Paul Temple Intervenes

by Francis Durbridge

  “How much farther have we to go?” Temple asked him.

  “I don’t think it’s far now,” he replied, with some hesitation. “I’ve only been here once before, and it was all such a nightmare, I can’t remember distances very exactly.”

  The surface of the road deteriorated considerably, and after a while Forbes told the driver to stop.

  “Are we within easy walking distance now?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” replied Slater. “The road gets very bad – I don’t think it would be advisable to take the cars any farther.”

  They clambered out and were stretching their stiff limbs as the second police car came to a standstill behind them.

  “Is this the place, sir?” asked Bradley, coming up.

  “We’re just going to investigate,” Forbes replied, his gaze wandering over the long tract of common land, edged by a fair-sized wood. “Any idea of your bearings now, Slater?” he inquired.

  “This mist makes it rather difficult,” replied the young man, whose face wore a worried expression. “I think the house is about a quarter-of-a-mile away, just beyond the wood. A little further on there is a tall wire fence which runs all round the estate.”

  “Humph!” grunted Forbes, suspiciously. “They’ve kept that in repair then?”

  “Does this road lead right to the house?” asked Temple.

  “Oh yes, we go through a gateway when we come to the fence, and then there’s a short drive up to the house.”

  “Good,” said Forbes. “We’ll go on up – the others can stay this side of the fence.” He gave the necessary instructions, posting the men at hundred yards’ intervals along the fence, and stationing a couple of them at the gate. They found this unfastened, and Forbes and Temple went on towards the house itself.

  The drive was completely overgrown with grass and weeds, and the house itself seemed to be in no better condition. It proved to be a Victorian mansion of dejected appearance, with wide overhanging eaves and a forbidding ornate ironwork verandah running along its front. Plaster was peeling from the walls, several slates were missing from the roof, and the gardens were a mass of undergrowth. Briars straggled across the overgrown paths, and had even climbed a decayed notice board which stated that ‘This desirable Sussex manor house, standing in its own estate of 14 acres,’ was for sale by private treaty.

  “The gentleman who desires this place must have a very morbid taste,” pronounced Forbes, grimly.

  “Oh come, Sir Graham, it’s probably very nice in the summer,” smiled Temple, as they edged their way cautiously towards the rear of the building.

  Forbes crept up to the kitchen window, his footsteps making no sound in the drenched tangled grass, and peered in through the grimy panes. As far as he could see, it was deserted. The room was very sparsely furnished, had not been cleaned for months, and it seemed as if a tramp or two had found it a convenient billet. Ashes were piled high under the empty grate, the table had a leg missing, there were a couple of decrepit kitchen chairs and two or three newspapers scattered in odd corners.

  They went round a corner and pushed open the weather-beaten back door; as Slater had said, it lacked one of its hinges. Forbes rather ostentatiously held a handkerchief to his nose, and with the other hand gripped the butt of his revolver.

  “The place is in a filthy condition,” he snorted, making for a door on the far side of the room. This led to a larder which was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s proverbial pantry. As Forbes looked in, a rat scuttled to its hole in a distant corner.

  “I’ll just see what’s upstairs,” said Temple, but Forbes caught his arm.

  “Wait a minute! I thought I heard someone shouting!”

  “You mean outside?”

  “Yes, the pantry window’s broken.”

  They stood listening for a minute or so, then Temple turned towards the staircase.

  “While you’re up there, see if there’s any sign of a telephone,” said Forbes. “Apparently, the telephone people have been working out this way for some time.”

  “That’s news to me. How did you know?”

  “The landlord at the pub seemed to think that Bradley was the supervisor.”

  “Of course,” said Temple, “they may not have been genuine Post Office engineers.”

  “Phew! I wish I’d thought of that – I’d have had it checked.”

  “It does seem rather a strange idea to have the phone connected to a place like this just now,” ruminated Temple.

