Death Before Wicket: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 10 (30 page)

‘I understand,’ muttered Clarence.

Adam stood bewildered with the papyrus in his hand. He wailed in pain, shaking from head to foot. The interruption had almost killed him, but he still breathed in short, hard gasps. He turned north and south, wavering. Marrin waved his wand.

‘Continue,’ said the magician. ‘Isis is with you. All hail her name, Lady of Storms, Star of the Sea.’

‘All hail,’ replied Adam in his dead man’s voice. He steadied, then began to walk along the corridor, keeping to the left.

‘He’s walking with someone,’ commented Sykes. This seemed to be true. Adam was allowing his companion room to move. He stopped at a door. He tried the handle. It opened, and he went in.

‘But this is my room,’ snapped Kirkpatrick.

‘Keep your voice down,’ scolded Phryne.

Adam Harcourt dropped to his knees and hauled out a large book. He opened it and laid the papyrus inside. The paper which Professor Bretherton had prepared exactly to Phryne’s instructions lay on top of a real leaf of papyrus.

‘Good. Now, Marrin. The demonstration is complete. Bring him out of his trance,’ ordered Phryne.

‘Give the papyrus to me,’ demanded Marrin, forcing the others out of his way. ‘I command you, acolyte! Isis commands you!’

Adam Harcourt jerked. Before anyone could stop him, he straightened and handed the papyrus to Marrin. The magician grabbed, turned and, followed by Madame, ran in a jingle of bracelets and a flapping of robes like sails. They were round the corner and plunging down the steps in a moment, Marrin flourishing the papyrus in one hand. His black rod had fallen unregarded to the floor. Phryne picked it up. Bisset leapt to follow them. Ayers cried out in torment.

‘Wait,’ said Phryne, ‘let them go. Everyone stand still. Drat the man! I don’t know the right words to break this trance and if I make an error I could lose Harcourt—or at least everything we have been used to knowing as Harcourt. Give me some room, gentlemen. Edmund, put that young hound into a chair and Professor Bretherton, just bash him with something if he makes any noise, will you? There’s a lovely copy of John Knox’s
Commentaries on the Bible
over there. Sock him one, is my advice. Edmund darling, come here. Get behind Adam and catch him if he falls. Now, may all the goddesses help me. I can’t afford to get this wrong.’

The affronted faculty were pressed into the corridor as Phryne stood before Adam Harcourt, trying to remember the words of the prayer to Isis.

‘I am Lady of Flame, Mistress of Wisdom, Star of the Sea, I am Isis,’ she said clearly, and Adam replied, ‘All hail to the Mistress of Magic, Isis.’

The amulet between Phryne’s breasts seemed to wriggle a little, like a small animal settling down to sleep. Warmth crept into her body. Words came to her.

‘I am your lady, your goddess, your protector from all that might harm you,’ she said, improvising wildly. ‘I resurrected my lost Osiris, I cast down the serpent and broke the power of the crocodile.’ She grabbed at all she could remember of Isis from
The Golden Bough
. Sir James Frazer should be here, she thought, he’d be better at this than me. Phryne ran dry. Harcourt was listening to her, standing naked, entranced. His eyes were unseeing. Phryne/Isis wavered. She did not know what to say next.

Then Ayers, his face set in lines of complete despair, chanted in his clear voice, ‘Slaughterer of the Fiends of Evening, Lady of the House of Morning, all hail, Isis!’ and Adam flinched a little at the change of voice, but repeated, ‘Hail!’

‘Your task is complete, we are well pleased with you,’ said Phryne, again feeling a strange sense of dislocation. ‘You are freed, child, from all commands or bonds.’

‘Your
ba
is returned, your shadow is tied to your body, your
ka
is with you,’ chanted Ayers, looking as if he wished to weep. ‘Wake! Wake! Wake! We are with thee, thy sisters and lovers. Thy world awaits thee.’

‘You will wake and be joyful, knowing that she who has seen all your deeds, the Lady Isis, forgives you and frees you from domination,’ said Phryne. ‘Wake! Wake! Wake!’

Adam Harcourt opened his eyes and saw the compassionate gaze of a goddess bent on him. He gulped, took one step, and fainted into Professor Brazell’s arms.

