Send for Paul Temple Again!

by Francis Durbridge

  “You didn’t see anyone else?”

  Crane shook his head.

  “I rushed into all the other rooms, but there was no sign of anyone, except in the far bedroom. One of the windows was open, and I noticed it led out on to the fire-escape. I didn’t touch it – thought we might get some fingerprints.”

  “I’ll remember,” nodded Temple. “That wouldn’t have been open before. Steve religiously closes all the windows when she goes out.”

  “You’ve no idea when it could have happened?” asked Crane.

  “Not so long back. In fact, the murderer had a narrow escape. I should imagine, you almost caught him in the act.” Temple’s glance fell on Crane’s injured hand once more.

  “How’s it feel now?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s stopped bleeding. Still throbs pretty badly though.”

  “How did you manage to cut it so deeply?” asked Temple curiously.

  “I caught it on the corner of that fancy cigarette-box in the lounge as I was moving the little table to look at the body. That box has quite a jagged edge.”

  Temple nodded, having suffered a similar mishap some months previously.

  Crane perched on the edge of the bath and said quietly: “I suppose you recognise this girl, Mr. Temple?”

  “Yes,” replied the novelist. “I’ve told you about her. She’s the girl who followed my wife the other night – the girl who worried Carl Lathom.”

  “You mean—the girl in brown,” said Crane slowly. “Yes, now I come to think of it, she is wearing brown, of course. Well, it doesn’t look as if she’ll trouble Mrs. Temple or Mr. Lathom any longer. Did you know she was here waiting for you?”

  “Of course. That’s why we left Luigi’s. Ricky turned up there and told me that there was a woman who wanted to see me urgently.”

  “Ricky – your servant – came round specially to tell you?”

  “Certainly. He is pretty shrewd, is Ricky. Seemed to guess that this was a matter of life and death.”

  “H’m,” grunted Crane. “Pity he left her all the same. Looks as if he made a big mistake. Can I have a word with this servant of yours?”

  “Of course. We’ll go to the kitchen – it’ll save time. And that reminds me, I’ve got Doctor Kohima waiting for me downstairs, so I’ll pop out while you talk to Ricky.”

  “Doctor Kohima?” queried Crane sharply.

  “Yes, he gave us a lift home in his taxi. I had some trouble with my car.”

  They made their way to the kitchen, where they found Ricky silently busy preparing for the next morning’s breakfast.

  “This is Inspector Crane, Ricky. He thinks you might be able to help him with one or two little things,” said Temple, and assuring the inspector that he would be back in five minutes, he left them.

  “Now, Ricky,” grunted Crane, perching on the edge of the kitchen table.

  “Please?” said Ricky suavely, wiping two teaspoons on a towel.

  “From what I gather, you appear to have been the last person to see this young lady alive, Ricky.”

  “One moment,” interrupted Ricky, carefully placing the spoons in their respective saucers. “I must make small correction—”

  “Eh? What’s that?” Crane ejaculated in some surprise.

  “Sorry to contradict, Inspector,” said Ricky blandly. “But I was not the last person to see the lady alive.”

  “No?” echoed Crane, still somewhat taken aback. “Then who was the last person?”

  “If you please, Inspector,” replied Ricky imperturbably, “that would surely be the murderer.”

  Crane looked hard at him, but the little man’s features remained inscrutable. The inspector coughed, then said: “And you have no idea who the murderer might be?”

  “If I knew I would tell police,” said Ricky quietly. “I am good British citizen.”

  “You realise, of course,” continued Crane slowly, “that if you had not left the girl this would probably never have happened?”

  The little Siamese gave the merest twitch of the shoulders.

  “Who knows?”

  “Why did you leave her alone?”

  “Because she ask me to find Mr. Temple right away. She said she could not wait long.”

  “And how did you know he was at Luigi’s?”

  “Mrs. Temple told me she was meeting him there.”

  “Couldn’t you have ‘phoned?”

  “I tried to telephone. One line was out of order and the other was engaged—always engaged. So I thought it quicker to take taxi.”

