Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘Then Dr Steiner really did see our names—’ she was beginning, when the hooting became more insistent.

  ‘Pull over, darling. There’s a car wants to pass!’

  Temple peered into the driving mirror, then at the narrow road ahead.

  ‘He can’t pass me here,’ he replied. ‘It’s much too narrow. Besides, there’s a bridge ahead of us.’

  But the other car was on their tail now, still hooting away. The small stone bridge ahead was only just wide enough to accommodate a fair-sized lorry, and certainly would not permit one car to pass another. On the other side of the bridge the road seemed to disappear, though it actually wound round a hairpin bend to reappear on the far side of a ravine.

  ‘Let him pass before we get to the bridge,’ cried Steve, who was all for giving way on the road.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Why should I?’ smiled her husband, always a driver who insisted on his rights. However, two hundred yards in front of the bridge the road widened appreciably for a short distance, and when Steve once more urged him to slow down, he obliged.

  ‘All right – anything to be rid of that dreadful horn,’ said Temple. ‘Come on – road hog!’

  The road hog came.

  He was a youngish man, with a rather pleasant smile, and he gave three polite hoots by way of acknowledgment as he shot past.

  ‘After all,’ said Steve, ‘he might be a doctor on the way to a serious case.’

  ‘He’s certainly in a hurry to get somewhere,’ agreed Temple, as the car seemed to bounce over the slightly humpbacked bridge and out of sight. When they were about fifty yards away, Temple suddenly gave vent to an exclamation.

  ‘My God! – there’s a corner on the other side of the bridge!’ he cried, clapping on both brakes. As they came to the bridge, they were just in time to see the sports car heading full tilt for a massive old Buick which had been parked on the bend. The driver had the alternative of colliding with it or turning off the road and hurtling down the ravine. The brakes screamed, but the car must have been travelling at quite forty miles an hour when it hit the stationary vehicle.

  Almost instantaneously there was an explosion and both cars seemed to be enveloped in a sheet of flame.

  ‘Come along, Steve!’ shouted Temple, jumping out of his car and running towards the scene of the accident.

  But they were compelled to stop quite ten yards short of the burning cars. The heat was both intense and unexpected. Temple took his wife’s arm to prevent her going nearer. He was afraid that there might be yet another explosion from one of the petrol tanks.

  ‘Oh, Paul…poor fellow…it’s terrible…!’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he told her gently.

  ‘But who left the car in such a position…and on this dreadful corner? It was madness!’ she cried.

  He looked at her for a moment, then his hand closed over hers.

  ‘It was meant for us, Steve,’ he said gently.

  ‘For us?’ repeated Steve, a look of horror in her eyes, as the truth dawned upon her. Temple walked as near as he could to the burning cars, then turned and rejoined his wife.

  ‘Come along, darling,’ he said. ‘We’re going back to Inverdale.’

  4

  After Paul Temple had left the inn, Sir Graham Forbes had taken a short stroll over the moors, smoking two pipes of his favourite tobacco in the process. No doubt Temple would have some bright ideas on his return, he consoled himself. He was strongly tempted to reconnoitre in the direction of Skerry Lodge, but decided that this procedure had better be postponed until he had someone to take with him.

  He had noticed Rex Bryant returning from that direction earlier in the morning, but attached little importance to the fact. After all, he reflected, there were only two roads out of Inverdale, and anyone out for exercise was bound to use one of them. Rex had been full of high spirits, and had spent some minutes with Sir Graham, inquiring after various members of the New Scotland Yard personnel, with whom he seemed quite familiar.

  When he arrived back at the inn, Sir Graham decided that it would be in their mutual interest if he and Temple shared the same room, so he went in search of Mrs Weston to make the necessary arrangements. He found her in the private sitting room, which also served as an office. She was dabbing at her eyes with an untidy apron and shaking with suppressed sobs.

  ‘Hullo, Mrs Weston, is there some trouble?’ began Forbes. She turned quickly and looked up at him.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Richmond. I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Can I help at all?’ asked Forbes in his serious tones.

