Send for Paul Temple Again!

by Francis Durbridge

  “I’ve been down to Canterbury for the day, of course, but it must be about a year now since I stayed at the Royal Falcon.”

  He paused to urge Steve to try the cakes which his house-keeper had brought in with the coffee. She could not help reflecting that Carl Lathom seemed very much at his ease now, and indeed looked the typical man about Town, the last sort of person who would suffer from hallucinations or need to consult a psychiatrist.

  Then she glanced up at a small bookcase near her left shoulder and noticed that all the books dealt with the subject of black magic. She told herself that there were more aspects to the character of Carl Lathom than met the eye of the casual acquaintance. She was about to make some inquiry about this varied selection of volumes when the door opened and the housekeeper came in with a jug of hot milk and two letters which had apparently arrived by the Midday post.

  He did not look at the letters immediately, but pressed Steve and Temple to take a second cup of coffee.

  “There was one thing I wanted to ask you, Temple, about this girl in brown business,” he said suddenly.

  “Oh—what’s that?” asked Temple.

  “Well, it now appears to be fairly definitely established that this girl is a creature of substance; not just a figment of my imagination.”

  “We can’t both have imagined exactly the same girl,” smiled Steve.

  “Exactly.” Lathom leaned forward in his chair and demanded earnestly, “Then why should Doctor Kohima take all that trouble to convince me that the girl in brown was an hallucination?”

  Temple stirred his coffee and laid the spoon in the saucer.

  “That,” he conceded, “is quite a nice point. Of course, the doctor may have believed quite genuinely that your girl in brown was an hallucination. How could he know there was such a person?”

  “He might,” replied Lathom slowly, “if he were in touch with certain people.”

  “What do you mean, exactly?” asked Temple.

  Lathom shrugged.

  “Oh well, we all have our enemies, I suppose,” he parried lightly.

  “And why should an eminent psychiatrist be in league with any enemies of yours?” demanded Temple shrewdly.

  Lathom smiled and lighted a cigarette.

  “Yes, I admit that is where one has to start guessing,” he murmured disarmingly. “The only answer would seem to be that Kohima is something more than an eminent psychiatrist. You realise, of course, Mr. Temple, that men like him are in a very powerful position in relation to their patients’ private lives. They discover a tremendous number of secrets.”

  “But you repeatedly assured me that Kohima was a first-class man,” Temple reminded him.

  “Yes, I know. I thought that at the time. Now, I’m not so sure. You see, I really believed then that the girl in brown had been an hallucination. Now I find she wasn’t, I naturally become a trifle sceptical about the doctor who persuaded me that she was.”

  “At the same time,” said Temple. “Doctor Kohima’s intentions may have been of the best. After all, Lathom, you were probably in a highly strung frame of mind, and he really treated you as a genuine case.”

  Lathom rose and placed his empty cup on a side table.

  “All the same, I’ve a sort of feeling that there’s more in this affair than meets the eye. Though why anyone should pick on me . . .”

  He took the two letters which the housekeeper had placed on the table, and with a murmured apology opened the first one, which was an official envelope.

  “I say,” he commented as he scanned it, “these Income Tax people are optimists, if nothing else.”

  He flung it down on the table and picked up the smaller envelope which he carelessly tore open, then began reading the letter in a very casual manner. Suddenly, his expression changed, and he quickly turned the page to see the signature.

  “My God!” he ejaculated, letting the envelope fall to the floor.

  Temple and Steve looked at each other in some embarrassment.

  “Is anything the matter, Mr. Lathom?” asked Steve a little uncertainly, for she had observed that his face seemed suddenly drawn and much older.

  “This letter,” said Lathom hoarsely. “Read it . . .”

  He passed it over to Temple and sank into a chair. Temple began to read aloud for Steve’s benefit:

  You are requested to obey the following instructions without fail. On the evening of Tuesday next, October the 9th, you will drive your car down to the village of Haybourne. On the north side of the village you will find a small country lane, known as Fallow-end. Park your car at the point where Fallow-end joins the main Haybourne road. The car should be there not later than 10.15. Then walk back to the village and stay there until eleven o’clock.

