Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘The Chief!’ echoed Swan. ‘He certainly keeps himself up to date. I’ll say that for him.’

  ‘The Falkirk Diamond is in Amsterdam,’ continued Lina, evenly. ‘We shall get our share by the middle of next week.’

  ‘That’s what I call quick work!’ approved Jimmy Mills, draining his glass and smacking his lips.

  Lina ignored this interruption. ‘The Chief told me to let you know that the hide-out on the river is quite safe. The police haven’t spotted it.’

  ‘Then ’ow the ’ell did the Blakeley kid do a bunk?’ Mills questioned.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Lina, quietly, ‘and neither does the Chief.’

  ‘Well, thank Gawd there’s somethin’ he don’t know,’ commented Mills expressively. ‘Makes the bloke almost ’uman!’

  ‘Did he say anything about the Jewellers’ Ball?’ asked Brightman, who was now rather more cheerful.

  ‘Yes. He wants us to go ahead.’

  ‘The Jewellers’ Ball. What’s that?’ came Swan Williams’ high-pitched falsetto.

  ‘It’s our next proposition,’ Brightman informed them.

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Ware deliberately, ‘it’s about time we laid low for a while, especially if we’ve got to take care of Lucky.’

  ‘No,’ decided Brightman, ‘we can’t afford to miss a chance like this.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Jimmy Mills, pricking up his ears.

  ‘A cool million,’ stated Brightman deliberately, amidst startled exclamations from the others. Even Jed Ware seemed aroused from his lethargy. Brightman glanced questioningly at Lina, who signalled him to proceed.

  ‘Every year the Birmingham Jewellers’ Association holds a ball,’ expounded Brightman. ‘It is their custom to display valuable pieces of jewellery of all descriptions at this function. This year, they are bringing the Carter Collection over from Paris. It will be on exhibition in the main lounge of the hotel.’

  ‘Yes,’ chimed in Mills sceptically, ‘with every flatfoot in the country practically sitting on top of it.’

  ‘What exactly is the Carter Collection, and when does it arrive?’ demanded Swan Williams, who had a technical interest in jewellery.

  ‘It comprises an emerald necklace and two diamond-studded pendants. It’s in London now, and a man called Paradise is taking the stuff up to Birmingham on Thursday.’

  ‘That doesn’t leave us much time if we’re going to do anything about Lucky,’ Swan pointed out.

  Brightman nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Jimmy, you’d better look after Lucky,’ he decided.

  Jimmy looked dubious for a moment. ‘What time does he leave hospital?’ he asked.

  ‘Five-thirty or thereabouts.’

  ‘All right. I’ll pick up some of the boys, and be back here by seven at the latest.’

  ‘I should use the crowd we had at Nottingham,’ advised Brightman.

  Jimmy nodded and extracted an automatic pistol from his pocket.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he said.

  CHAPTER XXI

  In Which Hunter Receives a Surprise

  Entering the hall of the Queen’s Hospital that afternoon, Hunter sniffed suspiciously at the antiseptic-laden air as he crossed the glassily polished floor. For some reason, he always felt rather uncomfortable in hospitals.

  Intercepting a nurse who was hurrying past, Hunter asked for Doctor Henderson. At first she was inclined to be a little officious until he revealed his identity. Then she conducted him at once to a neat little office at the end of a long corridor.

  Henderson came out of his office and smilingly shook hands with his visitor.

  ‘Hello, Inspector. Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ murmured Hunter.

  ‘I didn’t ask you into the office because I expect you want to be getting along with the patient. He seems pretty fit, by the way – though he isn’t exactly talkative.’

  ‘He’ll talk all right in time,’ declared Hunter drily.

  Doctor Henderson called a nurse and instructed her to fetch Lucky Gibson from Ward Nine. While they were waiting, he asked, ‘How are you taking him back to the Yard? We’ve got an ambulance, if that’s any use.’

  ‘I’ve brought the police-car,’ said Hunter. ‘I’m taking no chances this time.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ smiled the doctor, who knew all about the previous adventure.

