01x08 - Away with the Fairies

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Seven o'clock, Ariel.

Home time.

There you go.

Ariel!

Mm, morning, Dot.

Morning, Miss.

Didn't you used to know the editors at the Women's Choice Magazine?

What do you mean, used to?

I just heard the news on the wireless.

Miss Lavender has d*ed.

Oh, dear. When?

This morning, they said.

And all her wonderful stories.

Now we'll never know if Hilda and the Blue Fairies were rescued from Marvin.

Marvin who?

Marvin the Malevolent Monitor Lizard.

Miss Fisher!

We tried to keep any suspicious circumstances away from the press.

And you did a first-rate job, Constable.

I wasn't suspicious at all until I saw you.

Hello, Jack.

Sorry, sir.

Phryne! How appalling this all is.

I'm so sorry, I only just heard.

What happened?

If you'd both like to vacate this office, we might find out. Now please.

If I could just have a quick look at her...

Not yet, Miss Charlesworth, please.

Ladies?

Blue as a cornflower and cold as ice, Stephen said.

Well it wouldn't have been her heart.

We all know she didn't have one.

Come on, everyone.

No time for the vapours.

We still have a deadline to meet.

Do the police know how she d*ed?

Not that they're telling me.

These are my tireless workers.

I'm sure you've all heard of the honourable Miss Phryne Fisher?

My former pupil, now dear friend.

This is Mrs Helen Opie, in charge of domestic and cooking pages. who does the gardening section.

It's a pleasure to put faces to bylines, in spite of the circumstances.

But where's Stephen?

The one who phoned poor Miss Lavender?

Stephen Opie is my husband.

He's the office caretaker.

And he's managed to fix those damn pipes, I see.

We have running water again.

Only took him three days.

Perhaps you'd like to make the first pot of tea, Miss Prout?

Come on, Phryne, let's take some air.

Is there anything I can do to help, Miss Charlesworth?

Georgina.

I can't bring myself to call a teacher by their first name, and Miss Lavender would never condone such a thing.

Poor Marcella.

She did love her formalities.

I was surprised when I heard you left the Argus to start Woman's Choice.

I thought newspaper journalism was more your style?

But how many women read the newspapers?

If I have to run 100 new recipes and dress patterns for just one article on women's health or education that may change a life, then I'm happy.

No wonder my father didn't stand a chance against you.

He was wrong, I was right.

One clever, grubby little girl gets to stay at school and look what you end up with.

Sad truth is, though, most of our readers are waiting with bated breath for the next instalment of the Blue Fairies.

Which hasn't been written?

It has, but it's now off limits in Marcella's office.

And if we don't meet the printer's deadline for the next edition, I don't know how I'm going to pay this fortnight's wages.

You know I can loan you the money.

Don't you dare.

I couldn't accept it.

In that case, Miss Charlesworth, may I be excused?

I'd better try and retrieve your story.

Now tell me, Jack.

Does that new furrow in your brow have anything to do with kissing me the other night?

I didn't kiss you.

I was trying to protect you.

All in the line of duty?

You were looking a gunman in the eye and I had to distract you.

I'm sorry if you think I took a liberty.

Jack, you kissed me.

Let's call a spade a spade.

You kissed me back.

And I'm not here to apologise.

Then why are you here?

I need a favour for Miss Charlesworth.

I've already asked her to wait.

I promise I won't touch anything.

Technically brilliant, but not particularly avant-garde.

Obviously her blue period.

Blue seems to have been her colour till the bitter end.

I would have guessed a thrombosis if I didn't suspect somebody had it in for her.

I think that classifies as touching something.

Would you like me to slip on some gloves?

No.

Just the desk drawer...

Goodbye, Miss Fisher.

If you happen to find that story...

It may be relevant to the case.

Hilda and the Blue Fairies versus Marvin the Monitor Lizard?

I'll let you know later today.

Do you have any idea who might want to hurt Miss Lavender?

Well I don't think this is just about Marcella.

There was a brick through the door last night.

We've been harassed before.

