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

Bretherton grudgingly, ‘youth and all that. But much better to take the lady into one’s own office, of course. More private and less likely to be noticed. One could always explain that one was working late.’
    ‘Could one take a lover to one’s room if one lived in College?’
    ‘Oh, no, my dear lady, impossible unless one smuggles her up the stairs, though there are climbing possibilities in the ivy in one of the Colleges, I believe. No women in the rooms after ten, that’s the rule. And that rule, if broken, will get one rusticated.’
    ‘Expelled?’
    ‘No, not necessarily, but there would be a filthy scandal and the unfortunate man would find himself thrown out for a couple of years to repent. If one could use one’s office, that would be better. No couch, perhaps, but there are rugs on the floor and youth makes nothing of discomfort in the service of Venus.’ He grinned. Phryne suddenly liked Professor Bretherton.
    ‘Not that I’d be doing anything of the sort. Married man and all that. The scandal does not bear thinking of.’
    ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ promised Phryne. ‘I observe that there is a large coat cupboard in which the lady might be hidden, in fact it’s big enough for two if one’s tastes ran that way.’
    ‘Extravagant,’ murmured Professor Bretherton. Phryne closed the coat cupboard on a faint whiff of…what? She sniffed deeply. She had smelt that before. Not unpleasant, faintly sweet, but not a common perfume. Odd. She was presented with a picture of a church in Venice. San Barnabo, as she recalled. She shook her head and filed the scent for future reference.
    ‘And there is the couch.’ Phryne sat on it, then lay back. ‘Quite large enough in an emergency,’ she observed. Professor Bretherton drank in the sight of Phryne in her blue dress reclining on the couch and said nothing. She leapt to her feet and continued prowling.
    ‘Nice safe,’ she commented, kneeling down in front of it.
    ‘It was bought from a deceased estate, I believe.’ Professor Bretherton was pleased to find his voice quite level, even though
    Phryne had plucked her gown above her knees so as not to crease it. She got up abruptly, spoiling the picture.
    ‘Yes, and this is why they sold it. Pass me my bag, please.’ Phryne took out a German steel nail file, which she had found invaluable for picking locks, adjusting the spark in her Hispano-Suiza, turning screws and occasionally even filing nails. ‘Very impressive front, see? Heavy door and great big combination lock. But this safe was meant to be set in a wall, so no one has bothered about the back. Observe.’
    She set the nail file into the peeling back of the safe, gave a wrench and a twist, and the whole thin steel plate lifted off its rivets.
    ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Professor Bretherton, sitting down rather abruptly in the Dean’s chair.
    ‘It’s hard to tell, but I think that someone has done this recently. There are scratches here that look quite fresh. So the only bar to getting into the safe is whether or not the office door was locked. It’s not a deadlock. It would be quite easy to pick.’
    ‘Miss Fisher, I am appalled!’ Professor Bretherton fanned himself with one hand while groping for his pocket flask with the other. ‘But that means that it needn’t be one of us. I mean, if any passing thief could open the safe so easily…’
    ‘Have a heart,’ begged Phryne. ‘What thief would be “passing” here? This is a closed puzzle, Professor. Now, I’ll just have a look at this window,’ she said as she examined the catches, which were complete and even dusty, ‘and you can take me to dinner and tell me all about your fellows.’
    John Bretherton looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know that I’m going to enjoy this as much as I thought,’ he confessed.
    ‘Do you want your papyrus back or not?’ asked Phryne.
    ‘I want it back,’ he said.
    The Hotel Australia put on a splendid dinner, and Phryne intended to enjoy