Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  Dixie paused. His thoughts flew back to the ‘job’ he had just finished. ‘This is the biggest thing I’ve ever tackled,’ he said. ‘It was one of those—’

  But Dr. Milton was not anxious for any detailed account of the robbery. That could come later. There was more important work to be done. While Dixie was still talking, he lifted his glass and said quietly: ‘Cheerio, Dixie!’

  Dixie was not slow in accepting the hint. He was desperately anxious for a drink and quickly took up his glass.

  ‘Cheers, Doc,’ he answered. Dixie’s throat was dry and he was obviously in a nervous condition. He gulped down half the glass. But as he swallowed, he stood motionless. His face became screwed up. Slowly he drew his tongue over his lips. He looked first at Dr. Milton, then at Diana. Both were staring curiously at him.

  ‘I say,’ he suddenly burst out, ‘what the ’ell is the matter with this…with this—’ He broke off. He took up his glass and looked closely at what remained of the whisky. ‘I say, Doc, my throat…It’s—’

  Diana Thornley and Dr. Milton were standing up, still watching him closely. Neither of them spoke. Dixie had put his glass down on the table again. Suddenly he began to claw at his collar in desperation trying to pull it away from his throat.

  ‘Doc!’ he suddenly shrieked. ‘Doc! What is it?’ He was desperately alarmed. His eyes, in a lifeless glaze, were fixed on Milton. Now he was holding his forehead, now pressing his fingers deep into his throat, so deep that white marks were left.

  ‘What is it, Doc?’ he repeated. ‘Oh, God!’ he moaned. Then suddenly he collapsed. He had been standing close to the table. During the last second or two he had taken hold of it for support, but even with the support of the table his legs seemed unable to bear the strain. His knees bent forward and he sagged to the ground. As he did so, his chin struck the edge of the table. He lay on his side, groaning, his hands still feeling his forehead and his neck. But there was little life in them now. They could only make aimless movements.

  Dr. Milton and Diana had been watching him as though in a stupor. The doctor was the first to recover. He shook himself, as though to throw off the thought of the murder he was committing, and turned to the girl.

  ‘Help me with the trapdoor!’ he said briskly. ‘Quickly!’

  They drew back the curtains they had closed a little while before and knelt down against the flap in the wall. Gradually they opened it, until they had swung it outwards and fixed it with the old bolts.

  ‘Good!’ exclaimed Dr. Milton. ‘No, I’ll attend to him,’ he added, as Diana Thornley stepped towards the moaning form of Dixie. ‘Now listen – go downstairs and drive his car round to the back. We don’t want the others to see it when they arrive.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ she replied. She walked swiftly to the door and closed it behind her. A moment later Dr. Milton heard the sounds of the self-starter followed by the scrunch of gravel as Diana Thornley drove the car to the back of the inn, where it would be hidden from view. He turned to look at the man on the floor beneath him. After a moment’s reflection he knelt down beside him. There was little of value in any of his pockets, so Milton started rolling the body along the floor towards the trapdoor.

  A last push and Dixie was on his way to the river. Dr. Milton peered after him. Dimly he could make out the black shape falling down to the water below. Suddenly he heard the terrific splash for which he was waiting.

  Dr. Milton drew back into the room, pushed back the bolts and lowered the trapdoor into position again. Then he stood up and pulled back the curtains. As he was doing so, he heard a car drive up outside. The noise of the tyres over the gravel stopped, the engine was switched off and an instant later, he heard the car door. At the same moment, Diana Thornley reappeared.

  ‘Here’s Snow and Horace!’ she exclaimed breathlessly.

  ‘Yes. I gathered that,’ replied Dr. Milton. As he spoke, he hurried back to the centre of the room and proceeded to remove Dixie’s glass out of sight, so that their suspicions should not be aroused. ‘Did they see you moving the car?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  Both looked round the room to make sure all was in order.

  ‘You know what to do?’ said Dr. Milton.

  Diana Thornley turned towards the curtain hiding the trapdoor. As she did so, Dr. Milton noticed her shudder. Callous as she might be, this girl was not entirely inhuman, he reflected.

  ‘Is…Is Dixie…?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered as she paused, unable to complete the sentence. ‘Now be careful,’ he went on in practical tones. ‘We must make certain they both drink about the same time or—’

  Diana Thornley brought her finger to her lips. ‘Here they are,’ she whispered.

  The door opened and Horace Daley appeared, together with Snow Williams.