While Bretherton rallied around with his brandy flask, Kirkpatrick proclaimed that it was all sorcery and they would all go to hell for it, the Dean scowled blackly and Sykes repeated, ‘I knew I locked the safe. I told you! I locked the safe. I definitely locked the safe. Of course, I locked the safe. I
always
lock the safe.’

Phryne was hefting the book in which the papyrus had been hidden: the
Proceedings of the 1902 Synod
of the Church of Scotland.

‘Come along, gentlemen,’ she said, lifting the book in her arms. ‘It’s time for tea and a few recriminations.’

‘Well, remarkable effect,’ said the doctor, who had been woken abruptly and was still sleepy. He seldom got woken to hear good news and was beaming. ‘They said that antivenene would work quickly if it worked at all, but it was only because we found out what sort of snake it was. Not a very potent poison, fortunately.

Black snake. Might have been a different story if it had been a tiger, eh? But you’ll be all right. I’ll take off this bandage now, young man, free the limb a little, eh? How does that feel?’ he prodded and Joss winced.

‘A bit sore,’ he confessed.

‘It might cramp a little, you’ve been lying still for so long. You want to move it as much as you can, but gently, mind. Still, one thing, you’ve got both parents with you, and I’m sure this young lady’s prayers have had an effect.’ The doctor bowed slightly to Dot, who smiled.

‘Doctor?’ asked Joss.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m going to be all right, really?’

‘Really.’

‘Then I’d like something to write on,’ said Joss. ‘There’s something I’ve got to set right.’

‘Joss, no…’ said his father.

‘Dad,’ said Joss, for the first time in his life. ‘Yes.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Phryne. She had doffed the Isis costume and was now dressed in her own clothes again. Adam Harcourt, a little dazed, had been reclothed by Ayers and was sipping tea and brandy with heavy emphasis on the brandy.

‘We don’t understand,’ summarised Professor Bretherton. ‘Yes, I see that that scoundrel Marrin put poor Harcourt into some sort of trance and made him rob the safe. No blame attaches to Harcourt. He was a pawn. He has been completely exonerated by this fascinating demonstration. I’m sure the faculty agrees?’

There was a murmur of agreement, even from Professor Kirkpatrick.

‘So there won’t be a Senate hearing tomorrow and you aren’t going to expel me?’ asked Harcourt, beginning to grasp the essentials.

‘No, laddy, it was not your doing. Though I shudder to think of the state of your soul,’ said Professor Kirkpatrick. ‘And the evil of it was, that you placed those papers in your own carrel.

They wanted you disgraced, perhaps to put you more firmly in their power. God knows where they’ve gone,’ said the dry Scottish voice, ‘but the Lord will deal with them in his own time, wherever they run.’

‘Oh, I do agree,’ said Phryne.

‘But what became of the other things in the safe?’ demanded Bretherton. ‘The papyrus is gone, divine retribution aside, no offence, Kirkpatrick. But where are the books, the jewels, the petty cash, the Book of Hours and the hand axe?’

‘Cast your mind back to Adam’s movements in this office,’ said Phryne. ‘He looked down as though he had dropped something when he passed the wardrobe. Well, there was someone in the wardrobe. He had come here on some entirely proper errand I have no doubt, had been surprised by Adam’s entry, and had hidden in the nearest place available. I smelt him when I was first here. He uses sandalwood soap. I couldn’t pin it down at first because all I could think of was San Barnabo in Venice, but then I had it. Italian churches use…’

‘Sandalwood incense,’ said Bisset. ‘Here’s the book. It fell off the stack as Harcourt passed. I didn’t take it to keep it or sell it. I just picked it up when it fell. It seemed to be meant, you can understand that? I was going to give it back once I had convinced the librarian at the Fisher Library to display it. Beautiful things should not be hidden. It was meant to be looked at, admired. It cried out to me in its iron prison,’ said Bisset. ‘And people kept dropping it. It was bound to be damaged sooner or later. No one cared about it but me. And, yes, that’s how I knew it was Harcourt who stole the exam papers. I’m sorry, Harcourt. I didn’t realise you were in…an unnatural state of mind.’

There was a rustle amongst the faculty, but no voice was lifted in denunciation.

