Send for Paul Temple Again!

by Francis Durbridge

  “This is no time for ribbing,” protested Brent, with a slight gasp as Crane began to apply the splints.

  “I hope I’m serious,” Temple declared evenly. “I never felt more serious than I do at this minute. I’ve suspected someone for quite a long time. Now I know for certain that I’m right.”

  “Say, you’ve got a nerve, laying the law down to Sir Graham and the inspector,” grinned Brent. “Go on, you two—why don’t you call his bluff?”

  “Go on, Mr. Temple,” challenged Crane. “Who is Rex?”

  “Are we ready to go?” said Temple. “I think the sooner we get Brent to hospital—”

  “He can wait five minutes while you tell us who Rex is,” snapped Crane.

  “Yes, if you’ve got anything up your sleeve, Temple,” said Forbes rather anxiously, “I think you ought to tell us. Time may be valuable.”

  “Don’t worry, Sir Graham, I shall be only too pleased to introduce you to Rex in person in the near future,’’ Temple assured him. “Perhaps if you and the inspector dropped into the flat tonight – would eight o’clock be too early?”

  “We’ll be there, of course,” said Sir Graham, “but how do you know Rex will?”

  “Because,” replied Temple urbanely, “I propose to invite him!”

  Chapter XVI

  APPOINTMENT WITH REX

  Temple stood in front of the bedroom mirror brushing his hair and whistling softly to himself, pausing occasionally to puff at the cigarette which lay in the ashtray on his dressing-table.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” commented Steve from the other side of the room, where she was carefully applying lipstick.

  “I feel very pleased with myself,” he retorted, brushing away more furiously than ever.

  She swung round and looked across at him.

  “Your hair looks very nice, darling – there’s no need to keep brushing,” she assured him.

  “I know, dear, but I like the sensation. And it is supposed to be good for the hair,” he informed her. He laid down a brush and picked up a shapeless bundle of wool which was lying under the mirror.

  “Hullo, what’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s my knitting,” said Steve, coming over to claim it.

  “Your knitting turns up in the most extraordinary places!”

  Temple went to the door and called to Ricky, who came hurrying out of the kitchen.

  “Did you get that bottle of gin, Ricky?” asked Temple.

  “Yes, sir,” said Ricky blandly. “And a bottle of sherry, a bottle of port, a bottle of whisky and a bottle of Italian.”

  “Good Lord,” exclaimed Temple. “We could practically open a night club!” He called over his shoulder to Steve, “Darling, I think Ricky had better do all the shopping!”

  “Shall you be wanting anything more this evening, sir?” asked Ricky.

  “Anything more? Well, I think we shall do pretty reasonably if we dispose of that little lot.”

  “He means can he go now,” explained Steve. “It’s Ricky’s night out.”

  Temple appeared to be slightly taken aback.

  “Did you wish me to stay in tonight, sir, to help with your guests?” asked Ricky politely.

  “Well, if you could manage it just this once, Ricky, I’d be extremely grateful.”

  “Not at all, sir. I stay with pleasure,” grinned Ricky.

  Temple closed the bedroom door and turned to Steve. “I’m certainly getting some new angles on the servant problem,” he smiled.

  “Had you any special reason for wanting Ricky to stay?” she asked. “I could have managed quite well, you know.”

  “Well, Ricky has been a trifle involved in this business from time to time,” said Temple. “And knowing his interest in such things I thought he might – as a student of criminology—”

  “I don’t believe you,” broke in Steve. “Did you spend half an hour getting through to Mr. Davis at the Royal Falcon Hotel this morning to invite him here as a student of criminology?”

  “Well, he is. You’ve heard him say so often enough,” protested Temple stoutly.

  “You’ve got something up your sleeve,” said Steve.

  “Yes,” smiled her husband, “and I shouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be your knitting!”

  There was a gentle tap on the door, and Ricky’s voice said:

  “Sir Graham Forbes and Inspector Crane have arrived with Mr. Lathom.”

  “All right, Ricky,” called Temple. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

  “Mr. Lathom?” queried Steve. “Another student of criminology?”