  ‘It’s…it’s Ernie!’ she burst out suddenly. ‘He’s…he’s gone!’

  ‘Come on, Mrs Weston, pull yourself together!’ urged Forbes. ‘He’ll show up all right. He’s probably met some friends or—’

  ‘But I can’t understand it,’ sobbed Mrs Weston, bewilderment written in every line of her honest North Country features. ‘He’s never done this before. We’ve been married for nigh on sixteen years and Ernie has never been away an hour without telling me. He was never one for that sort of thing – always liked his home comforts and…and…’

  Her voice broke down completely.

  ‘When was the last time you saw your husband?’

  ‘Last night,’ Mrs Weston told him. ‘We’d locked up for the night, and was more or less getting ready for bed when Ernie suddenly said ’e’d take the dog for a walk. That was the last I ever…’ Once more her voice trailed into sobs.

  ‘What seems to be the matter?’ came in a slightly guttural accent from the direction of the doorway. Forbes half-turned, realising that he must have left the door ajar, and that Mrs Weston’s sobs must have attracted attention. Dr Steiner stood by the door, and Rex Bryant was peering over his shoulder.

  ‘It’s Mr Weston,’ said Forbes briefly, not altogether relishing the interruption.

  ‘Our respected host?’ queried Steiner with a lift of the eyebrows. ‘He is not ill, I trust?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ answered Forbes. ‘But—he’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’ echoed Steiner. ‘But that is impossible. I saw him last night. Why, he served me with my lager just before supper.’

  ‘Yes, well, he hasn’t been seen since,’ retorted Forbes rather bluntly.

  ‘So?’ Steiner was obviously very taken aback.

  Rex came into the room and perched himself on the corner of the table, swinging one leg easily, and looking vaguely interested.

  ‘It wouldn’t by any chance be that little cockney bloke who was here when I arrived?’ he demanded in a casual tone.

  Forbes nodded, then turned to Mrs Weston again.

  ‘Mrs Weston, when your husband went for a walk, did he seem in a good humour? He wasn’t worried by any chance?’

  ‘Er—no—I don’t think so,’ she replied a little uncertainly.

  ‘What time was it exactly – do you remember?’

  ‘Well, as near as I can tell, about eleven.’

  Rex Bryant edged off the table quite suddenly. ‘You mean this fellow went out at eleven last night and hasn’t been seen since?’ He seemed very surprised at the news.

  ‘How was he dressed?’ pursued Forbes, intent on solving this minor mystery, which he somehow felt might well have a bearing on the main issue.

  Mrs Weston thought for a moment. ‘He had his blue serge trousers on – and an old sports jacket – and, I believe, a white muffler.’

  Before she could recall any further details, the door was pushed open to admit Paul Temple and Steve.

  ‘Hello, Temple,’ said Forbes in rather absent-minded fashion. Then for the first time he saw Steve. ‘Why, hello, Steve – I thought—’

  Temple cut him short.

  ‘I want to see you straight away – come to my room. Could I have the key, Mrs Weston? Number 172.’

  Mrs Weston went across to the board where the keys hung, and Steiner seized the opportunity to speak to the newcomers.

 
; ‘So you decided not to leave us after all, eh, Mrs Temple? That is good.’

  But Steve was hardly listening. She had noticed Mrs Weston’s swollen eyes. ‘Is anything the matter, Mrs Weston?’ she asked, for she had taken quite a fancy to the little North Country woman.

  Mrs Weston did not reply, but pretended to busy herself searching for the key.

  It was Forbes who answered her query. ‘Mrs Weston is very upset.’

  ‘What’s the trouble?’ asked Temple.

  ‘Weston went out last night about eleven o’clock – and he hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘You mean he’s—disappeared?’ cried Steve.

  Forbes nodded.

  ‘Oh, but that’s impossible!’ Temple placed a warning hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Weston. He’ll turn up all right,’ he murmured reassuringly.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mrs Weston, handing him the key.

  ‘Coming, Steve?’

  She caught the meaningful look from her husband.

  ‘Let me carry that case, Steve,’ offered Sir Graham, taking it from her.

