“But surely Mrs. Trevelyan wouldn’t incriminate herself as far as that, unless there was some other reason—” began Steve.
“Yes! Yes! There was another reason!” cried Mrs. Trevelyan.
“Yes, and a very potent reason. You see, Steve, Mrs. Trevelyan knew that Rex had started working on Doctor Kohima – and she happened to have fallen in love with the doctor.”
Mrs. Trevelyan dropped her head, then looked up quickly.
“It’s true,” she breathed.
“By George!” exclaimed Forbes. “That explains the silver pencil – the one that was planted beside the body of James Barton. Rex told Mrs. Trevelyan that if she didn’t confess after the Haybourne affair that he would plant further clues.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Trevelyan excitedly. “I had a telephone message . . .”
“That is correct,” confirmed Kohima in a level tone. “I was compelled to hand over that ticket for my car the night of that accident.”
“I had a pretty good idea of that at the time, Doctor,” smiled Temple. “I didn’t take any immediate action just then because I needed more proof. And I preferred to await further developments. Which came all right, eh, Doctor?”
Kohima’s expression changed. His customary pleasant voice now had a note of anger, and there was a distressed gleam in his eyes.
“When he made Barbara turn up at Haybourne on that damnable errand,” he rasped, “I felt just about at the end of my tether.”
“Just as I guessed,” murmured Temple. “You didn’t mind paying him money up to a point – you didn’t even stop at giving him information when he had you by the throat – but when he attempted to blackmail Mrs. Trevelyan into confessing that she was Rex, that was too much of a good thing, eh, Doctor?” He chuckled at the memory. “You remember what I said? ‘You can lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make him drink’.”
Temple looked round his guests and said to Forbes: “Talking of drink, Sir Graham, what about another whisky?”
Ricky came forward to take Forbes’ glass.
“Well, Temple,” said Crane, somewhat reluctantly, “you’ve certainly reduced the suspects to two – three, counting Ricky.”
Ricky looked up from the siphon and grinned, but made no comment.
“And not counting yourself, eh, Inspector?” said Temple.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Crane. “You don’t suspect me, do you, Temple?”
“I won’t say I didn’t at one time,” admitted Temple. “Particularly when I found you in the flat with the girl in brown. But I managed to check up your story quite accurately. And so, our suspects are reduced to one.”
He turned his back squarely to the mantelpiece, took a sip at his drink, and looked pointedly at Lathom.
“Well, Mr. Lathom?” he said quite pleasantly.
Carl Lathom simulated an air of aggrieved surprise. Then he burst out laughing.
“I suppose this is your idea of a joke, Temple,” he replied.
“Rather an unpleasant joke as far as you’re concerned, I’m afraid, Mr. Lathom.”
“My dear fellow, the idea’s too stupid for words,” protested Lathom. “Why, good heavens, you saw that letter I got demanding two thousand pounds.”
“Certainly I saw it,” agreed Temple. “But what precisely does it prove, Mr. Lathom?”
“Why, it proves I’m not Rex. How could I be? I don’t write myself blackmailing letters.”
Lathom noticed that Crane and Forbes were watching him with considerable interest.
“It proves,” continued Temple deliberately, “that Rex is quite fiendishly cunning, Mr. Lathom. That you planned to direct suspicion away from yourself and on to Mrs. Trevelyan. You take a lot of trouble with your little schemes, Lathom, and that’s why they’ve met with more than average success. You went to the trouble to establish a nice background for yourself about some mysterious affair in Cairo, which was complete nonsense. You consulted Doctor Kohima as an apparently genuine patient – and all I can say is it’s a thousand pities he didn’t give you a shot of sodium pentothal and find out the real truth. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”
“This is absurd!” exclaimed Lathom.
“At Doctor Kohima’s,” continued Temple relentlessly, “you fitted the girl in brown very nicely into your background, but you knew very well it was no hallucination. You couldn’t make head or tail of why this particular girl should be following you, but your intuition told you that she must suspect something.”