  On the back seat of the car you will leave an attache case; containing two thousand one pound notes, which must not be numbered consecutively. If you do not obey these instructions, a letter will be forwarded to certain newspapers explaining the real reasons for your visit to Cairo in the autumn of 1935. No further explanation should be needed, Mr. Lathom.

  “Rex.”

  For some seconds no one spoke. Lathom had sunk his head in his hands, and looked desperately miserable.

  “Of course,” said Steve softly, “if he wrote those letters to the Papers, it doesn’t follow they would be printed. They’re pretty scared of libel in Fleet Street.”

  “No!” cried Lathom, waking to life. “Whatever happens, he mustn’t send those letters! He mustn’t do that, Temple!”

  “Two thousand pounds,” replied Temple quietly, “sounds a lot of money.”

  “I’ll have to find it somehow,” said Lathom desperately. “I daren’t take any chances.”

  Temple picked up the envelope from the floor and studied it thoughtfully.

  “It’s rather difficult to advise you in this matter, Lathom,” he murmured, “as of course I have no idea what happened in Cairo.”

  For a moment it seemed that Lathom was going to take them into his confidence. Then his face hardened again. He shook his head.

  “I don’t see that it would serve any useful purpose, Temple,” he muttered.

  “Then the only thing I can recommend is that you put Scotland Yard wise to the blackmail threat, and leave them to work out a plan.”

  Lathom pondered over this for a while, but appeared unable to make up his mind.

  “You don’t think this business is linked up with the girl in brown, do you?” he asked presently.

  “Yes,” nodded Temple. “I think it probably has quite a lot to do with the girl in brown. In fact, there appears to me to be one very significant factor in the whole set-up.”

  “Oh?” queried Lathom eagerly, his face lighting up once more. “What’s that?”

  “You haven’t noticed it?” queried Temple diffidently.

  “Why, no,” replied the other in a puzzled voice. “Have you, Mrs. Temple?”

  “I can’t say I have,” admitted Steve, “but my mind goes woolgathering so much lately.”

  “Hence the knitting,” put in her husband with a faint smile. “Well, I may be wrong. Perhaps the factor isn’t so significant after all.”

  He examined the postmark on the envelope.

  “This appears to have been posted from Hampstead,” he mused. “Afraid that doesn’t help us very much—”

  “But have you noticed the letter?” put in Steve quickly, who had been reading it for the second time. “It’s been typed on the same machine, Paul.”

  “What do you mean?” interrupted Lathom quickly in an astonished tone. “What machine are you referring to?” His mouth was twitching spasmodically. Temple did not reply immediately and Lathom persisted: “Have you seen a letter like this before?”

  “Oh yes,” replied Temple after a pause. “I saw one sent to Mrs. Trevelyan.”

  “You mean Doctor Kohima’s secretary?” queried Lathom in patent amazement. “This gets more and more involved. You mean that Mrs. Trevelyan actually receive
d a note from Rex?”

  “Typed on this very same machine,” nodded Temple.

  “But this is amazing!” cried Lathom. “There must be some connection between Rex and Doctor Kohima, Temple. There must be! First, the doctor treats me for hallucinations—”

  “By the way, how did you come to consult Doctor Kohima?” interrupted Temple.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I was recommended quite a while ago. I quite thought I told you that.”

  “And who sent you to him?”

  “I could have sworn I told you.” Lathom hesitated a moment, then said simply, “It was Norma Rice.”

  Temple nodded, but did not speak.

  “I saw her at a cocktail party just after she got back from America,” continued Lathom. “She said I was drinking too much – and of course I was. So I told her I’d been rather jittery during the past few months . . . and so on. That was when she recommended me to try the doctor. Said he’d done a friend of hers a lot of good. But about this letter,” he went on impatiently, “have you found out which machine it was typed on?”

  Temple shook his head.

  “We have eliminated one or two, that’s all.”