  “Not so strange, if the place is being used as we think,” Forbes pointed out.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Temple conceded, as he turned to climb the creaking staircase. For the next five minutes, they searched the house very rapidly, but found no trace of any telephone. The place was sparsely furnished, and it looked as if the best pieces of furniture had been removed. Forbes was about to begin tapping the substantial walls in quest of any possible concealed hiding place, when there came the unmistakable sound of two long blasts from a police whistle outside.

  Forbes pulled his revolver from his pocket.

  “Come on, Temple, we’ve got to get out of here!” he called. Temple came running downstairs as the whistle sounded again.

  “This way,” said Forbes when they stood outside the back door. They hastened to a slope in the ground on the near side of the belt of trees.

  Bradley’s voice echoed through the mist.

  “The fence!” he shouted. “Keep away from the fence!”

  “What the devil!” gasped Forbes, rather winded by his rapid exit.

  “Don’t touch that fence!” came Bradley’s warning shout once again.

  “What a damn fool I am!” murmured Temple to himself.

  “Eh?”

  “They’ve electrified the fence?”

  “Electrified it?” repeated Forbes, in amazement. “Good God, what’s the idea?”

  “The idea,” replied Temple grimly, “is to trap us.”

  “But I don’t see—”

  “To keep us somewhere near the fence,” explained Temple, rather impatiently.

  “To keep us somewhere near the fence?” repeated the bewildered Chief Commissioner.

  “Don’t you see?” cut in Temple urgently. He indicated where a line of fresh soil had been recently turned over. “They haven’t been working on telephone wires; they’ve been burrowing! In other words, laying a mine!” He hesitated before adding: “And I’m afraid we’re right on top of it!”

  For some seconds they regarded each other in silence. A French owl fluttered from one of the trees and hooted drearily at them.

  “I believe you’re right,” said Forbes at last. “There must be a power-house somewhere in the wood. That’s how they’ve electrified the fence, and that’s how they’ll explode the mine if there is one. We’ve got to get past the fence and find that power-house!”

  In less than two minutes they caught sight of the stalwart figure of Bradley.

  “There’s a hell of a voltage going through this wire, sir,” he announced, harshly. “Turner happened to be leaning against it when the juice was turned on. He’s in a pretty bad way.”

  “What about the gate?” asked Forbes, quickly.

  “Seems to have some sort of self-locking gadget. It swung to after you entered, and it’s locked all right now. Made of iron, too—sure to be alive.”

  Sir Graham seemed to be quite at a loss.

  “All right, Bradley,” said Temple, quietly. “Get back up the hill with your men as quickly as you can. Pass the word on to Ross to do the same.”

  “Yes … get a move on, Bradley,” urged Forbes, seeing that Temple had some plan of campaign.

  Somewhat mystified, Bradley obeyed.

  “Organise a thorough search for that power-house,” Forbes called after his retreating form, and Bradley signalled his assent.

  When he had disappeared, Forbes turned to Temple.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Temple took a neat little revolver fro
m his overcoat pocket.

  “This is our only chance, Sir Graham. And there’s no time to be lost.”

  Forbes eyed the weapon dubiously.

  “It’s a risk, Temple,” he murmured.

  “There’s no other way; they should all be out of range now.”

  “You’ll have to stand well away from it in case it whips back,” he told Temple, who measured his distance carefully and retreated five paces.

  The ‘crack’ and ‘ping’ seemed almost simultaneous, and a strand of the top wire whistled alarmingly near them.

  “Good man!” cried the Chief Commissioner, excitedly.

  Once again, Temple took aim and accounted for the middle strand of wire. He was just preparing for the third shot, when there was a faint tremor beneath their feet.

  “They’ve heard the shots!” exclaimed Temple, flinging himself full length on the ground and pulling Forbes with him.

  For a moment they both seemed to be engulfed by the reverberating roar and then they experienced the sensation of being picked up by a huge ocean wave and flung helplessly into the air. Fortunately, the soft, mossy turf broke their fall, but they were badly winded, and lay helpless for some seconds while slates, pieces of brick and plaster and odd bits of wood descended all around them. The ‘desirable residence’ was obviously desirable no longer.

