Death Before Wicket: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 10 by Kerry Greenwood

recalled his scattered wits.
    ‘Now, Sykes, you drink this, sit up straight, and tell the lady what she wants to know. This is the Hon. Phryne Fisher, you know. She’s famous as an investigator. She’s promised to help me find my papyrus, and that means she will have to find out what happened to your books.’
    Inhaling fragrant and brandy scented steam—Professor Bretherton had clearly added some of his own cognac to the tea—Sykes did as ordered and quavered, ‘I put the books in the safe and locked it—I’m almost sure that I locked it!—on Saturday morning. Just as usual.’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Noon. I always lock up and leave at noon promptly, because my wife and I attend the meeting of our garden club at two. We wanted to see the new azaleas.’ Sykes’ lip quivered again, and Phryne patted him on the shoulder. ‘Everything was there then. Bisset bellowed at me for dropping the Book of Hours, it was an accident, then the Dean started in on me for the mistakes in the Day Ledger, and it was all too much, so I just shut the safe and went home.’
    ‘I hope you enjoyed the azaleas,’ said Phryne gently. Poor Sykes. He was a furry man with greying hair and spectacles and he was liberally spotted with ink. If he had been a stuffed toy rabbit, he would have been threadbare with one bent ear. A nice little man, perfectly adequate for ordinary tasks, thrust into the un-ordinary and quite unable to cope with it.
    ‘Yes, they were beautiful. We ordered three for that shady spot near the roses. Frilly pinks. My wife was very taken with them. They’ve been working on a new azalea for some time. Pure white. Lovely things. But how I’m going to survive if the Dean dismisses me without a reference, as he is threatening to do, I don’t know, I don’t know at all…’
    He was about to burst into tears again and Phryne did not want to expose Sykes to what Professor Bretherton was evidently about to say.
    ‘Now, Mr Sykes,’ she said firmly, ‘brace up. If I find Professor Bretherton’s papyrus I’m quite likely to find your books. You are sure that the contents of the safe were all tickety-boo at noon on Saturday?’
    ‘Er…yes, Miss Fisher, perfectly, er…tickety-boo,’ replied Sykes.
    ‘Good. Now cast your mind back. Look at the office. Someone who took all that stuff out of the safe would need something to carry it in, wouldn’t they? Is there a box missing? A case?’
    Sykes surveyed the office. It was cluttered. All the walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed with miscellaneous volumes. Sykes’ desk was loaded with papers. In the inner room, the Dean’s was bare and polished, carrying only an inkstand, a tray of pens and the broad white expanse of faultless blotting paper. The safe hulked in a corner. It was large enough to store a small rhinoceros.
    ‘No, nothing missing, as far as I can tell.’
    ‘Interesting,’ commented Phryne. ‘All right, now, off you go, Mr Sykes. Leave it to me and enjoy your garden.’
    ‘Yes, push off, Sykes, that’s enough emotion for one evening,’ said Professor Bretherton.
    Mr Sykes, seemingly heartened, abandoned his papers, collected his hat and left, babbling apologies for his loss of control. When he had bowed his way out, Professor Bretherton shut the door. Phryne inspected it. It was not a deadlock but needed a key, and did not appear to have been forced.
    ‘How many keys are there?’ asked Phryne.
    ‘We’ve all got one, and I suppose that the porter has one, and the cleaners, and there would be a master key as well,’ said Bretherton. ‘In any case poor Sykes probably forgot to lock it.’
    ‘I notice that there is a couch and a door which can lock,’ said Phryne. Dousing the anticipatory light in Professor Bretherton’s eyes, she added, ‘So someone could have come up here in female company for purposes quite unconnected with theft, couldn’t they?’
    ‘Well, yes, I suppose so, such things have been known to happen,’ agreed Professor