  ‘We shall see you both later, I hope?’ suggested Dr Steiner.

  ‘Why, yes, of course, Doctor,’ smiled Steve, as she went out.

  As Temple passed him, Rex Bryant placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘I’d like to have a word with you, Temple, if I may.’

  A little taken aback at this rather elaborate politeness, Temple paused. ‘All right,’ he agreed at length. ‘Come to my room in about ten minutes.’

  Temple did not address his companions as they walked out into the entrance hall and up the staircase. He unlocked the bedroom door with the somewhat cumbersome key.

  ‘Put the case down anywhere, Sir Graham,’ smiled Steve, going across to the dressing table and taking off her hat. Temple carefully closed the door.

  ‘Temple, what on earth made you change your mind about going to Aberdeen? It must have been something—’

  ‘Have you ever heard of “Hell’s Elbow”, Sir Graham?’

  Forbes ruminated for a moment or two.

  ‘Why, yes, it’s that very bad corner about two miles from Skellyfore, isn’t it?’

  Temple nodded with a rather grim smile.

  ‘Well, someone parked a car on the corner – and if a poor devil in a sports car hadn’t tried to show off and…’

  Temple’s voice trailed away as he noticed Steve’s rather startled expression.

  ‘Look at the cupboard,’ she said, in answer to his unspoken inquiry.

  ‘What’s the matter with it?’

  ‘I mean…on the floor…there’s some red paint or ink or something…it looks as if…’

  Temple crossed to the cupboard and peered at the dark stain. ‘That’s not paint,’ he murmured softly.

  Forbes joined him and caught his breath in astonishment.

  ‘We’d better open the door,’ he decided, seizing the knob.

  The door was obviously locked.

  ‘Looks damn’ queer,’ said Forbes. ‘We’ll have to force it open, that’s all.’

  ‘Allow me,’ said Temple, taking out a rather strong pocket-knife.

  In two minutes he stood back and Forbes turned the knob. But the door had stuck, and it was not until he had wrenched it sharply that it jerked open, precipitating him backwards onto Temple.

  A queer, inanimate form slumped out of the cupboard and fell to the floor. Steve shrieked in terror.

  She had recognised the body of Ernie Weston.

  Forbes and Temple bent over the body.

  ‘He’s dead all right,’ said the latter, repressing a slight shudder. ‘Almost instantaneous, I should think.’

  ‘Oh, Paul, how horrible…how horrible!’ gasped Steve, clutching the rail of the bed for support.

  ‘Look out, she’s going to faint!’ snapped Forbes.

  Temple rushed across to his wife and caught her arm.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she managed to smile weakly. But Temple insisted on leading her to a chair. Then he returned to Forbes, who was making a close survey of the dead man.

  ‘There’s something in his hand,’ he pronounced at length, indicating a clenched fist. It was by no means easy to force apart the stiffened fingers, and some minutes had elapsed before Forbes produced a length of fairly fine gold chain. ‘It looks to me like a watch chain,’ he decided, rather dubiously.

  ‘Let me see,’ said Temple. ‘Yes, it’s a watch chain all right. I’ve seen it before somewhere, too…’

  ‘Now you come to mention it, I think I’ve seen something like it,’ said Forbes, his brow corrugated in an effort to remember.

  Suddenly they realised that Steve had left the chair and was standing close behind them.

  ‘That watch chain,’ she cried excitedly. ‘I know whose it is!’

  ‘Steve, do calm yourself, darling,’ begged Temple.

  ‘But I know that chain – I’ve often noticed it.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Forbes, looking up sharply. ‘Who does it belong to?’

  Steve fingered the length of chain, as if to make quite certain before she spoke. Then she turned to Forbes.

  ‘It belongs,’ she said, ‘to Rex Bryant.’

  CHAPTER IV

  Appointment with Danger

  1

  Almost automatically, Steve found herself dragging from the recesses of her subconscious mind various isolated facts about Rex Bryant. In her reporter days, Steve had been with him on one or two assignments, and, though they had worked for opposition papers, Rex had taken rather a fancy to her. Once or twice they had spent an odd half-hour over coffee while waiting for a story to materialise, and without much invitation he had told her various incidents in his lively career.