  Horace looked rather nervous. ‘Hello, Doc,’ he said. He glanced round the room and nodded to Diana Thornley. Then both men walked in.

  ‘Hello, Horace,’ answered the doctor. ‘Where’s Dixie?’ he asked.

  ‘Dixie,’ echoed Horace Daley. The question obviously surprised him. ‘Hasn’t he arrived?’

  ‘No,’ replied Milton quietly. ‘Why – did he come on ahead?’

  ‘Yes,’ put in Snow, now speaking for the first time.

  ‘That’s funny,’ commented the doctor.

  Diana Thornley had been standing away from the little group. Now she walked over towards them. ‘I thought he was coming with you, Horace?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes – we ’ad a bit of bother, an’ changed over. Well, ’ere’s the sparklers!’

  He put the little attaché case he had been carrying on to the table. The others watched him closely.

  ‘Is that all the stuff?’ asked Dr. Milton.

  ‘Yes. I think so.’ He opened the case and revealed to their gaze a quantity of glittering diamonds. These he proceeded to scoop out with his hands and deposit on the table. ‘Blimey!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘Look at that diamond!’ It was a magnificent stone hanging as a pendant from a thin platinum chain.

  Dr. Milton ignored his remark. ‘Did you stick to the list the Chief gave you?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘He didn’t give me the list,’ was the answer. ‘It was Dixie.’ The mention of Dixie’s name brought his former thoughts flashing back into his mind. ‘I say, it’s funny ’e isn’t ’ere, ain’t it?’ he added.

  ‘Perhaps he got nervy after that spot of bother we had,’ put in Snow.

  Dr. Milton interrupted him. He spoke quietly and without thinking. ‘It was a pity you shot that policeman, Snow,’ he said. ‘He’s almost—’

  ‘I couldn’t help it!’ exclaimed Snow a little nervously. ‘He was standing there, so…damned sure of ’imself, and then—’

  ‘’Ere, just a minute!’ exclaimed Horace Daley. He had lifted his head sharply when Dr. Milton spoke. ‘Just a minute, Doc! ’Ow did you know Snow bumped a rozzer off?’

  Milton immediately realized the mistake he had made. ‘How did I know?’ he repeated, trying to gain time to think. ‘Why—’

  But Diana Thornley was equal to the situation. While the doctor had been taken aback, she put in calmly: ‘The Chief rang up just before you arrived. He told us.’

  Horace Daley blinked at her suspiciously. ‘Blimey!’ he exclaimed. ‘News don’t ’alf travel! Why, we ’ardly—’

  A sudden, piercing scream cut short what Horace was about to say. Steve Trent was suddenly making herself heard from upstairs.

  All four looked at the door. Diana and Milton both tried to appear nonchalant. Snow was the first to speak.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘’Oo the ’ell is it?’ demanded Horace Daley with equal surprise, and certainly greater emphasis.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dr. Milton hastened to reassure them. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about. Diana,’ he added, turning to her, ‘take this handkerchief; tie it tight this time. See that she can’t talk.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ Diana
Thornley took the large silk handkerchief Dr. Milton had taken out of his pocket and quickly left the room.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Horace Daley again. ‘Who’s upstairs?’

  ‘Steve Trent,’ Dr. Milton explained. ‘She’s a reporter on The Evening Post.’

  ‘A reporter? Then what the ’ell is she doin’ ’ere? You’ve picked a ruddy good time to ’ave a reporter ’angin’ abaht!’

  ‘There’s nothing to get alarmed about, Horace,’ said the doctor smoothly. ‘It was the Chief’s orders to bring her back here – that’s all we know.’ Suddenly he changed his tone and added more briskly: ‘What you boys want is a drink. Help yourself, Snow.’

  Snow showed his appreciation of the invitation.

  ‘Oh, thanks, Doc,’ he said.

  ‘Go on, Horace,’ the doctor urged.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Horace Daley. ‘I don’t mind if I do.’

  Snow poured himself out a glass of whisky, and then passed the bottle to Horace Daley who followed his example. He was adding soda when the door opened and Diana reappeared with a smile of satisfaction over her face.

  ‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘we shan’t hear any more from that young lady for a little while.’

  ‘The boys are having a drink, Diana,’ remarked Dr. Milton quietly.