  It was a very different Lucky Gibson who emerged rather truculently from a distant door, in the company of the nurse. A few days of rational diet and correct treatment had completely restored his old gamin qualities.

  ‘What the ’ell do you want?’ he snapped at Hunter.

  ‘H’m, a very charming greeting after all we’ve been through together,’ grinned the Inspector, snapping a pair of handcuffs on Lucky’s wrists before he could make any further protest.

  ‘If you think you’re going to get anything out of me, you’re ruddy well mistaken!’

  ‘Tut—tut—remember you’re in respectable company,’ Hunter reproved him. ‘Come along now.’

  He led his prisoner down the corridor and into the entrance hall. A muffled figure sitting on one of the chairs reserved for callers rose as they came through the door.

  ‘Jimmy …’ gasped Gibson with fear in his voice. ‘Jimmy, I didn’t tell them—’

  His words were cut short by two sharp revolver-cracks, and with a cry of anguish, Lucky Gibson crumpled slowly on to the polished floor.

  ‘If anybody moves from here in the next five minutes they’ll get the same,’ threatened Mills, as he backed out of the door, leaving Hunter and Henderson gazing at each other in blank amazement.

  ‘He’s—he’s killed him!’ stammered the doctor at last. ‘In this hospital … my God, it’s not possible!’

  ‘Anything’s possible with the Front Page Men,’ said Hunter, waking into activity. ‘Where’s your phone?’

  ‘In the recess over yonder.’

  Hunter rushed across, and was about to pick up the receiver when the bell began to ring.

  ‘Yes?’ he demanded, impatient at the thought of delay. ‘Oh … yes, this is Hunter speaking … who are you?’

  He inclined his head as if to make more certain of catching the name of his caller. But the name came over so plainly that even the doctor could hear it five yards away.

  ‘This is the Reverend Charles Hargreaves …’ said the voice.

  CHAPTER XXII

  Concerning Lina Fresnay and Herr von Zelton

  Brightman watched Lina light her tenth cigarette and wondered if he would ever really get to know her. She had appeared among the Front Page Men quite suddenly, and did not seem to be known to any of the habitues of London’s underworld. He suspected that she had hitherto operated mainly on the Continent in rather more delicate propositions than those undertaken by the Front Page Men.

  All the same, she had been introduced by the Front Page Man himself; in fact, she was their main contact with him. Of course, she was his mistress, reflected Brightman rather enviously. Yet you never knew with Lina. She was almost as big a mystery as Front Page Man Number One.

  And Brightman was beginning to mistrust all this mystery. After all, they were partners in the organisation; they must stand or fall together. What if the Chief proposed getting rid of them one at a time, just as he had instructed that Lucky Gibson should be taken care of? Then, having skimmed the cream of the spoils, he would be able to vanish discreetly with Lina – back to the Continent, no doubt.

  Brightman told himself that it was hardly fair that he, a prominent City man, with a considerable reputation at stake, should be kept in the dark like this. After all, his brains had helped considerably in the various coups. In fact, several of them would never have gone through without him. Look how he had covered up the Blakeley Case, for instance.

  It was all very well for the Chief to keep rushing them into new jobs, but every one was twice as dangerous as its predecessor, with the pol
ice getting confoundedly unpleasant. And there was that queer customer Paul Temple hovering about in the background. Brightman had felt all along that the attempted abduction of Temple’s wife had been a mistake. It had gained them nothing, and only resulted in putting the novelist on his mettle. Everybody’s hand was against them now. Just one more coup, and then …

  But Brightman betrayed none of these thoughts as he methodically attended to the wants of his guests. Plied the men with plenty of whisky – offered to mix Lina a cocktail of his own invention.

  ‘I don’t think we ought to have let him go alone,’ Swan Williams was saying about half an hour after Jimmy Mills had departed.

  ‘Jimmy’ll be all right,’ said Ware, confidently. ‘He’ll make a quick get-away. Always does. Look at the Nottingham job. As neat a bit of—’

  ‘We are not interested in that any longer,’ interposed Brightman. ‘The next proposition is Birmingham.’

