‘I’ve still got my handbag,’ said Dot, irrelevantly. ‘I’ve got a comb and a purse and a lipstick and a compact and a nailfile and a book of stamps and…aha…some barley sugar. Is there water in that jug?’

‘A little, and we don’t know if we will get any more.’

‘I’ll just have a mouthful, then, and we’ll eat these lollies. Then we’ll think about how we are to get out.’

‘Will Miss…will she be looking for you?’

‘High and low,’ said Dot confidently. ‘She’ll find me, I’d bet my life on it.’

‘You are betting your life on it,’ said Nina, and took some barley sugar.

Chapter Twelve

‘Verily?
You put me off with limber vows, but I
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths,
Should yet say, “Sir, no going.” Verily,
You shall not go.’

William Shakespeare,
The Winter’s Tale

Phryne’s head was pillowed on the naked and admirable chest of her favourite anarchist, when he roused her with another kiss.

‘Mmm?’

‘Your minions are here, madam, my love, and a very worried young policeman. Should you receive them as you are?’ Phryne stretched, and Peter stroked the length of her pale body from shoulder to calf.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Must you adventure this night? I and your wharfies can do this business. I could not bear it, Phryne, that having found you I should lose you to bullet or knife. These are dangerous men.’

‘I am dangerous myself,’ smiled Phryne, sitting up and kissing him. ‘And I had better find some clothes. Besides, there is no need for you to come along,’ she added, finding her underclothes. Peter Smith protested.

‘But you do not know where the house is.’

‘I bet that Bert and Cec do.’

‘And I might be able to reason with them.’

‘Do you really think so?’

Peter collapsed back into the embrace of Phryne’s feather bed and groaned.

‘It is true. They will not listen to me. Command me,
Generale
.’ He pulled on his shirt. ‘Give me my trousers and I shall obey your orders.’

‘Good. Come down, then, and let’s review the troops. What time is it?’

‘Just after eleven by your clock.’

***

Bert and Cec were drinking beer in the salon and Constable Collins was pacing from wall to wall, refusing to sit down even when offered a drink. They all looked up as Phryne descended, clad in black trousers and pullover and soft shoes.

‘Tell me all,’ she invited. ‘You first, Constable.’

‘Miss Fisher, since this is a private war perhaps you’d better call me Collins.’

‘All right, Mr. Collins, you have been to the Latvian Club. What happened?’

‘Nothing, Miss Fisher. It was innocent and rather fun. Lots of dancing and some very nice sausages and dark bread. Not what I’ve tasted before but nice. They all danced, blokes and girls, dressed in these costumes. I danced too. They started off and finished by singing “God Save the King.” Nothing anyone could object to. Miss Williams would have like it…have you heard anything about…’

‘Nothing. Do sit down, Mr. Collins! I can’t think when anyone is pacing like a caged animal. We shall have things to do soon. I promise. Bert? Cec?’

‘Two addresses, Miss. We was lucky. Met a bloke who knows a bloke who’s a cane cutter and he’s sweet on one of these anarchist sheilas. He knows where both houses are. One’s in ’Wood and one’s in St. Kilda, just around the corner. And we got another whisper. A bloke who knows some very nasty blokes reckons these anarchists have been buying guns and ammo.’

‘Legally?’ asked Phryne. Bert gave her a scornful smile.

‘What do you think? .303 calibre, and lots of it. You know what that means.’

‘No, what does it mean?’

‘A machine-gun,’ said Bert. ‘No one wants that much .303. You’d have to shoot all the kangaroos in the country to use it up.’

‘A Lewis gun, Bert?’

‘Yair, could be.’ Bert rolled a smoke. He had not encountered a Lewis gun for more than ten years, and did not altogether want to renew his acquaintance.

‘Rate of fire?’

‘Rapid,’ said Cec. ‘Five hundred rounds a minute. Forty-seven rounds per drum. Only weighs twenty-eight pounds. Two thousand yard, sighted. Fifty-and-a-half inches long.’

‘Reliable?’

‘Yair. Air cooled. “Another ten rounds and the water’ll be hot enough for tea,” that’s what our sarge used to say about our Vickers. Air’s better. They’re pretty reliable. They were designed to cut down a row of men going over the top. And they used to, too.’ Cec shut his eyes for a moment. ‘Yair, they were effective all right. My oath they were.’

‘We got trouble,’ opined Bert. ‘Big trouble.’

‘We knew that. They won’t want to unveil their Lewis in the suburbs. Even in Collingwood the neighbours are going to complain about a machine-gun. I suppose they want it for the bank job. I don’t think that they’d dare to use it before that. In any case I am assuming that they will not, because they won’t have time. Anyway where on earth did they get a Lewis gun?’

