Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

‘Yes, that’s what I wanted to know,’ said Temple. ‘Apparently he was afraid we might be someone else.’

  There was the sound of a motor horn behind them, and Temple glanced through his driving mirror to see a large Buick Tourer approaching at a reckless speed. For the second time the horn sounded with a note of urgency.

  ‘By Timothy, this fellow’s in a hurry,’ commented Temple, slowing down a little and drawing into the side.

  ‘He wants you to stop, darling,’ said Steve, who had been looking through the back window.

  ‘Stop?’ cried Temple in amazement.

  ‘Yes, he’s making signs.’

  The Buick shot past them, took the middle of the road, and slowed down at once.

  Two men emerged from the Buick and approached Temple’s car, which had now pulled up. The elder of the two, a well-dressed, dapper little man, came up to Temple with a smile of apology.

  ‘Really, sir, I must apologise for stopping you like this,’ he began, a shade too extravagantly.

  ‘If you want the road to Inverdale—’ put in Steve quite pleasantly.

  ‘Unfortunately, madam, we are not interested in the road to Inverdale.’

  ‘I think perhaps we had better introduce ourselves, Laurence,’ said the second man, a suntanned, fairly elderly individual, who seemed rather like a native of the district.

  ‘Why yes, of course,’ agreed his companion. ‘My name is van Draper. Doctor Laurence van Draper. This gentleman is Major Lindsay, a very close friend of mine. In fact, he is the father of that very excitable young man you met in the village – about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I see,’ nodded Temple, who made no attempt to reciprocate where the introductions were concerned.

  ‘I believe I am correct in saying my son gave you a letter,’ proceeded Major Lindsay, whose real name was Guest.

  Temple looked up quickly.

  ‘Yes, that’s quite true,’ he admitted.

  ‘The letter was addressed to a certain Mr John Richmond,’ continued the Major evenly.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I should esteem it a favour,’ said Major Lindsay impressively, ‘if you would be good enough to give the letter to Doctor van Draper.’

  Temple leaned back slightly and shrewdly surveyed the Major. There was silence for a few moments.

  ‘I’m sorry, Major,’ decided Temple at length, ‘but your son gave me explicit instructions that the letter was to be delivered to no one except Mr Richmond.’

  ‘I’m afraid your task will be very difficult, sir. You see, there is no such person as John Richmond.’

  ‘No such person?’ repeated Temple in some surprise.

  Van Draper came forward.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better let me explain, Major.’ He placed an arm on the car window and addressed Temple. ‘David Lindsay, the man who gave you the letter, is unfortunately the victim of a rather peculiar – what shall we say – mental condition?’

  ‘You mean that he isn’t quite…’ began Steve, and van Draper nodded.

  ‘Precisely. He isn’t quite responsible for certain of his actions. There’s no real harm in the boy; in fact his condition is rapidly responding to treatment. But there are occasions – tonight was one of them I’m afraid – when he’s a little—er— unbalanced.’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ said Temple in a non-committal voice.

  ‘My treatment of the case is purely of a psychological nature,’ continued van Draper, ‘and for that reason I should rather like to have the letter he gave you. On the other hand, if you feel a little dubious about handing over—’

  ‘No, of course not, Doctor,’ replied Temple. ‘There’s no question of doubting your word. But tell me, how did you know about the letter?’

  It seemed as if van Draper was about to embark upon a long explanation, but the Major cut in quickly: ‘Mrs Moffat rang us up. She knows all about David’s weakness, and understands.’

  ‘Oh yes—of course,’ murmured Temple. ‘Here is the letter.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said the Major, placing the envelope in his pocket. ‘I’ll move my car out of the way so you can get by. I seem to have taken up all the road.’

  With a brief nod the two men departed and presently their car drew into the side of the road. Temple and Steve shot past them and for a time neither spoke. Then suddenly Temple began to chuckle and Steve looked up in surprise. She could not see that there was any cause for amusement.

  ‘Paul, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Have you ever heard such a ridiculous story in all your life?’ grinned Temple.

  ‘You mean—what the doctor said?’

  ‘Doctor! He’s no more a doctor than I am,’ scoffed the novelist. ‘The fellow didn’t look like a doctor and, by Timothy, he certainly didn’t talk like one.’