“Carol was on to you, Lathom, right from the start,” put in Jeff Myers quietly.
“But she couldn’t prove anything,” said Temple.
“Can you prove anything, Mr. Temple?” demanded Lathom defiantly.
Temple bent down and picked up the tongs, replaced a burning coal that had fallen from the fire, and turned to Lathom again.
“You’ll be surprised,” he replied grimly. “Let’s go back to that night when we saw you in Luigi’s. You overheard me tell Steve what Leo Brent meant when he said it was all done by mirrors. That’s how you were able to bring off that nice little coup at Canterbury that nearly cost us our lives. However, let’s go back to the night at Luigi’s. When Ricky turned up and asked you to deliver a message to me you immediately realised the full importance of the message. You knew that Carol Reagan was here waiting to see me, and you knew that here was your chance at long last to corner her and put an end to her investigations.
“Before delivering Ricky’s message you went outside and planted glass in front of my car, and it was only after doing this that you returned and gave me the message. As a result of the puncture you had a flying start on us when we left Luigi’s, and of course the girl was already dead when we got back.”
“And I must say that was a quick bit of work,” commented Crane, recalling his visit to the flat on the night in question.
“Later that night,” Temple went on, “I paid you a visit, Mr. Lathom, and it was then you made rather a stupid mistake. In fact, I was mildly surprised that a man of your obvious ingenuity should give himself away so easily.”
“If you mean that I referred to the fact that the girl had been shot, when I was only supposed to know she was murdered—” began Lathom, but Temple waved him aside.
“That wasn’t your fatal mistake, Lathom. When I got in you asked me to have a drink, and ran through quite a list of wines and spirits. But you said, ‘I’m right out of port at the moment.’”
“I can’t see that proves anything.”
“Oh yes, it does. I made it my business to check up with Luigi that you had bought a bottle of port earlier that evening. If, as you said, you went straight back to the flat, you must have had a bottle of port, unless you deliberately smashed it and carefully placed the glass in front of my car. I checked that too, Mr. Lathom – I managed to find a piece of glass with part of the label on it, and Luigi recognised it at once.”
With a quick, cat-like movement, Lathom leapt to his feet, kicked his chair out of the way and backed a couple of yards. He stood facing Temple with his hand in his right coat pocket.
“Keep back—all of you—and if any one moves I shall shoot!”
Crane made an involuntary movement, but Forbes restrained him.
“I’m afraid you’re giving yourself away again, Lathom,” said Temple mildly.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll do the talking for a change,” said Lathom fiercely. “And I think you’ll find it quite interesting.” He gave vent to a grim chuckle, and there was a queer look in his eyes.
“He’s crazy!” whispered Mrs. Trevelyan, clutching Kohima’s arm.
“Go on, Lathom,” said Temple softly. “We’re listening.”
“All right!” snapped Lathom. “Well, Mr. Temple, do you know what killed Norma Rice and Sir Ernest Cranbury?”
“Of course,” nodded Temple. “They were poisoned by an overdose of Amashyer or crailin.”
“Exactly. And, as you know, crailin is a delayed action poison that
takes about twenty minutes before it is effective.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Crane angrily.
“Don’t you know what I’m getting at, Inspector?”
“I’m damned if I do!”
“Then I’ll tell you,” said Lathom. “You may remember that Temple complained of the quality of the gin I gave him.”
“My God! You mean—you—doctored that drink?”
“Crailin!” nodded Lathom. “Stay where you are, Mrs. Temple!” For Steve had made a movement towards her husband.
“You must have had a very low opinion of Rex if you thought he would listen patiently to all your theorising without having a trick up his sleeve!” said Lathom contemptuously. “I’ve made certain of one thing, anyhow – the next time Rex operates he will not be annoyed by Mr. Paul Temple.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mr. Lathom,” said Temple quietly. He had remained quite motionless for the past few minutes, and his expression was inscrutable.
“I’m more than sure—I’m positive!” said Lathom savagely.
