Chapter Text
The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was not completely certain as to why she slowly became conscious in the middle of the night, the previous day had been an arduous one and by rights she should be sound asleep.
She assessed. The usual reason for being stirred from her slumber was right there, pressed up against her cheek. She was curled around her favourite bed partner and she felt her heart lighten, as it always did when she felt her skin pressed to his, smooth and warm. As per usual he had decided to forgo the pyjamas jacket, grumbling that she made him too warm to need it and that it never stayed on long enough to bother.
She smiled into his skin and contemplated the possible consequences of her lightly stroking the messy head of hair that had run riot in his sleep. Best to let sleeping Inspectors lie ? It had been a late night...
Phryne, never one to deny herself the simple pleasures of life, made her decision and was stealthily reaching up to tickle the short hairs on the back of his neck, when a hand snaked up and fingers wrapped gently around her wrist
“Miss Fisher”, came the low grumble, “this better be a matter of life or death." He felt her grin. "Have pity, a man needs his sleep or he'll never be able to keep up with you.”
“Something woke me.”
“I fell for that a few hours ago, as you know full well.”
“Yes you did and it was very nice.”
“Harumph”
He was stilled when she suddenly shushed him and raised her head; she thought she had heard a faint click coming from the floor below. She sat up and listened. Another very faint sound, barely audible.
“I hear movement downstairs.”
He almost snorted out loud, “And I fell for that last week.”
“No really, there's a noise downstairs.”
“Your revolver is in the night table, let me know what you find.” Her bed partner turned on his side and drew a pillow over his head.
“Jack,” she whispered. He reluctantly uncovered his head and looked back at her, scowling.
“You search the downstairs and I'll take the outside. When you're done, meet me out front,” she ordered and before he could protest, she had slipped out of bed, wrapped her black silk robe with the fighting cocks on the back around her and retrieved her gold revolver from a drawer. Then quick as a whip she stepped through the bedroom window and onto the balcony outside.
Her sleuthing partner threw back the covers and sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his face and then running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up and point every which way. Then, once he had accertained that at least pyjama trousers were in place, he headed out into the hallway and listened at the top of the stairs. He thought he could hear something, so descended slowly. The only light he noticed was spilling in weakily from a streetlight.
When the Inspector reached the front foyer, all seemed normal, initially. He tried the front door and to his surprise it opened on his touch. Had they forgotten to lock it when they stumbled in last night? He didn't think so and besides, he knew Mr. Butler always did a final tour of the house, no matter what time they arrived back at Wardlow. Someone must have picked or forced the lock.
Sure enough, as he inspected the outside keyhole plate, he saw the telltale signs of tampering. Heaven knows he had seen it enough times on the front door to his bungalow, courtesy of a certain lady detective who thought it was much more fun to break in then actually knock and wait for the occupant to answer the door. Cheeky woman.
Jack closed the door and did a quick reconnaissance of the rest of the downstair rooms. At one point, their fearless butler stuck his head out from his rooms and addressed the Inspector with concern, asking as to whether he needed assistance. The younger man quickly assured the older that he and Miss Fisher could manage looking for the source of a strange noise and apologized for disturbing him. Mr. Butler murmured something about it being no problem and his head disappeared once more, apparently unfazed as ever. The Inspector shook his head at the unflappability of the man, commiserating with him that nothing that happened in this house would surprise him either. The corner of his mouth dipped down at the thought.
Having cleared the main floor, Jack returned to the front foyer and yanked open the door, ready to upbraid his partner for her silliness. He stepped out onto the front portico and froze. The grounds of Wardlow lay in dark shadow and there appeared to be no movement except for the rose bushes, which were lightly wafting from an offshore breeze. It was eerily quiet, empty, and there was no sign of a lady detective. Except for... he looked closer. There was a glint from the front walkway, about halfway down to the gate. He sped down the steps and as he feared came face to face with a golden gun lying discarded on the stone path. Leaving it where it lay, he tore the gate open and ran into the middle of the street, looking one way then the other. To his right he saw the faint red tail lights of a vehicle blink on and then disappear around a corner.
The Inspector ran back up the walk, leaving the evidence untouched, and as he raised his hand to push the front door he had left ajar, Mr. Butler swung it inward. Trusty cricket bat at hand.
“Call City South and Constable Collins please Mr. Butler, it looks like Miss Fisher has been taken. I'm going to try and follow in the Hispano. They were heading north on the Esplannade,” then he added , “And I'll need a gun.”
It was then the Detective Inspector spied a grimy looking, folded over piece of paper lying off to the side on the stoop and bent to carefully retrieve it by its edges.
His heart fell as he saw the wording on the page.
RANSOM