  Inspector Crane seemed slightly baffled.

  “Well, Ricky,” he admitted, “you certainly seem to know all the answers.”

  Ricky looked him squarely in the face.

  “In a case of murder,” he answered slowly, “it is necessary to give the truthful answers.”

  Inspector Crane decided to leave it at that.

  On the way downstairs, Temple decided that he would like to pay another visit to Luigi’s to check up one or two details, and when he got down to the taxi he asked Kohima if he would mind accompanying him.

  “Is anything wrong, Mr. Temple?” asked the doctor shrewdly.

  “No—why?”

  “You’ve come without your hat.”

  “I—er—why, so I have. We—er—we had visitors and I told them I was only just popping out. Anyway, I thought we could talk on the way to Luigi’s, if you’ve no objection.”

  “None whatever.”

  Temple gave the necessary instructions to the driver, and the taxi started. After a moment or two’s hesitation, Doctor Kohima said: “I think you know why I wanted to see you, Mr. Temple.”

  “I have a slight idea,” nodded Temple, offering him a cigarette, which he refused.

  Doctor Kohima fidgeted a little with his gloves, then said in a low but distinct voice: “I have made up my mind that it would be advisable to tell you the whole truth about Mrs. Trevelyan.”

  “I see,” said Temple quietly. “Perhaps you’d prefer to leave it until tomorrow.”

  “No,” replied Kohima with decision. “So many things are happening so quickly that I feel you should have the full facts.”

  He paused again. Obviously he was not finding it too easy to begin his story, though his sincerity was apparent. “I find it difficult to know where to start,” he confessed. “During the past twenty years I’ve been listening to other people’s troubles, and now for the first time I have to tell my own to another person—well, it isn’t easy.”

  “Why not tell me the most obvious fact first?” suggested Temple.

  “What would you say that was?”

  “I should imagine that most of your troubles are due to your being in love with Mrs. Trevelyan,” replied Temple shrewdly.

  There was silence for a few seconds. The taxi pulled up with a jerk as the traffic lights flicked from amber to red.

  “You’re a keen observer of human nature, I can see, Mr. Temple,” said Kohima presently. “Yes, you’re right about Mrs. Trevelyan and I. We met and fell in love at sight several years ago. You would understand it better if you’d known her then, Mr. Temple. She was a wonderful woman in those days – so gay, so distinguished, so full of life.”

  “I can well appreciate that,” murmured Temple seriously. “I expect you found you had quite a lot in common.”

  “Yes indeed. She had a keen, but of course an amateurish interest in psychology, and after a time I persuaded her to work for me as my confidential secretary. She agreed very willingly, and settled down to the work with considerable aptitude; in fact she was of great assistance to me. Until one day I had a shock, a very serious shock that threatened to disillusion me completely at the time.”

  “You mean you discovered that she was passing on certain information about your patients to a third party,” put in Temple softly.

  “It was a great blow to me,” said Kohima heavily. “I was utterly taken aback—quite horrified. I just didn’t know what to do. Of course, as
my professional reputation was likely to be at stake, I had to challenge her. When I did so, I expected an indignant denial, but again the unexpected happened. She completely broke down and confessed.”

  He sighed, then went on.

  “Afterwards, I heard the whole, miserable story. She was being blackmailed into getting this information.” He stopped, then added after a pause, “She was being blackmailed by Rex.”

  “I gathered as much from what she herself told me,” nodded Temple thoughtfully. After a while he added, “Would you say Mrs. Trevelyan was a wealthy sort of person?”

  “Certainly not,” replied Kohima at once. “I’d say her greatest fault is her complete lack of any sense of values where money is concerned. I gather that is how she came to fall into the hands of Rex.”

  “Then I wonder if you can explain where she obtained the three thousand pounds she paid Rex?”

  “Of course. I gave her the money,” replied Kohima quite simply. “It was practically all the ready money I had, but there seemed to be no alternative.”

  “You could have gone to the police,” Temple reminded him.

