chuckled all the way to Mercer Street and, provokingly, would not explain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It is not true that the English have only one sauce, but it is true that in England sauces are very often badly made, badly mixed, and not flavoured at all.
Mrs CF Leyel and Miss Olga Hartley The Gentle Art of Cookery
A rest, a swim, a tantalising scent of cooking fish, and it was dinnertime again. Ruth bore in the huge snapper, lavishly enfolded in butter and herbs which made a scented cloak to wrap the white, flaky, delicious flesh. There were groans of delight and satisfied desire from the table which gladdened Ruth’s heart. Phryne picked and picked again, as did the rest of the diners, until the whole skeleton of the fish was revealed.
‘I believe that this is all in one piece.’ Phryne marvelled at its symmetry and beauty, stripped of scale and fin. ‘What a beautiful object. Could you boil it clean for me, Ruth, and dry it?’
‘Yes, Miss Phryne, but why?’
‘Ah,’ said Phryne, and Ruth knew that she was not going to get an immediate answer.
‘You want it to stay in one piece?’ asked Dot. ‘Then you don’t want to boil it, Ruth, that’ll dissolve the gluey stuff that holds the bones together.’
‘Cartilage?’ hazarded Jane. ‘How do you know that it will do that?’
‘Because you can make fish glue out of boiling fish bones,’ replied Dot, who never took offence at Jane’s questions. They arose from a pure desire for knowledge.
‘Lick of lysol will take the stink out of it,’ advised Tinker. ‘That’s what the fishos do for their house signs.’
‘Lysol it is, then,’ said Phryne. Jane was pleased.
‘Perhaps we could start a collection of bones,’ she said.
‘You and your bones,’ sniffed Ruth. ‘Anyone for dessert?’
‘Perhaps just a teeny-weeny slice,’ said Phryne, as Ruth supplied orange jellies in orange cups and mango and pineapple ice cream stuck with almond wafers. Tinker carried out the plates.
‘Dessert goes into a different stomach, that’s what my mum says,’ offered Dot, slipping a spoon into the icy, creamy confection.
‘Too right,’ agreed Tinker, to whom frozen custard with fruit in it was a novelty to which he hoped to become accustomed.
‘Very, very nice,’ agreed Phryne. She accepted a cup of coffee, lit a gasper, put her elbows on the table and conspired. ‘Now, to our investigation. I sent the telegrams but the Lord knows if they will ever reach Mr Thomas. They’ve gone to Roper River and to Mount Marumba, wherever they are. And I rang Ellis and Co, the removalists, and found out something very odd.’
‘What, Guv’nor?’ demanded Tinker.
‘They know nothing about a removal from this house.’
‘What?’ asked Jane. ‘But a van came and took all their stuff, and it had Ellis and Co painted on the side. People saw it.’
‘Nonetheless, the obliging young clerk went through the whole book for me and they have no record of it.’
‘How odd!’ observed Dot. She was full of excellent food and finding it hard to keep her eyes open.
‘Sinister, eh, Guv’nor?’ asked Tinker.
‘Yes, perhaps. But there could be a few other explanations. Let me hear you give them. Jane?’
‘The van could have been stolen,’ said Jane. She knew she was weaker in exposition, which to her came perilously close to guessing. Which she instinctively felt was wrong, and possibly sinful.
‘True. Ruth?’
‘One of the carters might have been doing someone a favour. Had a load to bring to Queenscliff, and would have brought the van back empty. So he took the Johnsons’ stuff back with him.’
‘Dot?’
Dot yawned. ‘Sorry, Miss Phryne, I’m that tired. Must be all this sea air. What if the person who said they saw the Ellis and Co van was mistaken?’
‘Or lying?’ put in Tinker.
‘Good,’ said Phryne, very satisfied with her class on detection. ‘Make no assumptions. So we have three explanations: mistake or deceit, a borrowed van or a stolen van.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It is not true that the English have only one sauce, but it is true that in England sauces are very often badly made, badly mixed, and not flavoured at all.
Mrs CF Leyel and Miss Olga Hartley The Gentle Art of Cookery
A rest, a swim, a tantalising scent of cooking fish, and it was dinnertime again. Ruth bore in the huge snapper, lavishly enfolded in butter and herbs which made a scented cloak to wrap the white, flaky, delicious flesh. There were groans of delight and satisfied desire from the table which gladdened Ruth’s heart. Phryne picked and picked again, as did the rest of the diners, until the whole skeleton of the fish was revealed.
‘I believe that this is all in one piece.’ Phryne marvelled at its symmetry and beauty, stripped of scale and fin. ‘What a beautiful object. Could you boil it clean for me, Ruth, and dry it?’
‘Yes, Miss Phryne, but why?’
‘Ah,’ said Phryne, and Ruth knew that she was not going to get an immediate answer.
‘You want it to stay in one piece?’ asked Dot. ‘Then you don’t want to boil it, Ruth, that’ll dissolve the gluey stuff that holds the bones together.’
‘Cartilage?’ hazarded Jane. ‘How do you know that it will do that?’
‘Because you can make fish glue out of boiling fish bones,’ replied Dot, who never took offence at Jane’s questions. They arose from a pure desire for knowledge.
‘Lick of lysol will take the stink out of it,’ advised Tinker. ‘That’s what the fishos do for their house signs.’
‘Lysol it is, then,’ said Phryne. Jane was pleased.
‘Perhaps we could start a collection of bones,’ she said.
‘You and your bones,’ sniffed Ruth. ‘Anyone for dessert?’
‘Perhaps just a teeny-weeny slice,’ said Phryne, as Ruth supplied orange jellies in orange cups and mango and pineapple ice cream stuck with almond wafers. Tinker carried out the plates.
‘Dessert goes into a different stomach, that’s what my mum says,’ offered Dot, slipping a spoon into the icy, creamy confection.
‘Too right,’ agreed Tinker, to whom frozen custard with fruit in it was a novelty to which he hoped to become accustomed.
‘Very, very nice,’ agreed Phryne. She accepted a cup of coffee, lit a gasper, put her elbows on the table and conspired. ‘Now, to our investigation. I sent the telegrams but the Lord knows if they will ever reach Mr Thomas. They’ve gone to Roper River and to Mount Marumba, wherever they are. And I rang Ellis and Co, the removalists, and found out something very odd.’
‘What, Guv’nor?’ demanded Tinker.
‘They know nothing about a removal from this house.’
‘What?’ asked Jane. ‘But a van came and took all their stuff, and it had Ellis and Co painted on the side. People saw it.’
‘Nonetheless, the obliging young clerk went through the whole book for me and they have no record of it.’
‘How odd!’ observed Dot. She was full of excellent food and finding it hard to keep her eyes open.
‘Sinister, eh, Guv’nor?’ asked Tinker.
‘Yes, perhaps. But there could be a few other explanations. Let me hear you give them. Jane?’
‘The van could have been stolen,’ said Jane. She knew she was weaker in exposition, which to her came perilously close to guessing. Which she instinctively felt was wrong, and possibly sinful.
‘True. Ruth?’
‘One of the carters might have been doing someone a favour. Had a load to bring to Queenscliff, and would have brought the van back empty. So he took the Johnsons’ stuff back with him.’
‘Dot?’
Dot yawned. ‘Sorry, Miss Phryne, I’m that tired. Must be all this sea air. What if the person who said they saw the Ellis and Co van was mistaken?’
‘Or lying?’ put in Tinker.
‘Good,’ said Phryne, very satisfied with her class on detection. ‘Make no assumptions. So we have three explanations: mistake or deceit, a borrowed van or a stolen van.
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