  “Now, darling,” said Temple reproachfully, “you know Lathom has been mixed up in this affair, just as much as Ricky and Davis. Come along, darling, before he finishes the whisky.”

  They found the three men in the lounge engaged in animated conversation which ceased rather abruptly as Temple and Steve came in.

  After greeting his guests, Temple went over to the sideboard and began to pour out drinks. Forbes went on chatting to Lathom, while Crane, rather surprisingly, inquired as to Steve’s health, and whether she had recovered from the effects of her ordeal.

  “I’ve had a ‘phone call from Rochester just before we left the Yard,” he told her. “They’ve picked up Chester at a lodging-house there. Seems it’s an old haunt of his. Seems as if the Royal Falcon will have to look for a new manager.”

  “And what about Wilfred Davis?” asked Steve.

  “Well, Mrs. Temple, it couldn’t have been Davis who attacked you, and we’ve nothing really definite against him – except that he seemed to know what was going on at Claywood Mill. Mr. Temple seemed to think we should give him a bit more rope in a manner of speaking.”

  “We’re expecting him here tonight,” said Steve. “My husband ‘phoned him at the Royal Falcon this morning.”

  “H’m, so he didn’t try to make a getaway,” mused Crane. “I wonder if he’d be the man who tipped us off about Chester.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Steve.

  “In the early hours of this morning, the sergeant on duty at the Yard got an anonymous ‘phone call – we get dozens of ‘em – saying that Frank Chester could be picked up at a certain lodging-house in Rochester.”

  “It might have been Rex himself,” Steve suggested. “After all, he did worse than that with Mrs. Trevelyan, and—”

  Crane slapped his knee.

  “I never thought of that, Mrs. Temple. And if Davis followed Chester after he got away from the mill . . .” He began to look puzzled again.

  “I shouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you, Inspector,” said Steve, who was beginning to feel that Inspector Crane wasn’t quite as churlish as she had first imagined. Their conversation was interrupted by the front-door buzzer, and Temple called: “Just finish mixing this cocktail, darling.”

  He went to open the door. Steve took the cocktail shaker rather dubiously.

  “I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” she said.

  “Allow me, Mrs. Temple,” said Lathom, coming over to her. He took the shaker and eyed it critically.

  “You seem quite an expert, Mr. Lathom,” said Steve.

  “One of the signs of a misspent youth in the roaring ‘twenties,” he replied with a smile.

  Steve went across to Sir Graham, who was standing on the hearthrug looking faintly perplexed.

  “I expect that will be Mrs. Trevelyan and Doctor Kohima,” he told her. “I’ve released her for this evening at Temple’s special request, Steve. He seemed to think they ought to be here, though I must say I don’t altogether like it.”

  “Well, whether they’re guilty or not, they are implicated in the case, aren’t they, Sir Graham?” said Steve brightly, unconsciously using her husband’s argument.

  Outside in the hall, Temple welcomed Doctor Kohima and Mrs. Trevelyan quite informally, for he noticed that they seemed more than a trifle suspicious and ill at ease.

  “What did you want to see us
about, Mr. Temple?” asked Mrs. Trevelyan in a nervous voice.

  “Now, there’s no need to worry,” he reassured her. “It’s just a friendly little party—”

  “But I understood that you wanted to have a confidential chat with just the two of us,” interrupted Kohima.

  “Well, come and have a drink anyway,” urged Temple, ushering them into the lounge, where Forbes looked up and nodded pleasantly. Steve went over to Mrs. Trevelyan at once, found a chair for her and asked her what she would like to drink.

  “Here’s your gin, Temple,” called Lathom, who was busily dispensing drinks in his host’s absence.

  “Thanks, Lathom.”

  The front-door buzzer sounded again, and still carrying his glass, Temple went out to answer it. The presence of Doctor Kohima and Mrs. Trevelyan had a depressing effect on the conversation, which began to lag until Kohima said abruptly: “Sir Graham, why did Mr. Temple send for us like this? What exactly are we doing here?”

  Sir Graham shrugged.

  “I can only tell you that Temple seems to have a new angle on the Rex case.”

  “But what have we got to do with it?” asked Lathom. “I simply received a note from Temple asking me to call in at eight o’clock this evening as he’d come across something that he thought would interest me.”