  ‘If you didn’t believe his story,’ said Steve, obviously puzzled, ‘why did you give him the letter?’

  ‘I didn’t, my dear,’ laughed Temple, diving in his coat pocket. ‘I gave him the postcards. Six delightful views of Inverdale. Two by moonlight!’

  5

  Like so many Scottish hotels, the ‘Royal Gate’ was classified as an inn. It was, in fact, the only comfortable hotel in this small village, which had lately become fashionable as a centre for salmon fishers, deerstalkers, mountaineers and artistic dilettantes.

  In a noble but misguided endeavour to cater for all tastes, the proprietors had placed a stag’s antlers over the mantelpiece in the entrance hall, a huge stuffed salmon in a glass case at the foot of the stairs, and several anaemic aquatints on any stretch of wall that appeared inviting.

  There was, of course, a barometer suspended somewhat precariously just inside the front door. This had been badly damaged in transit and had lost a considerable quantity of its mercury, but oddly enough no one ever commented upon its inaccuracy, though every visitor most certainly tapped it fiercely first thing in the morning.

  Paul Temple and his wife had very little difficulty in finding the inn. They were welcomed by the host and hostess, Mr and Mrs Weston, who informed them that the place was full, but undertook to ‘manage something’.

  Temple and Steve were surprised and pleased to hear their hosts’ broad cockney dialect. Ernie Weston had been a night porter in a London hotel, where he had met his wife, who was employed there as a chambermaid. She had apparently come to London from Yorkshire to find better paid work, and between them they soon managed to save a few hundred pounds, which constituted the ‘ingoing’ to the ‘Royal Gate’.

  Buxom Mrs Weston, with the North Country roses still unfaded in her cheeks, had soon taken a fancy to Steve.

  ‘I think you’ll be very comfortable ’ere,’ she was saying.

  ‘It may not be as palatial as some of these railway hotels, but the view’s champion, anyway.’

  Steve looked round the fairly small bedroom which was sparsely furnished but very clean.

  ‘This room will do very nicely, thanks,’ she smiled. Mrs Weston smoothed imaginary creases out of her apron and nodded pleasantly.

  Her husband entered, carrying two large suitcases. He was rather out of breath and dropped them thankfully. ‘I’ll bring up the other stuff later,’ he announced. ‘Where do I put this?’

  ‘That’s all right – leave it to me,’ said Temple.

  Ernie Weston seemed quite pleased to obey. He was an inch or two shorter than his wife, a few years older and rather wizened in appearance. While Mrs Weston bustled around, fetching towels and other requisites, Ernie stood in the doorway looking on. He made no effort to go.

  ‘You seem to be fairly busy,’ remarked Steve conversationally. ‘Is it always like this?’

  ‘Crikey, no!’ exploded Ernie. ‘This place was a proper white elephant up till a couple o’ months ago. Ain’t that right, Mother?’

  ‘Well, things ’ave certainly bucked up, there’s no doubt about that,’ agreed Mrs Weston cheerfully.

  ‘Bucked up! Blimey, I should think they ’ave. I’ve been run off me
feet for weeks from early morning till last thing at night. ’Ave you come far, sir?’

  ‘We left Edinburgh this morning, about ten.’

  ‘Pretty good goin’,’ commented Ernie. ‘I expect you’re feelin’ a bit peckish?’

  ‘Yes, we are rather,’ admitted Steve.

  ‘Dinner’ll be on at any minute now – seven-thirty. You’ll hear the gong,’ said Ernie, adding whimsically, ‘the gong was Mother’s idea.’

  His wife glared at him, then turned to Steve. ‘We started getting so many “posh” folk here, I thought we’d better live up to it,’ she explained. ‘Would you like a wash and brush up, ma’am?’

  She took Steve to the bathroom, leaving Temple alone with Ernie.

  ‘I’ll pop down and get the other stuff up, sir,’ volunteered the landlord.

  ‘No, just a minute.’

  Ernie perched himself easily on the edge of a small table. Temple suddenly shot a question.

  ‘Do you and your wife run this place?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. Weston’s the name. Bin ’ere six months now.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit quiet, sir, after London.’