There was a dead possum dumped on the doorstep, a prank phone call and another break-in or two.

Did you report them to the police?

Mindless vandalism, they called it, but I wasn't convinced.

A bunch of women with opinions.

Not everyone likes that.

No.

It may sound fanciful, but I'm convinced someone has it in for the magazine.

Then I'll make it my business to help find out who.

Fifty uses around the home for lemon juice, how to make the perfect Yorkshire pudding every time, and four whole pages devoted to needlework.

Who on earth wants an embroidered lavatory seat cover, anyway?

But there was a story on women going to university in the last edition.

And in August, they had an article on family planning.

My mother returned it and asked for her money back.

Who's Artemis?

She solves everyone's problems.

My friend, you know Alice, she wrote to her and asked about whether she and Cec should get engaged.

And what was the advice?

She said she could do better for herself.

But it was too late by then.

And you can't do better than Cec.

Except for Hugh.

Excuse me. Detective Inspector Robinson is here.

Hello, Jack.

Marvin the Monitor Lizard gets his just desserts and Hilda saves the day.

Jack! You've ruined it for Dot now.

Oh, no, I read it for my nieces.

Oh, be my guest. We found it in a box of files we took back to the station, but it's definitely not evidence.

Not unless Miss Lavender was poisoned by a band of five-year-olds.

Well, I will just take it upstairs, then.

Poisoned?

The Coroner seems convinced even before the autopsy.

It was Prussic acid poisoning.

Cyanide? How was it administered?

No idea at present.

She'd been dead since early evening the night before.

What time did she usually leave?

I noticed she was wearing her coat.

Very good. Seven o'clock every night on the dot.

I heard Miss Lavender taught you at school.

What kind of woman was she?

Cold as a halibut on ice.

Are you wooing me for information, Inspector?

Miss Fisher, another visitor.

Lin!

My apologies for the intrusion.

Detective Inspector.

Nice to see you again, Mr Lin.

Come and join us.

I'll call for some tea.

No, I was just leaving.

If you could just make sure Miss Charlesworth receives that envelope.

Thank you.

I'm not surprised about Miss Lavender.

The old trout made more enemies in a month than Genghis Khan in a lifetime.

Any chance of joining you on police rounds?

I'd k*ll to come along.

No need for that, Miss Prout.

And I'm in no doubt about your enthusiasm.

We found this in Miss Lavender's files.

It's only a carbon copy, but I'm sure you've seen the original.

It's a letter of warning, addressed to you.

Please, come in.

She found out I was trying to moonlight.

And threatened to sack you?

She had the nerve to tell the newspaper that I was being dishonest.

All I did was submit some articles which were damn good.

It was none of her business.

So you and Miss Lavender didn't see eye to eye?

Miss Charlesworth didn't agree with her, either.

You should have heard their rows.

Miss C's a serious journalist.

Started at the Argus.

Now that she's the boss, I'm sure things will change for the better.

I've missed you, silver lady.

Likewise, beautiful man.

Now tell me why you're here.

I thought you had a whole Chinese dynasty to appease.

Ah, my engagement has been indefinitely postponed.

What happened?

Grandmother feels Camellia is not demure enough to be her daughter-in-law.

She's answering her back.

I like the sound of Camellia.

Grandmother questioned her chastity and she refused a medical examination.

Never mind a woman's privacy when a dowry's at stake.

The longer it takes to resolve this dispute, the more time I have with you.

True.

But not today.

So Mr Opie, you found Miss Lavender dead at six o'clock that morning?

Well I fixed the pipes before I went upstairs.

See, we'd been without running water in the building for a couple of days.

I saw the smashed window from the outside first, and when I went upstairs I saw that slogan on the wall.

I checked the office, but Miss Lavender's door was locked, so I used me master key.

Right.

So what time did you leave?

I caught a cab around six.

I promised Stephen I'd be home at 6.30.

Me wife got home a bit after seven, I think.

She shouldn't be putting in such long hours on a job like that.

But Helen tends to lose track of time when she's working back.

You live in Richmond.

You allowed half an hour for a five minute trip?

