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

it; investigation made her hungry. She felt exhilarated. Out of her own milieu, with none of her own helpers, in a foreign city which became more foreign by the moment, she was getting somewhere. Or so it appeared.
    ‘The Dean,’ she suggested, and Professor Bretherton chuckled into his vichyssoise.
    ‘Old Gorman? Surely you jest. I’d put the chances of him escorting a lady to his office for a little dalliance at three hundred to one. More. He’s very respectable.’
    ‘And is it your experience—or Juvenal’s—that the very respectable are also the very virtuous?’ asked Phryne. The cold soup really was remarkable.
    ‘No, of course, every man is basically rotten, both Juvenal and I agree. But the Dean wouldn’t dare. He might want to. I suppose all men have lusts, disgusting thought when one considers Gorman, but I admit the possibility. But he wouldn’t put his academic position in jeopardy for any woman. I don’t think he even likes women much. One only has to look at his wife. And he would never put himself in the position where he might be refused. Far too much of a risk. Actually, more of a certainty, when one considers Gorman.’ Professor Bretherton shuddered slightly.
    ‘He might steal the contents of the safe for another reason,’ Phryne suggested.
    ‘Possibly, but why? He’s independently wealthy, his family owns half of the Northern Territory, mines and so on. I doubt he’d want a Book of Hours. He has all the artistic appreciation of a hog. His own wife’s garnets went and she’s a formidable woman who would make her lack of appreciation sting. He wouldn’t take the books, surely, he knew what a state they were in, though there’s not a particle of harm in Sykes, poor chap. Never seen him break down like that.’
    ‘Sykes, then?’
    ‘Would never have the nerve,’ decided Professor Bretherton. ‘You saw him. Falls to pieces at a touch.’
    ‘But his nerves may have something to do with him systematically stealing from the faculty. Has he been getting worse lately?’
    ‘Well, yes, now that you mention it, yes, I suppose he has. But no, Miss Fisher, I could believe that he has some guilty knowledge, perhaps, but he could never have stolen something.
    He’s very honest. Small things cost him sleepless nights, poor chap.’
    ‘Is there a lot to steal?’ Phryne had chosen lobster, and was now confronted with a scarlet shell containing delicate meat folded in mayonnaise which had never seen the inside of a condensed milk tin.
    ‘Not by the standards of a bank, though we have a lot of scholarships and there are several bequests. But they are paid out, you see, the faculty pays its own fees out of the bequest. There would never be a lot of money just sitting in the safe. The trustee pays the faculty and the faculty pays the University, all in the one day, usually. And there were only three pounds, seven shillings and sixpence in petty cash, not enough to risk a two year sentence for burglary.’
    ‘No. But that relies on the passing thief and as I have said, I don’t believe in the passing thief. Consider what problems your thief would have. He’s got a bundle of heavy ledgers which he can’t understand, a necklace which he might sell for a fraction of its value provided he knew a fence, a papyrus—please excuse me saying this—of no value except to a collector, and a Book of Hours which he can’t exactly take down to the pub and sell to one of the boys. Profit from a horribly risky undertaking— three quid, seven and sixpence and maybe a couple of pounds for the garnets. No. I really don’t think so.’
    ‘But if a passing thief did do it, then he would have dumped all the other stuff in the bushes and taken off with the saleable items,’ put in Professor Bretherton.
    ‘Yes, so he would, if he troubled to take them out of the safe in the first place. Have you searched the bushes?’
    ‘Extensively.’ Professor Bretherton was as downcast as a man could be when he was dining