  ‘And they deserve it,’ she replied warmly. Diana walked over to the table and picked up the diamond to which Horace Daley had already referred. ‘This diamond is a whopper,’ she said. ‘Why, it must be worth a cool—’

  ‘Blimey!’ It was Horace Daley interrupting her, ‘I almost forgot,’ he said quickly. ‘I got another packet outside – Dixie ’anded it to me when we switched cars. Shan’t be a second!’

  ‘No, just a minute, Horace,’ said Dr. Milton, laying a restraining hand on his arm, ‘you can finish your—’

  But Horace Daley pulled himself free. ‘Back in a jiffy, Doc,’ he said, as he disappeared through the door.

  ‘He’s a hot-headed devil is ’orace!’ remarked Snow.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dr. Milton quietly.

  ‘Well, cheerio, Doc,’ said Snow raising his glass. There was about an inch and a half of the spirit at the bottom of the glass. He was drinking it neat. He looked at them both and smiled.

  ‘Strewth, I feel queer, Doc!’ he exclaimed, putting the glass down on the small table. ‘Bit…bit close in here, isn’t…isn’t —it?’ He was finding it difficult to speak. Already he was struggling for breath. Then, as Dixie had done, his hands came hurriedly to his throat.

  ‘Doc!’ he suddenly burst out, ‘my throat…it’s—’

  He stood still, his chest slowly rising and falling. Suddenly he flung out his arms and fell with his face to the floor.

  Dr. Milton was standing in readiness. Quietly, and as efficiently as if he were a porter dealing with some fairly heavy luggage, he began to roll the body towards the curtain.

  ‘What about Horace?’ asked Diana Thornley suddenly.

  ‘We’ll look after Horace,’ he replied grimly.

  ‘You’d better search him,’ she suggested, as he got the body to the curtains and was pushing it through the gap between them.

  ‘We haven’t time,’ was the brief answer. ‘Here,’ he continued, ‘help me with this trapdoor…Ah, that’s done it,’ he said at last, with relief.

  He pushed the body of Snow hard against the trapdoor and then, with Diana Thornley’s help, contrived to make enough space for him to fall through. The trapdoor slammed and an instant later they heard the splash as Snow reached the river.

  ‘What are you going to tell Horace?’ asked Diana Thornley, as they got up and hastened back to the middle of the room.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘We’ll tell him Snow’s upstairs with the girl.’

  ‘Mm…we’d better fill Snow’s glass again or—’

  But there was no time. ‘Here he is,’ remarked Dr. Milton as footsteps could be heard outside.

  The door opened, and Horace Daley reappeared.

  ‘Blimey!’ he started, ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I must be imagining things. I could ’ave sworn Dixie slipped me a packet when we—’ He broke off. ‘’Ello, where’s Snow?’ he asked suddenly, after glancing round the room.

  ‘He’s upstairs talking to the girl,’ said Dr. Milton casually.

  ‘Coo,’ replied Horace. ‘’Oo the ’ell does ’e think ’e is, Clark Gable?’

  ‘He’ll be down in a minute,’ said Dr. Milton, beginning to laugh. ‘Here’s your drink, Horace.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ he replied.

  ‘Cheerio!’ said Dr. Milton, drinking from his glass.

  ‘Cheerio, Doc.’ But the little Cockney did not drink. Dr. Milton looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Why don’t you drink?’ he asked at last.

  ‘I’m thinking of that rozzer,’ Horace replied. ‘I ’ope to Gawd Snow did ’im in proper. ’E ’ad a good decko at us.’

  ‘You’re nervy, Horace. What you want is a good, stiff drink.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Doc.’

  For a few moments nobody spoke. Horace Daley seemed to be listening intently. Now and again he glanced curiously towards the door.

  ‘What’s the matter, Horace?’ asked Dr. Milton at last.

  ‘I’m listening, that’s all,’ he replied. ‘Can’t ’ear voices.’

  ‘Why should you hear voices?’

  ‘Why, Snow, o’ course. You said he was upstairs.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dr. Milton in pleasant tones, ‘perhaps he’s not talking just now.’

  ‘Then what the ’ell is ’e doin’?’ asked Horace Daley abruptly.

  Diana Thornley began to laugh. ‘You certainly are jumpy, Horace,’ she remarked.

  ‘For a man who’s just made the best part of a cool five thousand, you don’t seem very bright, Horace,’ added Dr. Milton.

  Horace Daley jerked his head forward. ‘Five thousand?’ he queried.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dr. Milton hurriedly. ‘That’s going to be your cut of the Malvern job, isn’t it, Diana?’ he went on, turning to her.