Just as well I did.

There was a traffic hold up.

A tram became unhooked, but Miss Lavender was still there, though.

She's always the last to leave.

Just made the rest of us feel guilty.

So you were the last person to see Miss Lavender alive when you left work that evening?

Seems that way.

Hello, Mr Bell.

John, please.

Not Giovanni, if I recognise that continental charm?

I've lived here many years, Miss Fisher.

I know the limits of the local dialect.

But you don't feel hopelessly outnumbered on the magazine?

I was raised by five sisters.

I like the company of women.

Besides, my nom de plume is Miss Green Thumbs.

Well, Miss Green Thumbs, perhaps you could help me.

I've met everyone on the paper now except for Artemis.

Whose nom de plume is that?

I'm forbidden to tell you.

Really?

Really.

There's a price, I'm afraid.

Who's Artemis, your agony aunt?

Marcella Lavender.

Why hasn't anyone told the police?

Because the staff all know that to reveal her identity means instant dismissal, and because the police would want me to hand over all of Artemis' letters.

And to do so would be a gross breach of our readers' confidentiality.

Has it occurred to you that one of those letter writers could be disgruntled enough to be a cold blooded m*rder*r?

The thought had crossed my mind, in my spare moments.

Unpublished, those we haven't got to yet, and never to be published.

The rest are in the magazine.

I have been meaning to go through these myself, check if there's anything fishy to hand on to the police but frankly, getting the next issue of our magazine out is a matter of our survival.

Excuse me, Miss Charlesworth.

I've been thinking.

Mmm, here's trouble.

Remember those articles we wanted to do, Migrant Melbourne, where we interview newcomers?

Sounds more interesting than how to make an Easter bonnet.

Much more.

Miss Lavender hated it.

But now we can go back into her office, I thought that I perhaps could resurrect it from her reject pile.

You're a shameless opportunist.

Show it to me and I will consider it.

An enthusiastic recruit, but not the type to let a dead body get in the way of her naked ambition.

Such a pretty colour.

Did you take this?

Ah, yes.

That's one of her better portraits, if I do say so myself.

It's called a cyanotype.

It turns everything Prussian blue.

Found it, eventually, in a big red file labelled 'rejected'.

Must have been one of her favourites.

Oh, lovely. Covered in corrections.

Half my pictures are missing.

Brilliant. Jammed again!

Where is Mr Opie when you need him?

He does have other offices to service, you know.

Mr Bell... could you? Pretty please?

Why do you think I could fix it?

You fixed Miss Lavender's music box.

I'll never get this obituary done with everything else on my plate.

Perhaps you could entrust the Artemis letters to me?

I know someone absolutely perfect for the job.

Phryne, would you?

I don't think I could bear to wade through all that heartache right now.

Oh honestly, this is the worst job Miss Fisher has ever given me.

This sad soul has lost her husband, her job, and she has a sick kiddie with another on the way.

This one has some terrible medical condition and this poor woman has nine children but doesn't want to deny her husband.

Well if those ones are upsetting you, Dorothy, I'll take the 'never to be published'.

Who knows what monsters lie there?

So Miss Prout had a motive because her career was on the line.

Mrs Opie had a spare hour of opportunity, Mr Opie had a spare key to the locked office. What about Mr Bell?

Ah, he was booked into a Spencer Street hotel with a lady friend for the evening.

He is a dark horse.

What about Miss Charlesworth?

What about her?

Well, she and Miss Lavender had serious creative differences.

Did you notice the cyanotypes on the walls?

Those blue photographs in the office?

Of course I did.

Made from a solution of ferrocyanide.

Damn! How could you know that?

Could that be our cyanide compound used to k*ll Miss Lavender?

Not sure.

Who was the photographer?

Georgina Charlesworth.

You'd find out anyway, and it doesn't mean she did it.

Hello?

Miss Fisher? Hugh.

I know where to find you and I'll make you pay for what you told her.

I think something just came up, Jack.

That's a thr*at if ever I heard one.

So this was hand delivered to the magazine?