  “Mr. Lathom, if I were you, I should be inclined to call Rex’s bluff,” suggested Steve. “I’ve worked on a newspaper, and I know they get dozens of silly letters making all sorts of charges against people. They never take them seriously unless there is some pretty substantial evidence and the writer is ready to come forward and—”

  “No, no, I tell you 1 daren’t take the risk!” he reiterated. “It would ruin me completely. Haven’t you anything at all to suggest, Mr. Temple?”

  “I have told you what I should do in your place,” replied Temple. “I should notify Scotland Yard. That gives you a double chance. If the Yard doesn’t get Rex, well, he’ll probably give you a second ‘life’, though the stakes will be raised if I know anything about blackmail. If you pay up without a murmur, you may depend it’s only a first instalment. So it’s up to you to take a gamble on the Yard getting Rex when he comes to collect.”

  “But he may not collect it himself,” Steve pointed out.

  “Quite likely. But if the Yard managed to pull in one of his associates, that would be something,” argued Temple, then added lightly: “You never know, Lathom. It might even be the girl in brown!”

  Chapter X

  ORDEAL FOR MRS. TREVELYAN

  IN the Assistant Commissioner’s room at New Scotland Yard, the telephone gave a discreet buzz, and Forbes picked up the receiver. He recognised the voice of Detective-Inspector Bradley, one of his most reliable lieutenants, who had just returned to the Yard after a spell with the Special Branch in Lisbon.

  “We’re just about to leave, sir,” said Bradley in his customary brisk fashion. “I’ve got three of the new Harmans – the fast model. Don’t imagine there are many cars on the road going to pass us tonight.”

  “No fancy business, mind,” adjured Forbes gruffly, for he knew Bradley’s love of speed. “You understand the layout of the village?”

  “Perfectly, sir. Perhaps Inspector Crane would like to check over the details before we start.”

  “I’m afraid Crane isn’t here at the moment. I’ll check them. All right, you can go ahead.”

  Bradley proceeded to read out rapidly a list of names of the men and their positions in the cordon around the little village of Haybourne. For the date calendar on Forbes’ desk showed Tuesday, October 9th, and New Scotland Yard was on its toes to round up Rex at last.

  Forbes ticked off the names on a list near the telephone.

  “Right!” he said eventually. “Now you understand, Bradley, that whatever happens once Rex has reached that car, he must not get back through the cordon. He’s got to be stopped – alive or dead! You understand that?”

  “I’ve got it, sir.”

  Forbes replaced the receiver with a thoughtful air, and turned to Temple who was smoking a cigarette and glancing through the evening paper, in which for once in a way there was no reference to the Rex case. He realised that Forbes was feeling the strain of events more than he cared to admit, and was doing his utmost to appear casual and completely at ease.

  Temple had had to induce Carl Lathom to show the letter to the police and allow them to take the matter in hand. It had then taken Sir Graham the better part of a whole morning to persuade Lathom to follow the instructions of the letter himself and he had had to promise that the police escort would be so formidable that any organisation that Rex might produce for the occasion was certain to be overwhelmed.

  Temple glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, which pointed to ten minutes to nine. It was an hour’s run to Haybourne even in a fast car.

  “Crane’s cutting it fine, isn’t he?” he asked.

  “Can’t understand it. The fellow’s generally too damn punctual,” growled Forbes. “He moved out to Golder’s Green a few days ago, and maybe he doesn’t allow himself enough time—”

  At that the door opened and Crane appeared, very red in the face and considerably out of breath.

  “I’m very sorry, sir,” he apologised. “My confounded car broke down and the nearest garage was closed. Had to shove it half a mile and then walk to Hampstead to pick up a taxi.”

  “Hard luck, Inspector,” sympathised Temple.

  “Bradley was on the ‘phone checking up just now,” said Forbes.

  “Yes, I had a word with him on my way up here. We’re all set now.” He rapidly scanned the list Forbes had passed over to him, then said:

  “You’ve spoken to Mr. Lathom, sir?”

  “I had a final word with him this afternoon,” interposed Temple.