  “Perhaps it’s an idea for a play,” suggested Steve lightly. “He was saying only the other day that he was surprised you hadn’t written another.”

  “Well, I know why we’re here,” said Crane bluntly, “and I think you may as well hear the reason now as later. We’re here to meet Rex.”

  There was a pause. Everyone looked round at the other members of the gathering, but no one spoke, and Crane went on: “Temple has promised to introduce us to Rex tonight at eight o’clock precisely.”

  Outside in the hall, a clock began chiming the hour.

  Almost immediately, the door opened and Temple, still carrying his glass, brought in Wilfred Davis, looking very much his old self and obviously as garrulous as ever. He nodded to everybody and smiled at Steve in reply to her pleasant greeting.

  “We meet again, Mrs. Temple,” he said. “Lordy! We always seem to be bumping into each other, don’t we?”

  Temple introduced the little Welshman to his other guests, several of whom eyed him with considerable suspicion, and it looked as if Crane were going to ask him one or two pertinent questions when Temple drew him away with the remark: “Before we go any further, you must have a drink, Mr. Davis. I know I could do with one.”

  “You’ve got one, darling, in your hand,” whispered Steve.

  “Eh? Oh, so I have,” smiled Temple, passing a glass of port over to Davis. “Oh well, here’s to crime!” He took a gulp at his glass and pulled a wry face. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured reflectively. He took another sip, then said, “No wonder they let Ricky have port and whisky – I hope they’re better than this gin.”

  “Nothing wrong with the whisky, Temple,” Forbes assured him.

  “And this is the nicest drop of port I have tasted for many a day,” declared Davis.

  “That’s a relief,” smiled Temple. “All right, let’s go into the drawing-room. Bring the drinks, will you, Ricky?” he added to Ricky, who had appeared in answer to his ring. “And stand by to see all glasses full.”

  In the drawing-room they found the chairs disposed in a semi-circle round the blazing fire. Temple saw his guests seated, then leaned against the mantelpiece.

  “Ricky, another glass of port for Mr. Davis,” he said.

  Ricky obeyed the order, then stood in readiness at the side table by the window.

  Temple smiled at them and said quite conversationally: “Some time ago when I investigated the Marquis affair, I took the liberty of inviting to my flat one evening all the possible suspects in the case – just as I have invited you all here tonight!”

  Kohima moved uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Does this mean that you think I am a possible suspect?” he asked.

  “Inspector Crane does, don’t you, Inspector?” replied Temple mildly.

  “Perhaps I do,” retorted Crane bluffly, “but you said, Temple, that you were certain you knew who was Rex.”

  “Does that mean that Rex is actually here—that he is actually one of us?” queried Mrs. Trevelyan in some bewilderment.

  “That’s precisely what it means, Mrs. Trevelyan,” Temple calmly informed her. Once again, everybody looked at everybody else.

  “Don’t you think you owe us an explanation, Mr. Temple?” said Lathom at length.

  “Of course I owe you an explanation, and I intend to give you one. But let me begin at the beginning, let me begin, in fact, with suspect number one.”

  “Mrs. Trevelyan?” suggested Davis with his familiar rising inflection.

  “Oh no,” said Temple with an amused smile. “Suspect number one happens to be the gentleman present when Norma Rice’s body was found—Mr. Wilfred Davis.” He paused for a second, then added softly: “Alias Mr. Cortwright, alias . . .” once again he hesitated, then declared firmly, “Jeff Myers.”

  “Jeff Myers!” echoed Forbes in amazement.

  “You seem surprised, Sir Graham,” said Davis in a voice which betrayed hardly any sign of accent. “It’s true enough,” he went on. “Since this seems to be the showdown, my name is Jeff Myers, late of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I came over here about three months ago at the personal request of Sir Ernest Cranbury.”

  “The man who was killed in the Brains Trust,” murmured Lathom thoughtfully.

  Sir Graham eyed Davis a trifle doubtfully, and asked: “If you really are Myers, why did Sir Ernest send for you?”

  “Surely you don’t have to look very far for the answer to that question,” said Doctor Kohima somewhat sarcastically.