No return address except the sender's name, 'Desperate's Husband'?

All we have to do is keep going through the boxes till we find Desperate's original letter to Artemis.

What were you doing with them?

I thought, with Miss Lavender gone, Dot might like to be the magazine's new Agony Aunt.

Collins, go and assist Miss Williams to sort through the rest of the letters.

Bring back anything you think constitutes evidence. Yes, sir.

I'll head back to Women's Choice and go through the back copies.

If Desperate's husband is our k*ller, his wife's letter is our only lead.

I'm so sorry, we misplaced your photograph.

There's been a bereavement and everything's been in chaos.

No matter.

This picture is almost the same.

Same squadron, same aeroplane.

I will guard it with my life, I promise.

Right, this is the last of our previous editions.

Where is everyone?

Mrs Opie's gone out to buy ingredients for a new recipe.

Mr Bell must have gone for cigarettes, as usual.

Oh, that man really is the limit.

How's that migrant article coming along, Letitia?

Coming along quite nicely, Miss C.

I just have to check a fact with one of my migrants.

I'm going to see if I can catch him at the bottom of the stairs.

Do that.

Dottie, do you think you're the right kind of person to be giving this advice?

Maybe they need someone with more experience.

Miss Phryne wouldn't suggest me if she didn't think I could do the job.

Besides, all these people need is some common sense advice and some kind words.

Alright.

What about this one, then?

'Dear Artemis, I've been going out with the most wonderful girl for nearly... six months now, to the pictures and dancing and on walks.

I think she's kind, and I think she's funny, and she has a lot of common sense.

And I think she likes me too, but how can I be sure if she's my girl?'

Six months, you said?

And he thinks she's wonderful?

That's what it says.

Well, I... I suspect she likes him too. A lot, probably.

So...

Common sense tells me she's definitely his girl.

Well thank you, troops, for an heroic effort today.

With a good wind behind us, we may just make the printers.

I hope so.

I only have one more recipe to go.

Miss Letitia Prout?

Yes?

Yes, my Migrant Melbourne articles will be on your desk at 9am sharp.

Feel free to take anything you want, Phryne.

I'm just going to lock Miss Lavender's office.

Of course. I'll come back tomorrow.

Goodnight!

Goodnight.

Oh, look at that!

I do admire the girl's pluck.

But she has no sense of order whatsoever.

Coming?

Mr Lin to see you urgently, Miss.

Lin, what's the matter? What's...

Phryne Fisher, may I present Miss Camellia Lu?

I'm honoured to meet you, Camellia.

She knows no English, but I have a problem I need to discuss with you privately.

Mr Butler, perhaps you could show Camellia through to the dining room and offer her some tea?

Yes, Miss.

Tell me all.

Grandmother wants to send Camellia home, but the Hus have refused to pay her passage.

So Grandmother took her revenge on Camellia, with a bamboo cane.

How awful!

Don't worry, Camellia fought like a tiger.

But I need you to keep her safe until I calm the waters.

Of course. Camellia will be my guest for as long as she needs.

Oh, it's alright, Miss. Come in.

If you go back to your room...

Mr... Mr Butler will bring you your things.

Goodnight, Camellia.

She's...

She's had a good soak in the bath.

Lin's gone home for the evening.

He'll call on Camellia tomorrow.

She left this downstairs.

I wonder if that's her wedding dress.

Quite probably.

Such a shame she won't get to wear it.

How can you tell anything?

It's all in Chinese.

I can tell it's about Communism.

Is Miss Lu a Communist?

There's clearly some connection.

She may have a much more colourful history that Mr Lin's family knows.

Would Mr Lin object?

His grandmother most certainly would.

Let's keep a close eye on her.

I like to know exactly what I'm dealing with in a house guest.

Miss Fisher. I apologise.

I think I misunderstood.

I thought it was Mr Lin who was joining you for supper tonight.

Never mind, Mr Butler.

Perhaps a little more light on the situation, but I'm sure the Inspector and I will cope.

Mr Chung looks well.

We crossed paths as he departed.

I hope you like Chinese food.