  After a while, Temple sat up and gingerly felt his arms and legs, meanwhile surveying the huge crater from which smoke and dust were slowly rising. Temple noticed that they had been flung outside the fence, part of which was uprooted. Sir Graham, who was lying about twenty yards away, rose uncertainly to his feet.

  “Are you all right, Temple?” he called.

  “I seem to be all in one piece,” replied his companion ruefully, as he noticed a large tear in his overcoat. Forbes went and rescued his hat which was resting on a gorse bush.

  “Good job we weren’t in that house,” he observed, with a certain amount of grim satisfaction.

  Ross and Bradley came running up, and were obviously surprised and relieved to find them uninjured.

  “I’ve got the men spread out, sir,” said Bradley. “They’re patrolling the fence to see if anyone is trying to escape.”

  “This fence wasn’t electrified when we got here; I’m sure of that,” said Ross. And Bradley agreed.

  “If you want my opinion, sir, they planned to watch us with binoculars, but this mist upset their calculations,” argued Bradley. “They probably had scouts posted to tell them when you and Mr. Temple were on the way to the house, but they had to do the rest by guesswork. They waited a few minutes too long, giving you plenty of time to get settled in.”

  “The best thing you can do, Bradley,” interposed Forbes, “is to call your men together and start a thorough search of that wood. There must be a power-house or apparatus of some sort there. They’ve probably deserted it now – I expect they made a getaway immediately after the explosion. Mr. Temple and I will go back to the inn.”

  Bradley and Ross had begun to move away. Ross suddenly stopped.

  “What about Slater, sir?” he asked.

  Sir Graham frowned thoughtfully, then decided. “You can take him with you. Keep a careful eye on him. I’m beginning to think that young man knows quite a lot more than he’s told us so far. Report to us as soon as you get back to The Silver Swan.”

  When they had gone, Forbes and Temple began to make their way back to the car. They were both beginning to experience a reaction to the exciting events of the past hour. Forbes was limping slightly as a result of a flying piece of timber striking his kneecap, and Temple was battling with a blinding headache.

  “I don’t trust that fellow Slater,” growled Forbes. “I’m beginning to think he was put up as a decoy.”

  “It certainly looks highly suspicious,” Temple agreed. He chuckled to himself.

  “What’s the joke?”

  “No joke at all, Sir Graham. But one has to admire The Marquis’ ambitious outlook. Not many of our master criminals have aspired to blow up half the personnel of Scotland Yard.”

  “Humph!” grunted Forbes. “The devil nearly got away with it too.” As he climbed into his car, a thought struck Forbes.

  “Temple, supposing this fellow Slater were The Marquis?”

  Temple lighted a cigarette which seemed to relieve his headache a little.

  “The theory has its possibilities, Sir Graham,” he conceded. “I should imagine The Marquis is just the type of person who would plan the wholesale destruction of a group of enemies and go along with them to see that the scheme worked out according to plan. And what’s more he’d probably get a considerable kick out of it.”

  “Yes,” mused Forbes, “the more I think of the idea, the more feasible it sounds. I wish we’d brought Slater back with us; I’d like to ask him one or two questions. As it is, there’s a chance he might get away.”

  “I think Bradley can be relied upon to prevent that,” said Temple.

  “M’m … perhaps you’re right,” said Forbes, as he pressed the self-starter, and they began to make their way along the bumpy road. With almost a sigh, Temple settled himself comfortably in his seat.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE MARQUIS SENDS A WARNING

  The huge logs crackled and spluttered cheerfully in the open fireplace of the lounge at The Silver Swan, throwing a pleasing glow on the dark panelled walls. Steve had established herself in the old-fashioned inglenook, and was looking through a pile of assorted society magazines, most of which were very old and not a little battered. Still, she was enjoying them none the less, for she was so well acquainted with the true stories behind these absurdly glamourised productions which aimed to present the darlings of Mayfair as if they were immortals from Olympus. She knew so well that the more they endeavoured to glorify the Mayfair girl, the more they were threatened with libel actions from all sorts of unexpected quarters.

