Death Before Wicket by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC022040
ISBN: 9781741158359
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2003-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

An hour later, Phryne was in the faculty office, interviewing suspects. This was not improving her temper. For one thing, all of the interviewees were nervous. For another, she was coming to the conclusion that academic life was so routine that no one should be forced to live it.

Jeoffry Bisset advised that he had been in the office on Saturday morning when he had reproved Sykes for dropping the Book of Hours, then had gone to his digs for lunch and gone fishing. Then he had attended the ball at eight, held in the Great Hall, and had got rather sozzled. Not wishing to present himself to his College in that condition, he had dossed down on his own office floor and woken with rather a headache on Sunday morning, gone home, gone to church, and spent the rest of the day and night marking essays.

The Dean had lunched with some patrons of the university, slept away the afternoon, gone out with his wife to the same ball, and spent Sunday blamelessly, in company, in divine service and more napping. He had not come near the University until Monday morning.

Kirkpatrick told Miss Fisher that he had had a meeting of the Band of Hope on Saturday night, and had naturally spent Sunday at the Wee Free Kirk and in meditation and prayer.

Sykes had gone to his Garden Club and had spent Saturday night reading books on azaleas and Sunday working in the garden with his wife.

Professor Brazell the anthropologist was not available for interview, because he had been called away to attend to some new discovery in Queensland. She could lay hands on Professor Ayers at the hotel that evening, under the name of Sanders.

Everything she had so far, Phryne observed to herself, amounted to less than nothing.

She decided to talk to Dora, the secretary.

‘Dora?’ the Dean snarled. ‘She’s working in the faculty office now. Trying to catch up with the correspondence which the Bursar has been too distracted to deal with. We have to account for our time as well as our money, Miss Fisher, as some of my staff may have forgotten.’

He really was a poisonous man, thought Phryne. Not a word of sympathy for Joss Hart, who might be dead. And even when conveying some harmless information he just had to get in another dig at the poor Bursar. She began to wonder how the Dean would look with an axe in his head, took her leave, and went to find Dora.

She heard a typewriter clacking, used by someone who was fast, skilled, and in a very bad temper, to judge by the way the carriage was slammed back until its little bell rang in protest. When Phryne opened the door, the girl snapped, ‘The office is closed. Come back on Monday.’

‘That might be too late,’ said Phryne, and Dora turned in her swivel chair and swept a load of paper off her desk.

‘Drat,’ muttered the girl, dropping to her knees to gather it up. ‘No, don’t trouble, Miss, I’m just clumsy today.

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