  ‘The hotel seems pretty full at the moment.’

  ‘Not ’arf. Everybody seems to ’ave made their minds up to go on ’oliday just now. Between you and me, sir, you wouldn’t be ’aving this room if me and the missus weren’t pally.’ He chuckled to himself as he helped Temple to lift a case onto a small bench at the foot of the bed.

  The novelist flung a pair of pale blue pyjamas onto his pillow, and asked: ‘Have you anyone staying here named Richmond—John Richmond?’

  ‘Why yes, sir!’ said Ernie, rather startled. ‘Is ’e a pal o’ yours?’

  ‘No, but I’d like a word with him.’

  ‘Well, I think ’e’s out, sir. But ’e’ll soon be back for dinner.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see him then.’

  Temple was a little dubious as to whether he should offer to tip his host, but Ernie accepted the coin with alacrity.

  ‘Thank you, sir – and if you fancy anythin’ tasty-like for dinner, just tell the missis.’ He winked and departed.

  Temple went on with his unpacking, whistling quietly to himself. He had almost finished, and was just debating as to whether he should open his wife’s case, when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ called Temple, thinking it was Ernie with the other luggage.

  The door opened and a voice with a Teutonic accent rasped: ‘I trust I do not intrude, Mr Temple?’

  Temple turned swiftly.

  ‘Why, Doctor Steiner! Come in!’ He held out his hand to the German, who appeared just a little embarrassed.

  ‘I saw your name in the register,’ he said rather shyly, ‘and could not resist this opportunity of renewing our—transatlantic friendship.’

  ‘It’s delightful to see you again,’ Temple assured him. ‘But I am surprised. What are you doing in Scotland?’

  ‘I am on holiday,’ replied Steiner. ‘Trying to forget that I am a Doctor of Philosophy at the University of Philadelphia. But it is not easy, I am afraid. These Scottish people are very interesting to a philosopher. They are in many ways highly religious and, shall we say, narrow-minded. And yet they worship their national poet, Robert Burns. You have, no doubt, heard of Burns?’

  Having heard of little else since arriving in Scotland, Temple smiled and nodded.

  ‘And yet again,’ pursued the professor, ‘the Scottish race frown upon divorce. They look upon marriage as sacred, binding and eternal. Yet it is easier to many in Scotland than anywhere else in the British Isles. Perhaps you can explain these inconsistencies, Mr Temple. I should be most happy to listen and to take notes.’

  But before Temple could make any attempt to reply, the door opened quickly and Steve rushed in.

  ‘Paul, the most amazing thing—’ She stopped suddenly at the sight of Doctor Steiner.

  ‘I thought you’d be surprised,’ laughed Temple. ‘Dr Steiner has just arrived. He spotted our name in the register.’

  ‘Perhaps I am wasting my time on philosophy,’ smiled Steiner as he shook hands with Steve. ‘I should be a detective—yes?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘But surely you tell me on the ’plane that shortly you leave for the South of France?’

  ‘Paul changed his mind,’ Steve informed him. ‘He thought it would be too hot.’

  ‘I like that, I must say!’ protested Temple.

  ‘I am glad to see a man change his mind,’ declared Steiner, with a twinkle in his grey eyes. ‘Well, I do not think you will find it too hot in Scotland. B-r-r! I have never felt it so cold, not even in Philadelphia.’

  ‘How long are you staying here, Doctor?’ asked Temple.

  ‘I don’t know. It all depends—on the weather,’ he added hurriedly. Rather unexpectedly Steiner turned towards the door. ‘I must start unpacking. We shall meet later, I hope—at dinner.’

  ‘Why, yes, of course. You must sit at our table. I’ll arrange it,’ said Temple.

  ‘I shall be honoured. Then for the time being…auf wiedersehen!’ He bowed slightly and went out. As the door closed Temple turned to his wife.

  ‘Now, what’s all this excitement about?’ he demanded. ‘You came dashing in here as if all the Campbells and McLeods were after you.’

  ‘Paul, whom do you think I’ve seen?’

  ‘I haven’t the vaguest idea.’

  ‘Iris!’

  ‘Iris—here?’ Temple ejaculated.