  She turned over pages of wedding photographs, and was chuckling to herself over a picture of ‘Lord X and Friend’ (she happened to know that the ‘friend’ had since sued him for substantial breach of promise damages) when she heard a familiar dry rasping voice through the half-open door.

  Sir Felix Reybourn popped his head inside the lounge. He was apparently looking for the landlord. When he saw Steve he came over at once.

  “Why Mrs. Temple, this is a pleasant surprise!” he cried, and seemed quite genuinely pleased. Steve emerged from the inglenook.

  “Hello Sir Felix!” she responded, not a little intrigued at his sudden appearance. “What are you doing in this part of the world?”

  Before Sir Felix could start any explanation, the ample form of his housekeeper filled the doorway. She was very primly clad in a neat black costume and carried a large black bag.

  “You know Mrs. Clarence, I think,” smiled Sir Felix.

  The housekeeper dropped an old-fashioned curtsey in response to Steve’s polite inquiry concerning her health.

  “I’m much better than I was, ma’am. I’ve been suffering with my chest.”

  “I’m afraid this mist won’t help it very much,” said Steve, sympathetically. “Won’t you come and get warm?”

  “Thank ye very much, Mrs. Temple, but I’ve a little matter to look into for Sir Felix. I’ll just pop out and see the landlord.”

  “Yes, we haven’t very much time, Mrs. Clarence. Perhaps you’ll go and find him right away.”

  Mrs. Clarence bustled out.

  “And mind you look after it!” he called after her. In the doorway, Mrs. Clarence turned and favoured her employer with the merest suggestion of a wink.

  When the door had closed, Sir Felix turned and spread his bony hands to the blaze.

  “This all sounds very mysterious,” said Steve.

  Reybourn’s eyes twinkled.

  “Ah, the reporter is hot on the scent. Once a newspaper-woman, the old instinct is never quite suppressed, eh Mrs. Temple?”

  Steve smiled but did not speak.

 
; “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you,” he continued. “There’s practically no mystery at all for you to unravel. Mrs. Clarence is merely exercising her charm to secure me a case of my favourite whisky. I’m afraid I acquired rather a taste for it in Egypt, and the landlord here orders it specially for me. Sorry I can’t offer you anything better in the way of a scoop.”

  Steve laughed. “I won’t ask you to produce the aforesaid whisky.”

  Sir Felix lighted a long, thin cheroot, and sat on the edge of a chair near the fire.

  “Well, I’ve told you my secret, Mrs. Temple. Now perhaps you’ll allow me to indulge my curiosity and ask what you are doing at Bevensey?”

  “Oh, no,” replied Steve quickly. “That was originally my question. And I’m still just a little intrigued as to why you should travel all the way from St. John’s Wood just to get a case of whisky.”

  “But I have a country house in these parts – I suppose you’d call it an estate if you were a house agent. It’s about six or seven miles away—Greensea House. I bought it about two years ago. So I’m frequently in this part of the country. I’m sure my friend the landlord will verify this statement. He’ll also direct you there if you should feel inclined to drop in to tea one afternoon.”

  He flicked his cigar ash into the fire.

  “That’s my story, Mrs. Temple. Now, how about yours?”

  Steve was just wondering how much she should tell Sir Felix when the door opened to admit the inn’s solitary waiter.

  “I beg your pardon, madam,” said the waiter, “there’s a gentleman to see you. He gave his name as Sergeant Morris.”

  She looked surprised, but before she could reply Sir Felix rose to his feet and offered his hand.

  “I’ll be off, Mrs. Temple. If you’re down here for any length of time, don’t hesitate to look me up. Mrs. Clarence and I will be delighted to see you. Don’t forget—Greensea House—it lies back from the Ashfield Road. The landlord will direct you.”