  “No?” growled Forbes.

  “Sir Ernest sent for Mr. Myers for precisely the same reason that you sent for Paul Temple. Simply to catch Rex. Correct me, Mr. Temple, if I’m mistaken.”

  “You’re quite right, Doctor. Mr. Myers has a reputation in America for investigating cases of a strictly confidential nature. He has his own peculiar methods – as most of us know – but he generally obtains results. So far as Sir Ernest was concerned, this case was strictly confidential.”

  “Did you investigate this case alone, Mr. Myers?” demanded Crane slowly.

  The American shook his head.

  “No,” he replied quietly, “I had a partner. It was really through her I came over here . . . after she had worked for some time to help Norma Rice, she’d had no luck, so she cabled me and I came over.”

  “And the partner in question,” announced Temple, “was a girl called Carol Reagan, better known to us as the girl in brown!”

  Lathom jerked back in his chair.

  “Temple, are you serious?” he ejaculated. “You don’t mean that the girl who followed me – and Mrs. Temple too – was nothing but a sort of amateur detective?”

  Temple said: “Hardly an amateur, Mr. Lathom. She was an extremely experienced and very courageous person.”

  “But why did she follow me, Paul?” demanded Steve anxiously.

  “I can tell you that, Mrs. Temple,” said Myers. “We knew from the moment Temple took on the case that you would be in danger, and we wanted to make certain that you wouldn’t meet with Norma Rice’s fate.”

  “Didn’t you find my name written in the back of Norma Rice’s diary?” asked Mrs. Trevelyan suddenly.

  “That’s true,” nodded Forbes. “Also on a visiting-card belonging to Richard East.”

  Mrs. Trevelyan glanced nervously from Forbes to Temple.

  “Do you think I killed Norma Rice and Richard East, Mr. Temple?”

  Temple shook his head.

  “I know you didn’t, Mrs. Trevelyan. For the simple reason that they were murdered by Rex – and you are not Rex!”

  With a sigh of relief Mrs. Trevelyan relaxed in her chair. Doctor Kohima
caught her hand and held it for a moment.

  “Just a minute, Temple,” interposed Crane. “If Mrs. Trevelyan isn’t Rex, perhaps you’ll tell us why – explain the reasons for all the strange things we’ve found out about her these past few weeks.”

  Temple moved to a slightly more comfortable position.

  “I was coming to that,” he said, quite unruffled by the inspector’s challenge. “Some time ago, Rex hit upon the idea of blackmailing Mrs. Trevelyan into supplying him with certain vital information about Doctor Kohima’s patients. He knew he had obtained practically all the money he could extract from her, so he was prepared to take payment in kind. He knew that a psychiatrist would obtain information of an extremely confidential nature in the course of his professional duties. And that he would be bound to keep a record of his patients’—er—eccentricities. At first, Mrs. Trevelyan refused to obey these instructions, so Rex began to put on pressure, and in order to frighten her, he involved her in one or two situations which attracted the suspicions of the police.”

  “So that they thought she was Rex,” said Lathom eagerly.

  “Exactly, Mr. Lathom. You see, Rex didn’t only blackmail people for money, at least not directly. He had a carefully organised plan of campaign which was highly ingenious in its way, making use of various minor victims in a bid for higher stakes. Frank Chester, for instance, was completely under his thumb, and had no alternative but to obey every order implicitly. Mrs. Trevelyan was in a similar position.”

  Temple paused before adding quietly, “So, for that matter, was Doctor Kohima.”

  This was something of a bombshell in the little circle.

  “Another drink for Mr. Lathom, Ricky,” said Temple, noticing his empty glass.

  “Thanks, Temple,” said Lathom, then continued: “You mean that Rex wasn’t satisfied with getting the dope from Mrs. Trevelyan? He started to blackmail Doctor Kohima directly?”

  “Does that sound too incredible, Mr. Lathom?” demanded Temple in a challenging tone.

  “But are you trying to tell us that Mrs. Trevelyan was actually blackmailed into confessing she was Rex after that business at Haybourne?”

  “That’s just what I’m telling you, Mr. Lathom.”