  Lina nodded approvingly. ‘The Chief is particularly anxious to bring this off,’ she informed them. ‘Afterwards, he proposes that we let up for a while and take a rest.’

  ‘We’ll get a rest all right – in clink if we don’t watch our step,’ muttered Williams.

  ‘Has the Chief any ideas about how we’re going to land this stuff?’ asked Ware.

  Lina shook her head. ‘Not yet. He’s waiting for more information.’

  ‘One thing is quite certain,’ said Brightman. ‘We mustn’t try anything at this end.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lina, with the merest lift of her narrow eyebrows.

  ‘Because,’ declared Brightman, impressively, ‘there isn’t a ’tec in Town who won’t be watching the station on the day Paradise leaves for Birmingham.’

  The other men nodded in agreement.

  ‘All the same,’ said Williams, ‘I hope you’re not working on any fancy ideas of raiding the hotel. I’ve hung around affairs like this before today, and believe me, we shouldn’t even get a sight of the stuff.’

  ‘I agree, the hotel is out!’ said Brightman. ‘The train is our opportunity.’ He paused, then added thoughtfully, ‘Swan, I think you’d better trail this fellow Paradise. You can start tomorrow.’

  ‘That suits me,’ agreed Williams.

  ‘We must know in advance what train he intends to leave on. That’s very important.’

  ‘What’s he like, and where do I find him?’ asked Swan.

  ‘He’s a little man about forty. Rather grey about the temples, small moustache and a bit of a beard – French style, you know. He’s staying at the Grand Palace Hotel in the Haymarket. You shouldn’t have much difficulty in finding him there.’

  Brightman turned to Lina.

  ‘Who is going to handle this stuff if we get it?’

  Her eyes narrowed as she replied. ‘There’s only one man who can handle it.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Von Zelton.’

  ‘But, he’s a German,’ put in Ware.

  ‘What of it? Nobody in this country is big enough to handle a proposition like this.’

  ‘Yes, but von Zelton,’ protested Williams, ‘I wouldn’t trust him out of my sight. Why, what’s to stop him—’

  ‘The Chief will look after our interests,’ retorted Lina.

  ‘All the same, even if we get a straight deal, von Zelton will want at least twenty-five per cent,’ Williams pointed out.

  ‘That’s pretty steep,’ commented Brightman.

  ‘It’s got to be von Zelton,’ Lina told them quietly, but firmly. ‘That’s the Chief’s orders.’

  The argument was still raging when there came four quick knocks on the door, and Jimmy Mills was admitted. Without a word, he went to the sideboard, poured himself a stiff drink and gulped it down.

  ‘Did anybody see you come in?’ asked Brightman, quickly.

  Jimmy shook his head.

  The others looked on in silence while he refilled his glass.

  ‘What happened? Did Lucky—’ began Brightman.

  ‘He didn’t talk!’ snapped Jimmy, with a short, savage laugh.

  ‘You got clear all right? Nobody recognised you?’

  ‘Of course they recognised me. What’s the odds? There’s a warrant out for me, anyway,’ snarled Jimmy. He drank again, and presently became calmer.

  ‘Well, what about the Birmingham job?’ he asked.

  ‘We haven’t decided everything yet,’ said Brightman. ‘Swan starts trailing Paradise tomorrow. We’ve got to find out what train he’s taking on Thursday.’

  ‘Supposing he goes up by road,’ suggested Mills.

  Brightman smiled for the first time.

  ‘So much the better,’ he chuckled.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Andrea Fortune Writes a Letter

  If the Front Page Men were worried over their plans to steal the Carter Collection, New Scotland Yard was even more harassed in their attempts to prevent the robbery. Sir Graham had already called two conferences on the subject, and as his mind was still far from easy, he telephoned Paul Temple and asked him to drop in for a chat.

  Having begun to formulate some rather interesting theories on the identities of the Front Page Men, Temple hardly welcomed the invitation, for he was anxious to work independently of the police. However, a summons from Sir Graham could not be ignored, and Temple duly presented himself at the appointed time.

  ‘What makes you feel so certain that the Front Page Men will be interested in the Carter Collection?’ he asked curiously, after Sir Graham had outlined some of his ideas.

