Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘Have you heard of “The First Penguin”, Mr. Temple?’

  Temple frowned. In spite of its peculiarity the name sounded vaguely familiar.

  ‘Isn’t it a small deserted inn on the river – about two miles the other side of Evesham?’ he said.

  The retired schoolmistress smiled. ‘That’s right, Mr. Temple!’

  CHAPTER XXII

  Ludmilla

  ‘Hello! Oh, it’s you, Max! No, no, they haven’t…No, not even Milton…I’m still waiting for them…Yes…Yes, the girl’s here…I say, Max, is everything all right? Yes. Yes, of course I’m listening…Salzburg?…I see…Yes, I’ll tell him…Right! Goodbye.’

  Diana Thornley replaced the telephone receiver. The look of anxiety was still pronounced on her face. It seemed to make her beauty even more striking. She was sitting in a room at ‘The First Penguin’. It was an old Tudor building, but not too well preserved. A succession of owners had let it decay until there were very few visitors attracted by its tumbledown exterior. In the summer a few casual and perspiring cyclists would stop out of curiosity, but the natives of the district all made their nightly pilgrimage to the ‘White Swan’, which was about a quarter of a mile away on the same road.

  The room was sparsely furnished with tables, chairs, an extremely large sideboard, and a dilapidated settee.

  The inn itself was built directly on the water’s edge, and even from the inside could be heard the sound of the water lapping against the walls. In front of ‘The First Penguin’ was a neglected garden that a more enterprising proprietor would have turned into a car park.

  Diana Thornley appeared ill at ease, and judging from the number of times she glanced towards the door, was obviously expecting someone.

  Finally she flung herself down on the settee, and picked up an early edition of the local paper. Suddenly the door opened, and Diana dropped the paper with a start of astonishment.

  ‘You’re late!’

  It was Dr. Milton who appeared.

  ‘We had a hell of a game with one of the cars,’ he answered.

  ‘Where’s Dixie and the others?’ she demanded sharply.

  ‘They should be here soon.’

  ‘Did you get the stuff all right?’ she continued.

  ‘Yes,’ Dr. Milton replied. ‘I say,’ he added suddenly, ‘what happened about that girl, Steve Trent?’

  ‘She’s here.’

  ‘Here?’ he echoed incredulously.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a bit silly, isn’t it?’

  ‘It was the Chief’s orders to bring her back here,’ Diana Thornley explained. ‘That’s all I know.’

  ‘Did you have any trouble with her?’

  ‘At first,’ she answered, with a determined smile. ‘We were nearly picked up in Bond Street – she screamed like hell!’

  Dr. Milton grunted. He looked round the room, and suddenly became aware of the bottles and decanters that, together with a siphon and glasses, invited use from the sideboard.

  ‘By gosh!’ he exclaimed, ‘I could do with a drink. No, I’ll mix it,’ he added, as Diana got up and began to walk over to the sideboard. He poured out a liberal helping of whisky, added a little soda water, and carried the drink back to the armchair he had selected.

  ‘Dixie was very good tonight,’ he said; ‘he worked like a trojan.’

  Diana had been looking thoughtfully at the doctor. ‘I’m glad you arrived first, Doc,’ she said. ‘I wanted to talk with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dr. Milton quietly. ‘I wanted to see you, too. That’s why I came on ahead.’

  The girl glanced at him with a surprised look on her face. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘What did you want to see me about?’

  Dr. Milton hesitated a moment before he spoke. ‘Can’t you guess?’ he queried.

  ‘No.’

  Again he paused, as though making up his mind.

  ‘Then I’ll tell you,’ he said, with a quizzical smile. ‘Six months ago, my dear Miss Thornley, you and the gentleman who prefers to call himself the Knave of Diamonds, picked me off a somewhat dilapidated tramp steamer where, partly through certain misfortunes for which I can assure you I was not to blame, I was acting as a sort of, er, shall we say, general practitioner? Indeed, not to put too fine a point on it, I was down and out!’

  He paused. Diana Thornley appeared a little bewildered by this new attitude. She sat quietly watching him.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted, at last.