“Nothing is certain in this world, Mr. Lathom,” said Temple. “If you’ll take your mind back and recall exactly what happened when you gave me that drink, you’ll see how fallible the human memory can be. I lifted my glass and wished you good health – which was a trifle ironical – and at that moment the front-door bell rang, and I left the room to let in Mr. Myers—without drinking.”
“But you came back and complained of the taste of the gin,” Lathom reminded him triumphantly.
“That,” explained Temple, “was a little subterfuge, I’m afraid, Mr. Lathom, I was never very fond of the taste of water, so it wasn’t difficult. You see, I had emptied your carefully prepared mixture down the kitchen sink before I opened the door to Myers.”
Lathom took an involuntary step backwards, tripped and staggered. At that moment a large object whizzed through the air from the other side of the room, and caught him neatly on the side of the head. Lathom collapsed and lay quite still. Forbes and Crane rushed over to him at once, and picked up the revolver.
“Jolly good shot, Ricky!” approved Temple.
“I am so sorry about the vase, Mrs. Temple,” apologised Ricky. “It was the first thing to hand . . .”
“My dear Ricky, we’re delighted! You forestalled what might have been rather an unpleasant moment,” said Temple. “If Lathom hadn’t tripped. Can’t think what made him do that—”
“I can tell you,” said Steve with a smile. “It was my ball of wool!”
Steve hardly set eyes on her husband until tea-time the next day, for he was up early and on his way to Scotland Yard soon after nine o’clock. He telephoned to her that he was lunching with Sir Graham and Lord Flexdale, and that he would be home to tea about four, when he would have cleared up most of the final details of the case. He arrived to find Steve sitting in the lounge before a large fire, placidly knitting. She looked up as he entered.
“Ring for tea, will you, darling?”
Temple rang the bell and spread his hands to the blaze. “Well, we seem to have everything nicely tied up now,” he told her. “I think Lord Flexdale was a bit disappointed he wouldn’t be able to broadcast to the nation again.”
“You may have cleared up things at Scotland Yard,” said Steve, as Ricky brought in the tea and silently withdrew, “but there are several points I still can’t understand. About this little man, Davis, for instance. Ricky is still quite certain he was Cortwright.”
“Quite correct, darling. I asked him about that this morning. It seems he was working on a special case for the F.B.I. when Ricky saw him – and he was playing the part of a hick from the Middle West. Myers is rather proud of himself as an actor.”
“He certainly fooled us,” said Steve. “But I can’t think why he didn’t take us into his confidence in the first place. That would have saved quite a lot of trouble.”
“I’m afraid that’s a weakness of his,” said Temple, appropriating a scone. “Insists on playing a lone hand. He thought he could clear up the Rex case on his own and take all the credit – then he began to see that it wasn’t so easy. Myers has plenty of resource, but he got a bit out of his depth. He hasn’t much use for the police, but he told me he was particularly anxious that I shouldn’t jump to the conclusion that Rex was Mrs. Trevelyan, and abandon the case.”
“So he told you that he had seen Chester put cyanide in the flask, and produced that strange note.”
“Which was just a little ruse to keep me interested. Of course, he knew darn well that Chester had put cyanide in the flask – no one else at the hotel could have done it. I was quite amused really, because I’d already tumbled to the fact that the girl in brown was working in with Myers.”
“Then that night we went to Claywood Mill and Chester followed us,” began Steve.
“Chester was working under instructions from Lathom, of course, and he’d taken Leo Brent there that afternoon. As soon as Chester started tailing us that evening, Myers was hot on Chester’s track.”
“And Sir Graham and Crane followed Chester!” smiled Steve.
“Exactly!”
The telephone rang and Temple answered it. There followed a cryptic conversation.
“Who was it?” asked Steve, as Temple replaced the receiver.
“Doctor Kohima.”
“Did he want anything special?”
“Yes, he wondered if you and I would care to act as witnesses.”