Is that better?

Miss Prout is behaving very oddly.

I'm not sure what it has to do with Miss Lavender's death yet, but...

I think this should tell us.

O... V...

No, no, U.

O... I... N... G.

What's that?

It's the sign for pounds.

'I know what you did.

I will expose you.

Bring...

Two... nought... nought... two hundred...

Two hundred pounds.

Nine... pm.

In five minutes' time!

Oh no!

I can't believe it!

Poor Letitia!

Should I notify her family?

Ah, no. They've been notified.

The man Miss Prout arranged to meet last night, could it be the same man that I saw her with in the office yesterday, and then later downstairs?

I can't imagine he'd return to the scene of the crime, assuming he m*rder*d Miss Lavender as well.

It's too coincidental.

He must be connected.

He gave her a photograph for the article she was working on.

Oh, I'm sorry...

Which has disappeared.

Inspector? A Constable Collins on my telephone for you.

Thank you.

'Since I had the new bub, I can hardly rise from my bed.

The children look up to me and I feel nothing except a hopeless failure.

I can't help thinking they will all be better off without me and I should just walk out the door.'

I'm sure she felt worse after she read what Artemis had to say.

I found her reply after you phoned, Dot, published two weeks later.

'Dear Desperate, slothfulness demonstrates weakness of character.

Shake off your malaise with housework and a strict routine to serve the needs of your husband and children, and you'll have no time to wallow in self-pity.'

Think the husband's our man?

If his wife left him and he blamed the advice.

Is there an address on that envelope?

Bring the car around, Constable.

Good work, fellow sleuth.

Go around the back way, Collins.

And be careful, there might be children in the house. OK, sir.

Hello, anyone there?

Oi!

What's going on?

Desperate's husband, I presume?

When did it happen?

She left the children with the neighbours, caught a bus to Rye.

It was about a week ago.

The day it happened, someone saw her walking on the cliffs, just before she, um...

Police said it took all day to recover her body and track me down.

So where were you that night?

Frankston Police Station, mostly.

They called me in to identify her body.

Then where'd you go?

I went to that magazine building and I threw a brick straight through their front window.

And I found some old paint laying downstairs.

I just wanted them to know what they did to her.

Did to us.

They told her to buck up.

What sort of stupid bloody women run that place?

And last night? Where were you?

Here. I haven't left this house since the day my wife d*ed.

The children?

Well welfare took them.

Said I was a risk.

I'd never hurt my kids.

They're all I got left.

His name is Robert Green, and Miss Lavender was already lying dead inside her locked office when he threw a brick through her front door.

So what are you looking for now?

Evidence of Miss Charlesworth's rift with her business partner.

Aha.

Looks like some kind of contract.

Offering Miss Lavender a new position to oversee the publication of her entire body of work.

I'm sure she had all kinds of offers.

Signed the week before she d*ed.

Well, either way, she would have been lost to Women's Choice, and how would murdering her help Miss Charlesworth?

Why don't you ask her yourself, Miss Fisher?

In the event of either partner dying, the other partner becomes sole owner of Women's Choice.

I see.

The Inspector's trying to confirm what I have already told you.

Why would Miss Charlesworth volunteer that information if she was guilty?

What about Miss Prout? You think she just pushed her down the stairs?

Can we not discuss the case in front of a main suspect?

Main suspect?

I'll go.

No, stay, and help me mount your defence!

Phryne, darling, I've had two deaths in two days.

I don't think I have the strength to mount anything.

Oh, damn!

Miss Charlesworth, that is enough.

Miss Charlesworth may have had motive and the means, but she did not k*ll Miss Lavender!

That's clean water.

What's your point?

How could Miss Lavender have a jar of clean water in her office if the pipes had been broken days?

And weren't fixed until the morning after she d*ed.

I fixed the pipes at six o'clock the night before.

Why the deception?

Because I didn't want my wife to know that I came back that night.

How could she not know?

She was working back.

No, she wasn't.

Miss Lavender was the only one here, and when I left her, she was fine.

Where was your wife?

I'd like to know the answer to that, even more than you would.