‘Lots of things came back from the Great War, Miss. Lewis’ll strip down and fit in a few kitbags. Someone may have wanted a souvenir. One of our mates brought a whole bicycle in from the Dardanelles. Everyone carried a bit and the rest went in the hold as “engine parts,” Cec and me brought back pistols.’ Bert glanced uneasily at Collins. Even out of uniform and about to engage on criminal enterprise, a cop was a cop. Collins stuck both fingers in his ears.

‘So they could have a Lewis, easy. If they haven’t, why are they buying up big on .303? .303 is for killing people, not rabbits.’

‘Good point. All right. Now, I want Dot back. If you have to shoot a few of them to get her then don’t let me stop you. I will go to the Collingwood address with Mr. Collins. Bert and Cec, you take St. Kilda. Peter, you stay here. The number of my favourite policeman, Jack Robinson, is next to the phone. If we aren’t all back within two hours, call him. I’m leaving you here in case the house is attacked,’ she added. ‘You have two girls and Mr. and Mrs. Butler to protect. Don’t fail me.’

‘I will not fail you,
Generale
,’ promised Peter, kissing Phryne’s hand. ‘You may repose your trust in me.’

‘Oh, Bert,’ added Phryne, ‘if you find Nina Gardstein there, bring her along.’

She was watching Peter Smith, who flinched. A small flinch, but definite.

‘Don’t hurt her. I want to give her back to her cane cutter, who will get her out of the state. She might be next in line for the chop, having helped me.’

She was not mistaken. That was a wince. What was Nina Gardstein to Peter Smith?

That mystery, however, could wait. Bert and Cec went out into the night which was cool and damp but not cold. Spring appeared to have come in time to prevent house breakers from getting pneumonia.

‘How did you come here, Mr. Collins?’

‘I walked, Miss Fisher.’

‘Then we shall take my car. I’ll just go and have a word with Mr. Butler and then we shall be off.’

Mr. Collins and Peter Smith were left facing one another in the sea-green room. Peter took a seat and poured a glass of beer.

‘She’s a live wire, isn’t she?’ chuckled Collins, uneasily. ‘Do you think she knows what she is doing?’

Peter Smith smiled angelically.

‘If you repose your trust in anything, Mr. Collins, you can rely on her. She may whisk you into the night as on a broom and frighten the wits out of you, but what she swears to do, she will do. And she is very fond of her maid.’

‘So am I,’ confessed the young man, helplessly. ‘If I get caught doing this then it’s bang goes my career, but I don’t care. I only hope Miss Williams and this anarchist sheila Nina are all right.’

‘So do I, Mr. Collins. If I believed in any God, I would pray for her. For them.’

Phryne imparted her instructions to a calm Mr. Butler, promised that the war would be over soon and that after peace was declared they would live for months in uninterrupted tedium. Then she went to collect her fellow burglar.

‘Right. Don’t let anyone in, Peter. Except us, of course. And don’t drink all the beer. We’ll be back.’

Peter Smith kissed Phryne with sudden and unexpected passion, released her, and resumed his place by the fire.

***

No one had come into the room, and Dot was thirsty, dusty, hungry, and needed to find a toilet.

‘They haven’t even given us a bucket,’ she muttered. ‘Nina, can you call and ask for some water and to let me go to the ladies?’

‘To go where?’

Dot was embarrassed. She had learned the phrase in French
.

‘
Je veux faire pipi
,’ she explained.

‘Oh, I see. I’ll try. I’m so dry I mightn’t be able to call. Comrades! Even in prison one gets bread and water,’ she cried, her sibilants hissing through gapped teeth. ‘And even animals are not asked to piss on the floor!’

Dot blushed. Nina listened.

‘Someone’s coming,’ she said. She waited until the footsteps stopped and called, ‘Bread and water, comrade, and a bucket, at least! Can we dig a hole in the floor?’

The door was flung open. Dot retreated under her blanket, was seized and marched out. Her guard seemed to want to cover her face, presumably so that she could not survey the anarchists’ den. This suited Dot. She was conducted to a very dirty lavatory in the yard. Although her captor did not release her arm, she was hidden under the blanket and was able to forget about him sufficiently to make use of the facilities. She was shoved against a sink, where she washed her hands without soap and splashed her face, and then she was frog-marched back to the room. Nina was treated alike, and slapped, to judge by the sound, when she subjected her gaoler to a stream of abuse in some foreign tongue. Nina was brave, Dot reflected, but not cunning.