‘The hand axe should still be here,’ said Phryne, and groped behind the folios. She gave Professor Brazell two wrapped packages with a nod. He said, ‘Ah, yes, well, the Kruger collection will be glad to have it at last.’ They waited until he had unwrapped both. He coughed politely. ‘Er, Phryne, I don’t want to put a damper on this exposition of the detective arts, but neither of these is my axe,’ he said. ‘This is a piece of sandstone and this is an unworked river pebble of no distinction whatever.’

‘Nevertheless, it is what was in the safe when Harcourt emptied it,’ she replied. ‘As you recall, I already explained it to you, and for the rest we’ll get to the hand axe later. Where are the ledgers, the jewels and the petty cash, you are about to ask? Consider the scene in the office on Monday morning. Mr Sykes, what was happening?’

‘The Dean was shouting and I was in a flurry and we couldn’t find anything,’ he replied in a tight voice.

‘The Dean discovered the ledgers and the other things in the bookcase,’ Phryne said, to the accompaniment of dropping jaws. ‘He’s broke. He had to move from Bellevue Hill to Glebe. He’s addicted, I suspect, to gambling. I am positing gambling because he shows no signs of alcoholism, is clearly unfamiliar with the underworld, and is not the man to spend all his wealth in the pursuit of women. So was it horses, Dean, or cards?’

‘I never heard such a suggestion in all my life!’ bellowed the Dean. The rest of the faculty observed him with curiosity.

‘He’s gambled it all away,’ said Phryne. ‘His wife’s jewels, the income, the big house—he even nicked the petty cash. And, of course, you had to make sure that Harcourt was blamed, didn’t you? You had already employed poor Mr Sykes to do the books, a man utterly unfitted to be an accountant—though he’s wonderful with roses—hoping he wouldn’t notice that you were embezzling the funds. But Harcourt had been helping Mr Sykes out of the goodness of his heart, and he was beginning to notice discrepancies in the books. He’s a thorough worker, Harcourt. He traced a lost sum back to the previous Monday. He’d notice if the Dean’s fund was empty, wouldn’t he? And the money for the archaeological expedition about which Mr Ayers and Mr Brazell were arguing—that’s gone too, hasn’t it?’ She stalked the Dean across the office, until he was backed up against the wall. His face had drained of colour and he looked about three hundred years old.

‘He was…he was going to find out.’ The Dean stumbled over his words. ‘Sykes could have been bluffed or even blamed, but not Harcourt. I had a system,’ he mumbled, ‘but it has to have capital to work. And I had a run of bad luck at blackjack.’

‘And the people who run gambling in Sydney are not nice in their methods of retrieving lost funds, are they?’ demanded Phryne, coldly incisive.

‘They would have killed me,’ faltered the Dean. He scanned the interested faces around him, searching for compassion. He had made enemies of them all by cruelties and humiliations great and small. They all looked at him without charity.

‘You will tender your resignation, Gorman,’ said Bretherton. As senior professor the duty fell to him. He said it with less pleasure than he would have thought possible if the matter had been put to him a week ago. ‘The Senate will have to be told,’ he added. ‘Tomorrow. At the meeting which would have expelled Harcourt here.’

‘What did I say about retribution?’ asked Professor Kirkpatrick. ‘Is there more, Miss Fisher?’

‘Just a few things. I would like to go down to the wine cellar, but it can wait for a moment. By the way, Dean, why didn’t you sell the wine? There’s some valuable stuff down there. Professor Brazell and I drank two rather good bottles of Chateau Petrus while we were held captive last night.’

‘The inventory is kept by the butler,’ said the Dean. ‘I couldn’t bribe or befool him. There is an end to my career, Miss Fisher, and it is all your doing!’ A flash of the old arrogance sparked through the air.

‘Shut up, you…criminal,’ said Sykes.

The faculty stared at Sykes. It was not every day that one saw a worm turn. He was shaking with righteous indignation.

‘Did you say “held captive”, Miss Fisher?’ asked Bretherton.

‘Yes, let’s just go and release our prisoner, eh, Edmund dear?’

‘C-Certainly.’ Professor Brazell held out his arm and Phryne took it, tucking the
Proceedings of the 1902 Synod
under the other arm.

They had already left the office when they heard footsteps hurrying towards them and stopped. Marrin, perhaps, returning? Dot held out a paper to Phryne.

‘Miss, Joss Hart is getting better, and he insisted on writing this,’ she said. Phryne scanned it and handed it to Professor Bretherton.