  “I expect he’s nervous,” said Crane.

  “He isn’t exactly the rock of Gibraltar, but he’ll go through with it all right. I assured him that there was practically no danger as far as he was concerned.”

  “And we’ve got to make sure of that,” insisted Forbes. “I have impressed upon Bradley that under no circumstances must Rex get through that cordon. If he makes a dash for it, then we’ve got to be right on our toes.”

  “You can leave that to me, sir,” said Crane quietly, with a determined ring in his voice.

  “Right!” said Forbes briskly. “You’d better get started right away then, Crane. Take your time stationing your men.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  “Come along then, Temple,” nodded Forbes. “We’ll have to hurry. Lathom will be waiting for us at the garage.”

  “I’m ready, Sir Graham,” replied Temple. “Cheerio, Inspector, and good luck.”

  “And keep your eyes peeled, Crane,” adjured Sir Graham. There must be no slip-up this time.”

  They found Lathom nervously pacing up and down the concrete floor of a large garage near his flat. As they came in he was just lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of an old one, and his hand was shaking noticeably. He seemed relieved to see them, as if the spell of inaction had been getting on his nerves.

  He led them over to an expensive light blue Hesketh sports saloon, with a long bonnet and low chassis. Temple looked round to see if they were alone before saying: “Have you got the money, Lathom?”

  Lathom nodded.

  “Yes, I went round to the bank immediately after seeing you.”

  “Is that the attache-case in the front?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Good. Then that protects you. At least, you’ve fulfilled your side of the bargain.”

  “Has Mr. Temple explained the layout to you, Mr. Lathom?” asked Forbes.

  “I think I’ve got it fairly clear, Sir Graham.”

  “We’ll just run through it once again. You park the car in the lane at Fallow-end, leaving the attache-case just as it is, and walk straight to the village. Inspector Crane will be waiting for you at the Red Lion. You may be stopped by one or two of my men, but they can all identify you, so there should be no difficulty.”

  “You’ve nothing to worry abou
t, Lathom,” said Temple reassuringly.

  Lathom puffed nervously at his cigarette.

  “I can’t help thinking about that poor devil who was hanged by Rex when he delivered the money,” he said with a worried air.

  “Yes, but he had no escort,” Temple reminded him. “Come on, let’s not waste any more time. You’ll feel better when you’re driving and have something to occupy your mind.”

  “I put the cushions on the floor of the car as you suggested, Temple,” Lathom told him.

  “D’you mean we have to sit on the floor of the car?” asked Forbes in some surprise.

  “That was the idea, Sir Graham,” said Temple.”The car may be tailed from the minute we leave here, and we can’t take any chances.”

  “H’m . . . you may be right,” conceded Sir Graham, as he proceeded to squeeze into the narrowish space between the seats. Temple joined him, and Lathom got in the front and started the engine. Suddenly, he turned and said; “There’s just one point, Sir Graham. Supposing you catch Rex this evening, and he decides to talk.”

  “Well?”

  “You have seen the letter Rex sent me – the one that refers to Cairo. It’s a little difficult to explain, but—”

  “I think I understand, Lathom,” interposed Forbes. “Didn’t you hear the broadcast by Lord Flexdale the other night?”

  “No.”

  “Lord Flexdale promised that a free pardon would be given to any person, other than one guilty of actual murder, providing that person would furnish information leading to the arrest and conviction of Rex.”

  There was a short pause. Then Lathom put his foot on the accelerator. “That’s all I wanted to know,” he said. The engine roared and the car nosed its way out of the garage.

  “Remember what I told you, Lathom,” said Temple, raising his voice. “Don’t look back, and follow the instructions in that letter down to the last detail.”

  “Don’t worry, Temple,” replied Lathom in a more determined tone. “I’ll go through with it all right.”

  “That’s the style, Mr. Lathom!” applauded Forbes. The car negotiated the Marble Arch roundabout, and headed West at a good pace. Forbes was already beginning to wonder if it was really necessary to occupy this cramped position, particularly as it was now very dark.