Nina was flung back into the cell and someone shoved after her a metal tray on which reposed a big jug of water and a loaf of sour bread. Nina tore this up and gave Dot half. It tasted odd and not at all like real bread but she forced herself to chew it and swallow calmly, sipping water in between mouthfuls.

***

Phryne steered the Hispano-Suiza into Smith Street and stopped outside the nearest pub to the address she had been given.

‘I’ll leave the car here,’ she explained to Collins. ‘We walk. This is a tough place but not as tough as other places I have seen. Stand up, man, don’t look so furtive. If you look like a victim, people will treat you like a victim. Look like you have a place to go and you can breeze through most things. Don’t look anyone in the eye,’ she added. ‘It attracts the wrong kind of attention. There, see? There must be an SP down that lane. There’s his cocky. And he hasn’t moved. We pass muster as innocent bystanders. Come on. This is the house.’

It was a worker’s cottage. The front windows were heavily curtained, and the letterbox in the door had been blocked. Weeds grew high in the front garden. While it did not actually have ‘Den of Bolsheviks’ painted on the front door, Phryne was sure that she was in the right place.

Parked in the street was a black Bentley with one tyre flopping from its rim.

‘How do we get in?’

‘“When dealing with suspicious folk, boldness is all,”’ quoted Phryne. ‘We bluff them. Have you got your badge?’

‘Yes, Miss Fisher.’

‘All right. You will be taking a risk that they don’t shoot you through the door, but I don’t think that they will. Go up and pound on it. When they come, this is what you do.’

***

Dot was no longer hungry or thirsty, and the work she and Nina had been engaged upon had given her some exercise and broken two fingernails, the grindstone and her nailfile. No one had come near them since they had been fed, and it was getting late. There was no light at all from the boarded-up windows. Dot fished for her watch.

‘Half-past ten. Do you want to try and sleep?’

‘To what purpose? They have not turned off the light.’ The bare electric bulb swung against the flaking ceiling.

‘Simple,’ said Dot, and threw her compact at it. The bulb smashed, the compact broke open, showering them with powder, and it was suddenly and blessedly dark.

‘You are a good friend,’ said Nina, lying down on half of Dot’s blanket. ‘Also a very resourceful comrade. Do you still think that Miss Fisher will come?’

‘She’ll come,’ said Dot, and closed her eyes.

***

Bert and Cec arrived at the Fitzroy Street address and decided on the simple approach.

‘We kick down the door and start shooting if they resist,’ said Bert.

‘What about the hostages?’ worried Cec.

‘Better we get in quick than hang about scratching our arse-bones in the snow,’ argued Bert. ‘Come on, Cec.’

The Fitzroy Street house was dark. Bert turned the handle. The door was open.

‘See if you can find a light, mate,’ urged Bert, after flicking the switch to no avail. Cec produced an electric torch.

‘No one home, mate.’

They crept softly along the hall. Cec nudged Bert. There was a light in the kitchen.

Sitting by the kitchen table, a thin woman was praying. The room was empty apart from her. On the table were three icons of Byzantine saints, three candles and three photographs—a young man, a young woman with curly hair, and ‘the Honourable Phryne Fisher at home’ cut from a popular magazine. Bert and Cec stopped at the door.

‘Come in,’ said the woman, pushing back her black hair. ‘If you have come to kill me, I welcome you.’

‘We ain’t come to kill you, Miss. We’re looking for…for your anarchist mates,’ faltered Bert.

‘Collingwood,’ said Maria Aliyena sadly. ‘But she will be dead by now, your Miss Fisher. All dead, all dead—Yourka, Miss Fisher and poor Nina. Put out like candles. All dead,’ she repeated.

All in all, it came as something of a relief when Bill Cooper the cane cutter came barrelling down the hall demanding his girl.

‘Bert, Cec,’ Bert introduced them. ‘Who are you?’

‘Bill Cooper. I’m looking for…’

‘Your sheila. Nina. We know.’

‘How…?’

‘Come out of here, mate, it’s like an undertakers. Nina ain’t here, and neither is the…person we’re looking for. Come on out of it,’ said Bert, and sighed with relief when he had regained the street. The three men stood on the pavement to exchange information.

‘They were going to kidnap Miss Fisher?’ said Bill. ‘Why?’

‘Why have they locked up your girl?’

‘Because she was speaking to Miss Fisher. Oh, I see. Now what do we do?’

‘We go back to Miss Fisher’s house and drink her beer and wait to see what happens. She’s gone herself to ’Wood and she’s wild enough at us already for not preventing the snatch, so I ain’t gonna risk her going really crook. Come on, mate. Nothing more you can do here. And you don’t want to get between Miss Phryne and what she wants to do.’