  ‘Well, Miss Thornley—’ he broke off. ‘By the way,’ he suddenly added, ‘I think I’ll call you Ludmilla. Miss Thornley is a trifle—’

  He was not allowed to complete the sentence.

  ‘No one calls me Ludmilla!’ she interrupted, and there was no mistaking the determination in her voice. ‘No one, except Max!’

  Dr. Milton hesitated before he replied. ‘Very well, then,’ he said at last, ‘it shall be Diana. Well, Diana, whereas six months ago I shouldn’t have given a twopenny damn about what happened to me, today I find myself in the rather unique position, for me, at any rate, of looking forward to the future.’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ came the reply.

  ‘What I am trying to say is this. I sincerely hope that our mutual friend, the Knave of Diamonds, has no intention of depriving me of that future.’

  Diana Thornley appeared a little worried.

  ‘Why should you think that?’

  ‘Oh, no particular reason,’ he replied. ‘But you see, unlike Dixie and Horace, and, of course, Snow, there are times when I find myself doing quite a spot of thinking. This evening, I regret to say, was one of those occasions.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, Diana,’ the doctor continued, ‘oddly enough, my thoughts this evening took a rather, shall we say, creative turn of mind?’

  Diana looked puzzled, and not a little worried.

  ‘Creative turn of mind?’ she echoed.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied calmly. ‘I wrote a letter. A long letter. Beautifully phrased and charmingly written.’

  His ironical words were not wasted. ‘I wish to God you’d talk sense!’ the girl burst out angrily.

  ‘Very well, then,’ went on Dr. Milton, in a more businesslike voice. ‘If, by any chance, I happen to have an unfortunate, er, accident, either now or in the near future, my beautifully phrased, charmingly written letter will be delivered straight into the hands of the Home Secretary. You will observe that I say the Home Secretary, Miss Thornley – and not Scotland Yard.’

  ‘What’s in that letter?’ she asked desperately.

  Dr. Milton began to laugh. ‘Shall we leave that to the imagination?’ he asked.

  ‘You damned fool!’ she burst out furiously. ‘If that letter—’

  ‘The letter, I assure you, is quite safe!’ said Dr. Milton, calmly interrupting her. ‘It will neither be posted nor opened, except, of course, in what I, at any rate, would regard as an unpleasant emergency.’

  Diana Thornley’s eyes were blazing with fury. ‘Max has no intention of double-crossing you!’ she exclaimed, with venom in her voice. ‘You’ve been far too valuable. We respect both your intelligence and your courage.’ She hesitated a fraction before going on. ‘But the others, well—’

  ‘What about the others?’ asked Dr. Milton.

  Diana hesitated. Then, very slowly, she answered. ‘They’ve got to go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know perfectly well why! We’re coming to the end of our rope. Things are getting a bit too hot. They’ve got a warrant out for every one of us, excepting the Chief. Temple overheard our meeting in Room 7 on Thursday. That’s why Max switched our meeting to this place.’

  Dr. Milton whistled with surprise. It was no pleasant prospect that he had to face, and his brow clouded as he gradually became aware of the full implications.

  ‘If any of the other three are picked up they’ll talk,’ continued Diana Thornley. ‘We can’t take that chance.’

  Dr. Milton pond
ered over her words for a second or so. ‘No,’ he replied at last. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘Max wants us to leave for Austria almost immediately,’ Diana Thornley went on. ‘He’ll join us later.’

  The doctor sat still for a few moments, sipping his drink. Suddenly he looked up. ‘Do the boys know about the Salzburg hideout?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she answered. ‘That’s what makes them so dangerous.’

  Dr. Milton murmured assent. ‘What about the girl?’

  ‘Which girl?’ asked Diana.

  ‘This girl here,’ he replied impatiently. ‘Steve Trent.’

  ‘The Chief will take care of her,’ she told him. ‘Don’t worry.’

  He pondered over the fate of the luckless reporter. ‘Why did he bring her here?’ he said. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘She’s Harvey’s sister,’ came the casual reply.

  ‘Harvey!’ Dr. Milton whistled softly. You mean the ’tec Horace murdered at “The Little General”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m beginning to see daylight,’ said Dr. Milton slowly. ‘So Superintendent Harvey had a sister…. I didn’t know that.’