  Like many Fleet Street reporters, Rex had graduated on a provincial paper, steadily ploughing through the inevitable routine of calls – police stations, vicarages, post offices, council offices and private houses. And like so many other reporters, he had rebelled after a time, and fled to Fleet Street to work on ‘space’. Soon the paper discovered that this was rather an expensive proposition, so he was offered a weekly salary, which he promptly accepted.

  At first he was given crime stories to cover, and within a few years had a highly specialised knowledge of the Metropolitan underworld. But his activities did not end there, and he created a minor sensation with a series of articles exposing what he blithely termed ‘the political racket’; revealing that certain financiers were extremely anxious to keep several fingers in the Parliamentary pie. These articles resulted in a small crop of libel actions, but rather to everyone’s surprise Rex and the Evening Post came through smiling.

  Rex Bryant was no ordinary reporter. In spite of the news editor’s attempts to suppress his irreverence for authority, he maintained his reputation as one of the few individuals who still bring the spirit of adventure to Fleet Street. On an average Rex was sacked about four times a year, but he was always reinstated after intervals varying from one hour to several weeks. If he was not re-engaged within a couple of days he made no effort to join another paper, though he would certainly have had little difficulty in doing so.

  Yes, reflected Steve, she had found Rex Bryant extremely amusing, full of interesting information, and above all, very human.

  Sir Graham was making a careful examination of the watch chain. ‘It belongs to Bryant all right,’ he murmured.

  Temple knelt by the body and began to run through the various pockets. ‘Nothing much here,’ he announced after a while. Then suddenly he discovered a tiny fob pocket. ‘Hello, what’s this?’ He held out a small platinum ring.

  ‘Looks like a wedding ring,’ said Forbes.

  Temple nodded.

  ‘Rather an expensive one,’ commented Steve, taking a closer look.

  ‘Now what the devil would Ernie Weston be doing with a platinum wedding ring?’ demanded Forbes in some bewilderment.

  ‘H’m…this rather bears out what I thought,’ murmured Temple
enigmatically.

  ‘Sir Graham, you don’t think Ernie Weston has anything to do with this other business?’ asked Steve.

  Forbes had to confess himself temporarily beaten. Temple continued his search through the dead man’s pockets without discovering anything else of importance. He was interrupted by the arrival of Rex Bryant.

  Rex came in, looking considerably more cheerful than he had on the previous evening. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, old man,’ he began blithely, then suddenly caught sight of the body at the far end of the room.

  Forbes said quietly: ‘It’s Weston.’

  Even the hard-boiled Rex was taken aback.

  ‘My God! Is he dead?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Forbes grimly. ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘But what happened?’ demanded Rex. ‘Where did he come from?’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘Damn it all, don’t stand there staring at me as if—’ His eye suddenly caught the length of chain which Sir Graham was holding in his open palm. ‘Where did you get that watch chain?’ he asked in a different tone.

  ‘You’ve seen it before?’ said Sir Graham.

  Rex said: ‘Why of course I’ve seen it before. It’s mine.’

  ‘You don’t deny it?’ It was Steve who spoke, and there was a note of apprehension in her voice.

  ‘Deny it? Of course I don’t deny it. Why the devil should I?’

  ‘When we found Weston,’ Temple told him, ‘he had that watch chain in his hand.’

  ‘In his hand?’

  ‘It rather looked as if there had been some sort of struggle,’ Temple suggested.

  Bryant’s expression changed. He seemed rather taken off his guard.

  ‘My God, Temple, you don’t think I had anything to do with this?’ he cried incredulously.

  ‘The watch chain, Rex,’ Temple pointed out suavely. ‘It’s evidence – rather important evidence, I should say.’

  Rex seemed to realise the full force of this at once, and looked even more alarmed. ‘I don’t know whether this is some sort of joke, Temple! Good God, man, why should I kill Weston? I’d never even met the fellow before—before I came here.’

  ‘And the watch chain?’ persisted Forbes.