  ‘That’s what the Chief said,’ she emphasized.

  A broad smile spread slowly across Horace Daley’s face as the full significance of this sum dawned on him.

  ‘Five thousand smackers!’ he said with delight. He clapped his hands together. ‘That’s what I call money!’

  ‘It’s what we all call money, Horace,’ said Milton brightly.

  Horace Daley began to laugh with glee. ‘Blimey!’ he exclaimed. ‘Will I paint the town red!’

  ‘Well, here’s luck,’ said Dr. Milton, drinking again.

  ‘Thank you, Doc.’

  ‘Drink up, Horace,’ added Diana in what was intended to be a gay voice, but which somehow sounded a little strained.

  Still he did not drink.

  ‘Five…thousand!’ said the little Cockney slowly. ‘Coo, fair takes your breath away, don’t it, Doc?’

  The doctor began to laugh. ‘It certainly seems to have taken your breath away. What the devil’s the matter with you, Horace? Are you on the wagon?’

  ‘On the wagon?’ he echoed, with a perplexed frown on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ put in Diana Thornley. ‘You’re not drinking, Horace.’

  ‘Oh! On the wagon!’ he repeated again, this time with enlightenment on his face. He burst out laughing. ‘Can you imagine it, Doc? Me—on the wagon! That’s good! That’s good!’

  ‘Horace on the wagon,’ said Diana at last. ‘That’s certainly funny—’

  ‘I was only on it once, Doc,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t see straight.’

  ‘Cheerio!’ said Diana when the laughter eventually died down.

  ‘Cheerio, Diana,’ replied Dr. Milton, and raised his glass. But still Horace did not drink. They looked at him curiously.

  ‘Drink up, Horace.’ It was Milton who spoke.

  There was a long pause. The three stood around the table facing each other.
Horace Daley looked from one to the other.

  ‘Why aren’t you drinking?’ said Dr. Milton seriously.

  For a moment the innkeeper did not answer. Suddenly he straightened himself and pulled a large automatic from his pocket.

  ‘Because I’m not a damned fool, Doc!’ he answered sharply. ‘Stand away from that door!’ he added suddenly, as Dr. Milton took a step backwards.

  ‘Put that gun down, Horace,’ said Milton. ‘Don’t be a young idiot.’

  ‘Stand away from that door!’ shouted Horace Daley desperately, ‘or I’ll blow your blarsted brains out!’ A grin spread slowly across his face. ‘Drink up, Horace!’ he said, mimicking the doctor’s persuasive tones. ‘Are you on the wagon, Horace? Cheerio, Horace!’ He began to laugh, deeply, throatily. Suddenly he became serious again. ‘’Ere!’ he said sharply. ‘Take this glass, Doc! Take it!’

  Dr. Milton’s calm vanished. A look of horror came over him. ‘No!’ he answered desperately. ‘No!’

  ‘What ’ave you done with Dixie and Snow?’ There was no mistaking the desperation in Horace’s voice.

  ‘I tell you, we haven’t seen Dixie!’ Milton replied. But his voice shook slightly.

  ‘Don’t tell your blarsted lies! His car’s at the back!’

  ‘Now listen, Horace,’ said Milton, his voice persuasive again, ‘if you take my tip—’

  ‘I’m taking nothing from you or anybody else,’ interrupted Horace savagely. ‘I’m giving the orders, see! Now drink this!’ He stretched out his glass, while the gleaming black automatic in his other hand remained pointed at the doctor.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Dr. Milton in alarm. ‘No!’

  ‘Drink it!’

  ‘Here, I’ll drink it, Horace.’ It was Diana Thornley speaking.

  ‘You!’ he exclaimed, turning in astonishment.

  ‘There’s nothing in the glass except whisky,’ said Diana quietly. ‘Give me the glass and I’ll prove it!’

  ‘All right! All right, Miss Clever! If that’s how you feel about it—’ Horace stretched the glass across the table towards her.

  ‘Thank you!’ she said, taking it from him. ‘Well, cheerio, Doc!’

  She raised it, but did not drink. Suddenly, taking advantage of Horace’s amazement, she dashed the contents of the glass into his face. As he threw up his hands in an instinctive effort to protect himself, Dr. Milton raised his arm, and brought his hand down heavily on Horace’s head. The groaning body became silent and lay still.