DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Death Before Wicket 1 1
‘What?’
‘Has it occurred to you that they—whoever they are—don’t
actually mean to feed us?’ He readied himself for a scream and
wondered if he remembered the correct form of words for soothing
the frantic female. Was it ‘There, there’? Or perhaps ‘Come, come’?
It really was too bad of Fate, always a s-saucy unreliable minx.
Here he was alone with the delectable Miss Fisher, had her all to
himself without a lot of other fellows bothering around, and all
he was likely to be able to do was to s-starve to death with her.
‘You mean, have I considered that this is a murder attempt?’
She sounded quite cool.
‘Er, well, not to put to fine a point upon it, yes.’
‘I have considered it,’ she answered composedly. ‘It’s possible.
Some persons might shrink from actually killing their victim
outright, and might consider leaving us to starve a less shocking
procedure. But I think it more likely that they mean to keep us
here in durance fairly vile for a set period.’
‘Why? I mean, why do you think that?’ If Phryne was
impressed by the stoic professor, he was impressed and not a
little disconcerted by her. She didn’t seem even disarrayed by
being thrown down into confinement with a man to whom she
had not even been introduced.
‘Because something has to be done soon, and we might have
foiled it,’ replied this strange woman, calmly.
‘But what?’ asked Mr. Brazell, helplessly. ‘I’m the Professor
of Anthropology. I’ve never done anything which might involve
criminality in my life. Mind you, if I get out, I may join you in
committing an indictable offence, Miss Fisher, but…’
‘Then it is not something you have done, but something
you know, and it must be something that I know, too. Give me
another playbill, will you?’
‘We might let the light go out for awhile,’ he suggested.
‘We don’t know how long we are going to be here. Also, it uses
oxygen.’
‘We can talk just as well in the dark,’ agreed Phryne. She
spread her blanket and enclosed both of them in it. Mr. Brazell