  “I know,” said Kohima, somewhat distressed. “I think now that I should have done. But, rightly or wrongly, I didn’t. I paid the money. You can trace the transaction in my banking account if you care to do so.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Temple. “But I must admit I’m a little intrigued to know why you are telling me all this.”

  “Because,” replied Kohima with sudden vehemence, “I want to convince you, Temple, that Mrs. Trevelyan is not Rex. You’ve got to believe that, Temple. You’ve got to believe it.”

  At that moment the taxi pulled up outside Luigi’s, and Temple suggested that Doctor Kohima would be all the better for a double brandy. The doctor accepted the invitation and they dismissed the taxi.

  If Luigi was mildly surprised to see Paul Temple for the second time that evening, he gave no sign of it, and they sat in a corner of the small bar. As they settled down with their drinks, Temple said:

  “I don’t think we can pursue the subject much further this evening – but I’ll certainly bear in mind what you say.” Temple finished his drink quickly, then went and had a few words with Luigi. Outside the restaurant he wished Doctor Kohima good night, walked a little way down the Haymarket, crossed the road, and hailed a taxi.

  Ten minutes later he was ringing the bell of the front door at Carl Lathom’s flat. Presently, it was opened by Lathom himself wearing a dressing-gown. His hair was slightly ruffled and he had a sleepy look, as if he had been interrupted in the middle of a doze.

  “Hello, Temple,” he said quite pleasantly, smothering a yawn.

  “I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” apologised Temple, still a little out of breath from running quickly up the stairs.

  “No, no, of course not. Do come in.”

  He held the door open, and closed it gently after his visitor. Then he led the way into the lounge, where an armchair was drawn up before the fire, with drinks on a small side-table.

  “I have an awful feeling you were just going to bed,” said Temple in a guilty tone.

  “Nonsense! Why, the night’s young. As a matter of fact, I was having forty winks in front of the fire.” Carl Lathom indicated the considerable array of bottles. “What would you like to drink? Whisky, sherry, brandy, gin and lime, gin and Italian, dry martini?”

  “You wouldn’t have such a thing as a small port?” demanded Temple humorously.

  Lathom laughed.

  “Afraid I’m right out of port at the moment.”

  “Then I’ll just have a dry ginger if I may. I’ve drunk rather a lot this evening,” said Temple, settling in the chair Lathom indicated.

  As Lathom filled his glass, he asked eagerly: “Did you see that girl, Temple – the girl in brown?”

  “Yes,” replied the novelist quietly, “I saw her.”

  “Good Lord! Then she’s run to earth at last! Who is she? Did she explain why—”

  “She explained nothing. She was in no position to explain. She was dead.” Temple rapped out the words in a steel-like tone.

  “But how on earth could that have happened?”

  “Quite simple. She was murdered.” There was no trace of emotion in Temple’s voice.

  “You mean she was already dead when you got back to the fiat?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Lathom whistled softly to himself, then leaned forward to pick up a glowing coal which had fallen from the fire into the hearth. He carefully replaced the tongs, then turned to Temple and inquired slowly: “Who was she, Temple?”

  Temple shook his head. “We haven’t found out yet.”

  “You don’t know?” queried Lathom incredulously. “But surely you searched the body.”

  “No,” said Temple calmly.

  “But good heavens, man, why not!”

  “Because,” said Temple, “I think she had already been searched by Inspector Crane.”

  “By Inspector Crane,” repeated Lathom. “Then he was at the flat when you arrived.”

  “He was.”

  “Quick work,” commented Lathom.

  “He presumably arrived just after the girl was murdered,” Temple informed him.

  “Didn’t he see anyone?”

  “No.”

  “And you’ve no idea what he was doing at your flat?”

  “He tells me that he wanted to see me. And that reminds me, I told him I’d be back in five minutes, and he may be still waiting. Would you mind if I use your ‘phone?”

  Lathom indicated the instrument in a corner of the room. Temple got through to the flat and spoke to Steve, who told him that the Inspector had left with the ambulance which had taken away the girl in brown. He had left a message that he would see Temple the next day.