  ‘No,’ said Diana. ‘And neither did the Knave until Mr. Paul Temple kindly supplied the information.’

  ‘Paul Temple!’ exclaimed Dr. Milton. The name brought back to his mind the undertaking he had already made. ‘I’ve still got that little matter to attend to.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Temple,’ she told him. ‘While we’ve got the girl his hands are tied.’

  Dr. Milton grunted. He walked over to the window and peered into the outer darkness. Then he turned back into the room.

  ‘Have you heard from the Chief?’ he asked, as he pulled back the curtains.

  ‘Yes. He rang through shortly before you arrived. He wanted to know about the Malvern job.’

  ‘I think we might have difficulty getting some of the stuff out of the country.’

  ‘We can deal with that later. But, first of all, there’s this other business.…’

  ‘You mean—’ Dr. Milton hesitated. ‘The gang…?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For a few minutes there was silence. Dr. Milton bent forward, his head in his hands. He was deep in thought. Diana Thornley watched him closely, a slight hint of satisfaction curling her lips. The plans on which she had determined were beginning to take effect.

  Suddenly the doctor turned. He had made up his mind. His hands deep in his trousers’ pockets, he towered above Diana Thornley.

  ‘Leave everything to me,’ he said to her decisively. He glanced behind him. ‘Is—is the trapdoor working?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. And the river’s pretty high.’ The smug look of satisfaction on her face became even more pronounced as she spoke.

  ‘Good,’ he replied. He turned round and walked over to a recess in the wall. He drew back the curtains which hung down from the ceiling, and revealed a large wooden flap built into the wall. It was some four feet high, and about the same width. The bottom of the flap hung over the floor. A glistening film over the rusty hinges on top showed that they had been newly oiled. It was the trapdoor of which Dr. Milton had spoken.

  ‘Give me a hand,’ he said to his companion, as he loosened the catches that fastened the trapdoor down to the floor. The pair knelt down and pushed hard at the flap. It refused to move. Dr. Milton leaned against it with all his weight, while Diana Thornley pushed as hard as she could.

  This time their efforts were more than sufficient to open it. They held it up, and looked down to the murky water of the river below. The trapdoor was built of solid wood, and its heavy weight was increased by the iron supports which gave it strength. It was no easy matter to hold it up. They listened for a few moments to the sounds of the water lapping against the walls of the inn. Then they gently lowered the flap again.

  The trapdoor clearly dated from the days when the inn received its supplies from the river. A rusty iron or steel beam projected from the wall with a worn pulley at the end. It was some elementary form of crane which must once have been used for hauling up goods from vessels in the river below. There were also bolts and brackets by which the heavy flap could be held up while the process of loading and unloading took place.

  ‘Not a very pleasant part of the river, Doctor,’ remarked Diana Thornley.

  Dr. Milton laughed. It was not a happy laugh. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But it’s going to prove useful.’ He became more thoughtful. ‘Snow will be the first here. Horace and Dixie are coming together.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Dr. Milton looked amused. ‘You’ll soon see,’ he told her. He pushed the trapdoor backwards and forwards. In spite of its weight, it could easily be swung to and fro. Only when it was pushed right up did its weight become apparent. There was enough space to push things through without great difficulty. Dr. Milton indicated as much with a graphic gesture.

  ‘They know about the trapdoor, you know,’ Diana Thornley remarked. ‘It won’t be a surprise.’

  ‘I think it will,’ said Dr. Milton smoothly. ‘The way I shall handle the situation.’ He paused. ‘Where’s the bottle of whisky?’

  Diana handed it to him.

  ‘Good. Now we’ll each have a drink handy on the table.’

  He poured whisky into their glasses, long since emptied, and placed them on the table. Then he opened one of the doors in the sideboard and took out three more glasses. These he put on a tray on the sideboard near the siphon and the bottles.

  The latter included sherry and gin. Dr. Milton looked at them for a moment, then picked them up and put them into the cupboard of the sideboard from which he had just taken out the glasses.