Oh my God. How much does he know?

Mrs Opie, it's not just your husband you've led astray.

This is a police investigation.

I went to meet a friend. A man.

I waited till everybody left the office at five, then I left shortly after.

Miss Lavender was the only one still here.

This gentleman friend's name?

I'd rather not say. But the hotel could confirm that I was there.

Your adultery is your alibi, Mrs Opie.

It was John Bell, wasn't it?

It's not grubby, like you think.

We talk, mainly.

About the world, and art.

All the things Stephen thinks I shouldn't be interested in.

Have you told my husband?

That's not our job, Mrs Opie.

You dropped one.

She was going through the letters.

Perhaps they read each other's mail...

She was reading.

I thought she couldn't understand English.

I'll eat my hat if that's true.

Mrs Opie and Mr Bell provide each other with an alibi.

What about Mr Opie?

His first instinct was to lie.

He has no one to support his alibi that night and he has ample opportunity.

Just short on motive.

Maybe he wanted to sabotage Women's Choice by k*lling Miss Lavender to get his wife to come home and cook dinner more often.

Some men will do anything for a hot meal.

Excuse me, Miss Fisher, there's a Miss Williams on the telephone for you.

Lovely, thank you, Dot.

I think it's time you levelled with us, Camellia.

Your English is far better than you would have us believe.

Your reading material suggests an educated woman.

And you seem to be able to hold your own with Granny Lin in a way that deeply impresses me.

You are right.

I am sorry, but it was necessary.

We only want to help you.

Please, I have lied to the Lins.

I am a widow.

My parents forbade my marriage, because my husband was a member of the Communist party.

So we eloped to Shanghai, where my husband was ex*cuted along with many of his comrades.

I had no choice but to flee, and beg for my family's mercy.

My father made the necessary arrangements to find a new husband for me, as far away as possible.

I have brought great dishonour on my family.

If I go home, I'm afraid my father will k*ll me.

Don't worry, Camellia.

We will find a solution.

If what you've told me is true, I could never allow her to be sent back.

So what are your intentions?

I realise you have no obligation, now that your grandmother no longer considers her suitable.

But of course. I will see to it that she has money and somewhere to live.

Alone?

In a strange country?

Shunned by your family, with no family of her own?

But she's obviously made one friend already.

Your grandmother won't find you another bride like Camellia.

She wants a daughter-in-law who's compliant and ignorant.

Camellia is strong. Clever.

And you are now her advocate?

You made your choice, to follow your tradition, and marry for duty and honour.

Perhaps I was wrong, and this broken engagement is my last chance... for love.

Come out with me tonight to Chinatown for dancing.

Not tonight.

I have to rise earlier than I care to.

Inspector Robinson and I are working on a case.

Is he unable to solve crimes alone?

Jack is strictly business.

Lin...

I care for you.

But you know I can never commit myself... to any man.

I know.

I've turned the office upside down looking for that migrant article.

I can't find it anywhere.

No one else saw him?

They met in the middle of the office.

He was bald and plump, with a moustache.

Well, Mrs Opie didn't catch his name, and Mr Bell can't recall meeting him at all.

But I made some notes when Letitia first talked about doing an article. Here they are.

'Barber By The Bay.'

The photograph that you gave Miss Prout, it was of you, in the w*r?

With my squadron, Aeronautica del Regio, taken before we were sh*t down, all of us, and the Germans took us prisoner.

Is that what the article was about?

No.

The young lady was also interested in the fighting.

But the other one...

Miss Charlesworth?

No, her name was like a flower.

Ah... Lilac?

Miss Lavender?

Lavender.

She come to see me to ask about the w*r.

And about the story of the man who was once my friend.

What man?

The man I showed her, in the photograph.

Just more pictures of the barber shop.

Look for images with a plane in the background.

Mr Butler?

This one has uniforms.

That's him. That's our man.

Who?

Giovanni Campagna.

That's odd.

He didn't say he was going out.

Did you hear the front door, Miss?

Check Camellia's room, Dot.

Help!