  “Apparently, whatever it was he wanted to see me about can wait,” smiled Temple, as he put down the receiver.

  “How long have you known Crane?” asked Lathom, pouring himself two fingers of whisky.

  “Oh, I can’t quite remember. Why do you ask?”

  “Can’t say I very much like the looks of him.”

  “No more does my wife,” smiled Temple, “but I’m afraid that doesn’t help very much.”

  Lathom shifted uneasily in his armchair, then poked the fire rather agitatedly.

  “You don’t think it could have been Crane who shot the girl?” he said at last in a dubious tone.

  “Why should he?” asked Temple. What possible motive could a Scotland Yard inspector have for wanting to get rid of a girl he had apparently never set eyes on before?”

  “None whatever, of course,” murmured Lathom, “if he really is just a Scotland Yard inspector. But if he should be an associate of Rex’s or even Rex himself, then he might have shot the girl because he thought she knew too much.”

  “How did you know she was shot?” asked Temple in a casual tone, but he was watching Lathom closely as he spoke.

  “Why, you said so,” replied Lathom, taking a drink from his glass.

  “No,” declared Temple flatly, “I said that she had been murdered.”

  Lathom shrugged.

  “Well—murdered—shot—it comes to the same thing.”

  “Not quite. She might have been strangled or stabbed or even poisoned. The police are inclined to make a fuss about such distinctions, you know.”

  Lathom laughed a trifle uneasily.

  “Yes, I suppose they are.” He turned and looked Temple full in the eyes. “I say, Temple, you don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?” he asked.

  “Well, had you?”

  “Good heavens, no! I’ll admit the girl in brown was getting on my nerves – something of a hoodoo, in fact. I paid Kohima a lot to try and rid me of her – when I thought she was an hallucination – but I draw the line at murder.”

  “Well, that’s nice to know,” parried Temple lightly, offering his cigarette-case. “All the same, yo
u have to admit, Lathom, that you’re rather relieved to hear that the girl in brown won’t trouble you any more.”

  Lathom was silent for a moment, then said frankly, “Now I come to think about it, I dare say you’re right.”

  “In fact,” persisted Temple, “on the face of it, you have a much stronger motive for wanting to be rid of her than Inspector Crane, for instance. So in your own interests it might be as well if you gave me some idea of your movements after I saw you last evening.”

  Lathom considered this for some moments. He drained his glass and examined it thoughtfully. At length he said: “Well, I’m afraid that won’t be too easy, Temple, from the point of view of checking what I tell you. Actually, all that happened was that after leaving you at Luigi’s I came back here.”

  “I thought you were going on to a club.”

  “I changed my mind. When I went round the man I arranged to meet hadn’t turned up, so I came back to Luigi’s for my umbrella and then came straight on here. But don’t ask me to prove that,” he added quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t. No one saw me come in here.”

  “I thought you had a housekeeper.”

  “Oh yes, but she’s away visiting her sister for a few days.”

  Then his worried expression suddenly cleared as he said: “But really, Temple, if you consider the relevant times, it would have been impossible for me to get round to your flat after leaving you at Luigi’s and arrive there before you.”

  “If I thought that,” said Temple coolly, “I wouldn’t be here. You see, we were delayed rather considerably getting back to the flat, owing to a puncture.”

  “I say, what rotten luck!” said Lathom.

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly bad luck, we ran into quite a quantity of glass which seemed to have been distributed for our special benefit,” Temple informed him.

  “You really think it was put there deliberately?”

  “I do.”

  Lathom set down his glass, rose and paced up and down the room several times. Temple sat where he was without moving a muscle. There was no sound except the noisy ticking of an Oriental wall clock. At last, Lathom said: “Well, I’m sorry, Temple. I’ve been trying to think of someone who might have seen me, but I didn’t meet a soul who was likely to recognise me. I may as well be frank about that now as later. I shall just have to rely on your good nature to get me out of this if there is any sort of inquiry involving me.”