  Only the bottle of whisky was left. Then he took up his valise which he had left at hand on a chair and opened it. After inspecting its contents for a few moments, he took out a small dark green bottle bearing a red label. Diana Thornley followed his every movement with curiosity.

  ‘What’s that small bottle?’ she asked him.

  Dr. Milton smiled. ‘I’m going to add a little extra “kick” to the whisky, my dear, that’s all. I think our friends will find it stimulating.’

  He unscrewed the stopper and, through a small funnel which he had also taken out of his case, poured its contents into the whisky.

  ‘What is it?’ Diana Thornley persisted.

  The slight intangible smile spread across Dr. Milton’s face. ‘I don’t think you’d be any the wiser, my dear, if I told you.’ Suddenly he became grave again. ‘When Snow arrives, be drinking. At all costs, he mustn’t suspect anything.’

  ‘No, ah right, but…What’s that?’

  They both stopped to listen. Outside, they could hear the scrunch of a car’s tyre on the gravel of the drive leading up to the inn. Then it stopped. A moment or two later, the engine was switched off and they heard the door of the car open and shut, followed by footsteps. The first of their visitors had arrived.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A Surprise for Temple

  ‘It must be Snow!’ said Dr. Milton. A quick stride took him to the window. He drew the curtains and tried to see through the thick white mist that had spread from the river. Diana Thornley joined him. But neither of them could distinguish more than a dim figure near the car. Then, suddenly, the mist cleared for a moment and showed them a thin man walking towards the entrance to the inn.

  ‘It’s Dixie!’ Dr. Milton exclaimed.

  ‘Isn’t Horace with him?’ Diana Thornley asked, as she tried to make out the figure of the other man they were expecting.

  ‘No. He must be coming with Snow later. That’s funny—’ Dr. Milton hesitated. He looked rather worried. ‘Why, I was absolutely—’ Again he stopped, as Dixie entered the inn. ‘Here he is!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘You know what to do.’

  They walked back to the centre of the room and waited for Dixie to come in.

  Both were sitting down and Dr. Milton had picked up a newspaper and wa
s casually turning over its pages when Dixie arrived.

  ‘Hello, Dixie. I thought you were coming with Horace?’

  ‘No,’ said Dixie, as he glanced round the room. ‘We’ve had a hell of a game. They must have got the alarm out pretty snappy. A rozzer stopped us on the outskirts of Malvern.’

  ‘What happened?’ demanded Milton.

  ‘Well—’ Dixie found it apparently too much to continue the sentence.

  The doctor glanced at him sharply. ‘You didn’t…?’

  Dixie interrupted his alarmed request. ‘Yes. Snow let him have it!’

  ‘You blasted fool, Dixie!’ shouted Milton in a blind fury. ‘Why–’

  But even the normally nonchalant Dixie was not inclined to take this calmly. ‘It’s all very well talking,’ he said angrily. ‘We were in a jam.’

  The doctor glared at him. Presently he spoke, this time more calmly.

  ‘Why did you change cars?’

  ‘Snow was all shot to pieces,’ Dixie informed him. ‘He couldn’t drive properly.’ He paused, then suddenly added: ‘I say, I feel like a drink.’ As he spoke, he glanced at the whisky bottle and the glasses.

  But Dr. Milton had not been listening too carefully. The shooting of the policeman more than occupied his thoughts. It took him a moment or two to realize that not only did he intend Dixie to drink some of the whisky, but that Dixie was actually playing into his hands by asking for a drink.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. And he pushed the tray over towards Dixie. ‘Help yourself.’

  Dixie took the bottle and poured himself nearly half a tumblerful of the amber fluid. He felt he needed something to pull himself together again.

  ‘My God!’ he exclaimed as he pressed the lever of the siphon and watched the soda water spurt into his glass, ‘Snow was in a state; we couldn’t do anything with him.’

  ‘Is Horace all right?’ asked Dr. Milton.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Dixie. He took the glass from the table and was about to drink. Suddenly he stopped. There was another question he had to ask. ‘I say,’ he asked suddenly, ‘have you heard from the Chief?’

  The doctor nodded. ‘He’s ringing again later.’