A Studebaker.

Are you sure?

Where will they take her?

Yes, I'll meet you there.

Lin.

There's a boat to China at midnight.

I recognise the two men at the far shed.

Camellia must be in there.

Did you come armed?

Please, these men are my cousins.

Alright.

You create a diversion while I slip inside. Ready?

Help!

Those thugs! Bastards! Animals!

It's close by. There's two of us.

Time to fight like a tiger.

Ya!

Ya!

Brilliant!

No!

Grandmother! I know you're here.

Show yourself.

This ends now.

Camellia is to be my wife.

I will not allow this harlot to bring shame to my family.

It's my family too, and I'm taking my role as the head of it.

And Camellia will be by my side.

Sorry!

If you're going to demand a denouement, Miss Fisher, the least you can do is turn up on time.

What is all this about, Detective Inspector?

John Bell, you're under arrest for the murders of Miss Marcella Lavender and Miss Letitia Prout.

What?

Mr Bell, do you deny it?

Well of course I deny it!

What possible motive could he have for murdering Miss Lavender and Letitia Prout?

Miss Fisher, perhaps you'd like to begin?

The name Giovanni Compagna.

Miss Charlesworth, you have a smattering of Italian.

How would that translate into English?

Oh well, Giovanni is John, and...

It's John Bell, isn't it?

That's right. Interesting, because Giovanni Campagna is a traitor.

He spied for the Germans and was responsible for hundreds of Italian pilots being sh*t down in flames over the Austrian Alps.

But this can't be true.

You led us to believe that you were brought here as a child.

If he hadn't fled Italy he'd have been tried for treason, and probably sh*t.

These are all lies!

I can assure you, Mr Bell, we can prove it.

The Italian Embassy has been quite helpful.

What has this to do with Marcella and Letitia?

Meticulous Miss Lavender found the photograph of John Bell in uniform that Miss Prout missed in her Migrant Melbourne article.

Miss Prout only noticed the familiar face later when her Italian barber friend gave her a better photograph to replace the one that mysteriously disappeared.

Why didn't either of them go directly to the police?

Miss Prout attempted blackmail instead and ended up at the bottom of the stairwell.

But Marcella would never stoop to such immoral behaviour.

I suspect she gave him advice, as usual and hoped he'd do the noble thing and turn himself in.

She appealed to his better nature.

But he didn't have one.

No, he was with me! He couldn't have k*lled Miss Lavender.

I knew it!

Oh, Stephen!

Wait!

Stephen!

Take it easy.

I'm sorry, Stephen.

Thank you, Collins.

Mr Campagna was a pilot.

All pilots were given cyanide capsules to take in case of capture.

You decided to save your bitter pill for a rainy day.

But the problem was, how to administer it without being connected to the crime.

Then, opportunity presented itself in the form of Miss Lavender's broken music box.

Because, as he obviously knew, cyanide mixed with an acid gives off deadly fumes and turns everything it touches into a lovely shade of blue.

John, how could you?

Get out of my way!

Take your hands off me!

Get up!

Move forward.

Chin up just a fraction.

Thank you very much, Camellia.

Well Phryne, you were right.

You are perfectly lovely.

Whatever happens, people will sit up and take notice with the soon to be Mrs Lin Chung heading your Migrant Melbourne article.

And you must be Dorothy.

What a splendid Artemis you make.

There's a cheque for you, waiting in my office, and a permanent job, if you'd like to try something more challenging than a lady's companion?

Oh, no, I could never leave Miss Fisher.

I would understand, Dot, if you want the opportunity to try something different.

You're different enough for me, Miss. But thank you.

Yes, she's certainly different.

Jack.

Good of you to come.

And what puzzle are we solving tonight?

No puzzle.

And no candlelight.

No chopsticks, either.

There won't be chopsticks at this table for quite some time.

And how will Mr Lin feel about that?

Mr Lin would have quite enough to worry about with his Communist revolutionary fighter bride.

Really? Pass on my congratulations.

Perhaps we could allow ourselves just one candle.

What do you think?

I think I could cope with that.