Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher by Kerry Greenwood

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    ‘Carm on, Bill, these tarts don’t know nothing!’ exclaimed Thug One, and he and Thug Two crossed the road and retreated down a side alley. The last scornful comment of Thug One followed them up the street.
    ‘And they’re tiddly, too!’
    ‘Sasha, what is wrong? Are you really tiddly?’ asked Phryne, getting her shoulder under his armpit as he began to sink. She heaved him along to a high front step and lowered him onto it.
    ‘One of them,’ said Sasha with perfect clarity, ‘had a knife.’
    With that he sank gracefully into Phryne’s arms and his head lolled on her shoulder.
    ‘Oh, Lord,’ said that young woman ruefully. ‘Now what shall I do?’
    At that moment she heard a car approaching, and stood irresolutely, gun in hand, awaiting it. Blessing on blessings, it was a taxi, though the sign was turned down, and she stepped out onto the road to intercept it.
    ‘Here, you crazy tart, what’s the idea?’ demanded a familiar voice, and Phryne had to restrain herself from hugging the driver. It was Bert and Cec.
    ‘Oh, Bert, it’s about time you arrived, I’ve been waiting for hours. My friend has fainted. Help me get her into the car, and take us to the Windsor. I’ll give you ten pounds.’
    ‘Twelve,’ bargained Bert, dragging the car back on its haunches and flinging open the door.
    ‘Ten—that’s all I’ve got on me.’
    ‘Eleven,’ offered Bert, gathering up Sasha and loading him into the back seat. Phryne followed, and the silent Cec climbed in. Bert started the cab with a certain difficulty, and said, ‘What about twenty not to tell your dad what you’ve been doing?’
    Phryne produced the little gun and touched the back of his neck with the cold barrel. ‘How about nothing at all? I thought we were mates,’ she suggested silkily. Her patience with this pair of opportunists was wearing thin. Ten pounds would buy this cab, and have enough change for a packet of smokes and a glass of beer.
    ‘We’ll just leave it at the round ten, eh, shall we?’ said Bert, not turning a hair. ‘Lucky for you that Cec and me was passing by.’
    Phryne, who was concerned about Sasha’s condition, and moreover was perched uncomfortably on a pile of what was probably stolen property, was tight-lipped. They made the journey to the Windsor through empty streets, and Bert rang the night bell while Cec and Phryne supported Sasha, who had recovered enough to stand.
    Phryne produced the ten pounds.
    ‘How is the girl you brought into the hospital? Are you looking for this George?’
    Bert spat out the cigarette in disgust. ‘Yair, we’re looking for him, but not a sniff. Cec reckons he’s seen him before, but he can’t remember where. The Scotch lady doctor took us to the cops and they said they’d do something but they don’t know where he is either. But I’ve been collecting numbers—and a mate of mine is givin’ me the drum about another one tomorrow.’
    ‘Numbers?’ asked Phryne, supporting Sasha with difficulty.
    ‘Yair, phone numbers. All we need is a sheila to make the calls.’ Phryne smiled, and Bert backed a pace.
    ‘You got your sheila,’ said Phryne in a flat Australian drawl. ‘Call here, and we’ll have a council of war—no better, I’ll find myself a car, and we’ll do the phoning from a public phone where there is no operator. Meet me at the corner of Flinders and Spencer at noon, day after tomorrow. Goodnight,’ she added, as the night porter opened the door and she swept Sasha inside and up the stairs. The two men stared at the closed door for a while, then made off on their own errand.
    ‘You reckon she can do it, mate?’ asked Cec after a long silence.
    ‘Reckon,’ agreed Bert.
    Phryne succeeded in getting Sasha up to her room without much noise and found that Dot had gone to bed. She lowered the young man on to the couch, removed her fillet and cape, and surveyed the damage. The lassitude was explained by the fact that a razor-sharp knife had slit a long