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got a new job and I’m staying at the Windsor!…Yes, it was a stroke of luck! I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, I’m going home to see Mum, can you come over then?…Good. M-m-muriel, have you got an address ?…No, it isn’t for me, I promise. It’s for a friend.…No. I can prove it. Well, can you find out? All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Muriel. Bye.’
    ‘She says that she’ll find out, Miss. I’ll see her tomorrow. But how do we know that it’s him?’
    ‘There can’t be that many abortionists in Melbourne,’ said Phryne grimly. ‘But if necessary, I’ll call them all. Now I’m going to dinner.’

Chapter Six
    Made one with Death
Filled full of the Night
    ‘The Triumph of Time’, Algernon Swinburne
    The following morning, Phryne took Dorothy on a shopping tour of Melbourne. She found that the young woman had excellent taste, though inclining to the flamboyant. Dorothy was also most anxious to save Phryne’s money, which was a pleasant change from the bulk of Phryne’s acquaintances, who were over-eager to spend it.
    By luncheon time, they had acquired two uniformlike dresses in dark-blue linen, stockings, shoes, and foundation-garments in an attractive shade of champagne. As well as an overcoat of bright azure guaranteed to cheer the winter days, and a richly embroidered afternoon dress, bought over Dorothy’s protests by Phryne, who was adamant that the possession of pretty clothes was the second-best sustainer of a young woman’s morale in the world.
    Phryne had presented her credentials at her bank, and had opened an account at Madame Olga’s in Collins Street, in case some trifle might attract her. This she rather doubted, considering Melbourne fashion, until she was trying on evening gowns in Madame’s sumptuous parlour. Madame, a gaunt, spiritual woman who looked upon the mode as a remote and harsh deity requiring great sacrifices, observed Phryne’s lack of interest in the available gowns, and snapped an order to a scurrying attendant.
    ‘Fetch cinq a sept ’, she ordered.
    The acolyte returned carrying with nervous tenderness a garment bundled in thin white silk. This was unrolled in reverent silence. Phryne, clad lightly in camiknickers and stockings, waited impatiently for the rite to be completed; she was sure that ice was forming on her upper slopes.
    Madame shook the dress out and flung it over a stand, and stood back to watch Phryne’s reaction with restrained pleasure. Dorothy gasped, and even Phryne’s eyes widened.
    It was deep claret, edged with dark mink; evidently a design by Erté, with few seams, the weight of the garment depending entirely from the shoulder. The deep decolleté was artfully concealed with strings of jet beads, which served the function of preventing the dress from sliding off the wearer’s shoulders, but leaving a gratifying impression that this was, indeed, what it might at any moment do.
    ‘Would Mademoiselle wish to try?’ asked Madame, and Phryne allowed the dress to be lowered over her head. It had a train, but not so long as to be inconvenient, and the huge sleeves, inspired by an Imperial Chinese robe, slid gracefully together at the front to make a muff for her hands. The deep colour contrasted effectively with Phryne’s pale skin and black hair, and as she moved, the liquefaction of the satin flowed over her limbs, moulding her as if in gelatine. It was a perfectly decent but utterly erotic dress and Phryne knew that she must have it.
    ‘I have not shown this to any one in Melbourne,’ observed Madame with quiet satisfaction. ‘There is no lady in Melbourne who could wear it with sufficient panache. Mademoiselle has style, therefore the gown is made for Mademoiselle.’
    ‘It is,’ agreed Phryne, and accepted, without turning a hair, a price which made Dorothy gasp. This was the gown of the year, Phryne thought, and would make exactly the right impression on the Cryers, and hence on the rest of Melbourne. She mentioned