“Oh dear,” said Steve. “Is he in more trouble?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” grinned Temple. “He proposes to marry Mrs. Trevelyan on Tuesday by special licence. I told him we’d be delighted to attend.”
Steve said, “That means another new hat I’m afraid.”
“Remind me to get an advance on my book,” he smiled. “By the way, Steve, isn’t that a new piece of knitting?”
“Oh yes, I started it this morning.”
Temple helped himself to another scone.
“I feel rather pleased with myself over this Rex case,” he admitted. “Did you see what the London Graphic said this morning?”
“Considering you marked it heavily in blue pencil,” said Steve.
“They described me as England’s foremost detective,” went on Temple unheedingly, stirring his tea with a complacent smile and looking particularly pleased with himself. Then he glanced across at Steve and said rather curiously: “Darling, I don’t think that shade of blue is quite your colour. Why don’t you knit a nice yellow jumper?”
“Because there’s an old superstition about pink for a girl and blue for a boy,” said Steve. “And this doesn’t happen to be a jumper!”
“Blue for a boy?” repeated Temple, slightly dazed. “You don’t mean—”
Steve said, “And you call yourself a detective, Mr. Temple!”
He looked at her incredulously, then at the knitting. For the first time he realised it was a baby’s vest.
“By Timothy!” said England’s foremost detective.
Endnotes
[1] See News of Paul Temple
[2] See Paul Temple Intervenes
[3] See Paul Temple Intervenes
Note about Paul Temple & Steve
Debonair detective Paul Temple is really a bestselling novelist. With his wife Steve Trent (a highly successful journalist introduced in Send for Paul Temple) he lives in London’s fashionable Mayfair and the couple also own a country house in the Vale of Evesham. They are what has been described as ‘graciously middle class’, and spend their lives in elegant luxury as there is also inherited wealth behind contemporary high earnings. A manservant completes the household.
Temple investigates as part of his research and of course Steve looks forward to an exclusive story. Most of the cases he takes on - for which, incidentally, Sir Graham Forbes, of Scotland Yard should be eternally grateful - have plots that are intricate and involved, with a mastermind very often in the background. No matter what the hazard, or
adventure, Steve is invariably at Temple’s side, or occasionally in danger herself.
Paul Temple is certainly cerebral, and his adventures usually lead to cliff-hanger endings, albeit more verbal then physical, whilst Steve is essentially his perfect partner - inherently glamorous, supportive and with a sharp mind of her own.
Order of ‘Paul Temple’ Series Titles
These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as stand-alone novels
1. Send for Paul Temple 1938
2. Paul Temple & The Front Page Men 1939
3. News of Paul Temple 1940
4. Paul temple Intervenes 1944
5. Send for Paul Temple Again! 1948
6. Paul Temple & The Lawrence Affair 1956
7. East of Algiers 1959
8. Paul Temple & The Harkdale Robbery 1970
9. Paul Temple & The Kelby Affair 1970
10. The Geneva Mystery 1971
11. The Curzon Case 1972
12. Paul Temple & The Margo Mystery 1986
13. Paul Temple & The Madison Case 1988
14. Paul Temple & The Conrad Case 1989
Synopses of Francis Durbridge Titles
Published by House of Stratus
The Curzon Case
An aeroplane crashes on the cliffs of Dulworth Bay, whilst two boys disappear from a public school. Are these events connected? There follows a gripping story of kidnapping, intrigue and death. And just who is Curzon? Another boy disappears and a murder follows - Paul Temple must urgently determine Curzon’s identity and put an end to his terrible deeds.
East of Algiers
Paul Temple is asked to do a simple favour for Steve; deliver a package to David Foster in Tunis. However, the events that follow this are truly out of proportion as a series of mysterious killings, including one where the victim is found in a rubbish bag in Paris, require a solution. The series of strange occurrences are tailor made for Paul Temple’s grit and acumen to reconcile and ensure justice prevails. ‘East of Algiers’ is a novelisation of the original radio drama ‘Paul Temple and the Sullivan Mystery’.
Send for Paul Temple Again! Page 24
