DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Death Before Wicket 11
‘Well, that may prove useful to you,’ said Phryne. ‘When I
said I was retribution,’ she added, sitting down on the edge of
the desk, ‘I was not overstating the matter. This is no longer a
potty little academic quarrel, carried on by people who are far
too intelligent and have far too little occupation. That’s a real
boy out there and that’s real venom in his veins and he might die.
He may be dead, even now. And some of that is down to you.’
‘I can tell you nothing,’ said Ayers. He was a tall, slim man,
very good looking in a fine-drawn, English way. The weathering
which much standing around in Egyptian sun bestows on the
skin made it difficult for him to pale, but a tic had begun below
his left eye and he was biting his lip.
‘What is this all about?’ asked Phryne. ‘I began to investigate
it at the instance of two young men anxious to clear their friend’s
name. Now I’m up to my elbows in black magicians, tarot cards,
foretellings and secrets, and I’m beginning to get quite cross. I
am loath to threaten you with actual physical harm, Dr. Ayers,
but I will if I have to.’
‘Miss Fisher, it doesn’t matter what you threaten me with,’ said
Ayers with an appearance of frankness. ‘I will tell you nothing.’
‘About the papyrus?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’ asked Phryne.
‘I can’t tell you that, either.’
Phryne considered him. He was speaking, though not freely,
and the best thing to do would be to keep him speaking. Perhaps
she could get at the truth another way.
‘Dr. Ayers, why did you run?’
‘I was startled.’
‘What startled you?’
‘Joss’s injury.’
‘The nature of his injury?’
‘Yes,’ said the professor.
‘“The snake be against him on land”,’ Phryne quoted. ‘Easier,
perhaps, than trying to find a crocodile in the middle of Sydney.
The closest I’ve seen to a crocodile is that bounder Marrin.’