  Steve nodded. She sat on the bed and tucked her legs under the eiderdown. ‘Darling, I’m not joking,’ she assured him seriously. ‘I really have seen Iris – there’s no mistaking her. I was coming out of the bathroom when a door opened at the far end of the corridor – and out stepped Iris.’

  ‘Did she see you?’ broke in Temple swiftly.

  Steve wrinkled her forehead in some perplexity.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she had to admit. ‘I have a feeling that she did.’

  ‘But—but what happened?’ Temple was completely mystified.

  ‘There’s a staircase at the end of the corridor, near her room. Before I could say anything she had turned her back to me and disappeared.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call to her?’

  ‘I was so startled – it was like one of those dreams when you feel quite helpless.’

  ‘It’s certainly very peculiar,’ reflected Temple. ‘What the devil would Iris be doing here?’

  Suddenly, in the distance, a gong boomed.

  ‘Dinner! And I haven’t even started to unpack!’ cried Steve. Temple appeared not to have heard. He was sitting on the edge of a chair gazing thoughtfully out of the window – though he actually saw nothing of the view so highly praised by his hostess. Steve may have made a mistake about Iris, but it was hardly likely. What could she be doing in a remote Scottish inn! Why had she thrown over the best part of her career to penetrate the wilds of Scotland? Why…

  He was startled by Steve’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Paul, I’ve just remembered about that letter. Hadn’t you better inquire—?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I have.’

  ‘Then there is a John Richmond?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Steve considered this.

  ‘Paul, you don’t think there could be any connection between the young man, those two men who stopped us, and Iris?’

  Temple frowned. Once again the gong boomed and almost simultaneously there was a knock on the door. When Temple opened it, Ernie Weston stood outside.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe you wanted to see Mr Richmond. I brought him up now because I thought you might—’

  ‘Oh yes, please ask him to come in.’

  The man who had been waiting just along the corridor came forward.

  ‘Why, Sir—’ began Temple. Then stopped at an urgent sign from the visitor.

  ‘Sir Graham!’ cried Steve, before they could suppress her
exclamation.

  ‘There seems to be some mistake,’ said Sir Graham Forbes politely. ‘My name is Richmond. John Richmond.’

  CHAPTER II

  Concerning Z.4

  1

  Temple was the first to appreciate that there was a serious element to the situation. He recognised an urgent note in Sir Graham’s voice. Obviously, the Chief Commissioner was not anxious to have his identity revealed. As there was every indication of Steve starting an inquiry of this nature, Temple suddenly broke into a rather nonsensical chuckle.

  ‘Really, sir, we must beg your forgiveness,’ he grinned. ‘By Timothy, I’ve never seen anything like it…’ He regarded Sir Graham quizzically, his head on one side. ‘The same chin, the same nose…Why, he’s just like old Forbes, isn’t he, Steve? The absolute “spit” of old Forbes – just look at his hair…well, I’m damned!’

  He contrived to shoot a warning glance at Steve while Ernie Weston was looking at Sir Graham.

  ‘What the devil is all this about?’ snapped Forbes irritably, addressing the landlord. ‘Who are this lady and gentleman?’

  Ernie Weston was palpably perplexed.

  ‘A Mr and Mrs Temple, sir,’ he informed Sir Graham. ‘Arrived about half an hour ago.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘There seems to have been some sort of mistake, doesn’t there?’ he suggested.

  ‘I thought you said they wanted to see me,’ growled Forbes.

  ‘Well, ’e said ’e did want to see you,’ protested Ernie. He turned on Temple rather fiercely. ‘I say, what’s the game?’ he almost snarled. ‘You said I was to give a message to…’

  ‘It’s all right,’ laughed Temple. ‘There’s nothing to get excited about. This gentleman reminded us of someone else, that’s all.’

  Ernie made no effort to move. ‘But this is the gent you wanted to see – Mr Richmond—’ he began in puzzled tones.

  By this time, Steve had begun to realise the position.

  He broke off suddenly, as if realising Weston’s presence for the first time. ‘It’s all right, Weston,’ he murmured casually. But Ernie was obviously loath to accept this dismissal.

  ‘We don’t serve dinner after a quarter to,’ he announced.

  ‘We shall bear that in mind,’ replied Temple, politely holding the door for him.