  ‘Because it’s the most valuable collection in the country,’ growled the Chief Commissioner. ‘And if anything happens to it, I shudder to think what the papers’ll say.’

  ‘What do you think the collection is worth, at a rough estimate?’

  ‘Difficult to tell,’ grunted Forbes. ‘A million at least, I should say.’

  Temple appeared suitably impressed.

  ‘Is this man Paradise to be trusted?’ he asked.

  ‘Considering that watching over the Carter Collection is his full-time job, I should imagine so. We’ve checked up on him all right, don’t worry. He’s been known to the Jewellers’ Association for years.’

  ‘Who’s watching him?’

  ‘Both Hunter and Digby will be on the train.’

  ‘Actually with Paradise?’

  ‘Hunter will travel in his compartment. I’ve got Digby on his own, so that if he sees anything at all fishy he can follow it up.’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ approved Temple. ‘It all seems fairly foolproof – unless, of course, Hunter should be outnumbered …’

  ‘He has instructions to pull the communication-cord at the first sign of anything suspicious – and the guard of the train will also be warned.’

  ‘You’re sure they won’t try anything at this end, or when the collection is at the hotel?’

  ‘They’ll be unlucky if they do,’ said Sir Graham. ‘No, the train is the vulnerable spot, and I’m pretty certain that’s what they will concentrate on.’

  ‘You seem to have covered all contingencies there. Afraid I can’t suggest anything more,’ smiled Temple.

  Sir Graham was obviously gratified.

  ‘It was a great pity they got Lucky Gibson,’ went on Temple. ‘I think we should have found him useful – in time.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure we should,’ agreed Sir Graham, taking off the glasses he wore for reading, and pitching them among the papers on his desk. ‘I must say Hunter was damn lucky a bullet didn’t come his way. That lad always has had a charmed life.’

  ‘Very lucky indeed,’ murmured Temple thoughtfully. He waited a moment before asking, ‘Any news of Mills or Brightman?’

  ‘No. They must be lying very low. But we’ll get ’em all right before long.’

  ‘There’s no warrant out for Brightman?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m still waiting for something rather more definite. Expecting it any minute now.’

  Temple smiled. ‘Wrenson?�
�

  Sir Graham nodded. He quickly initialled several forms, then turned to Temple again.

  ‘Well, any more news?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Graham. It’s about Ann Mitchell. You’ve got a man trailing her, haven’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. After that story you told me about her being an impersonator …’

  ‘Yes, of course, I expected as much. But I’m afraid your man is hardly up to scratch. She’s spotted him.’

  ‘Damn!’ said Sir Graham, making a hasty note on his blotter.

  ‘Has he found out anything?’ asked Temple.

  ‘Nothing of any great importance, at least …’ He delved amidst a pile of papers and extracted a fairly lengthy report.

  ‘Temple, do you happen to know if the Mitchells get on well together?’

  Temple considered this for a while.

  ‘Why, yes,’ he decided at last, ‘as far as I know. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because Ann Mitchell appears to rent a flat in Bloomsbury, and spends quite a lot of her time there. There doesn’t seem to be anything sinister about it, though it may be that—’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘There might be another man.’

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Temple, ‘there might.’

  Now he came to think of it, he remembered seeing Ann out with another man – once at the Chelsea Arts Ball, and once at a private party. She was the type that would prefer the company of men, and Gerald’s time was occupied a good deal with business affairs. It was hardly surprising that a good-looking woman like Ann Mitchell refused to deprive herself of male companionship. All the same, dinners and dances were rather a different proposition from taking a flat in Bloomsbury.

  His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Reed, who brought in a letter marked ‘Urgent’ for Sir Graham. With a muttered apology, Sir Graham tore open the envelope, and Reed quietly left the room.

  Concluding that the letter was some matter of routine, Temple took little notice, and resumed his speculations about Ann Mitchell. Even an exclamation from Sir Graham did not disturb him, and it was not until the Chief Commissioner passed over the letter, that he suddenly realised it might concern him.