Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  There was a significant silence for a moment. Then Lina looked round and said, ‘Something’s in the wind. You may as well tell me now as later.’

  Brightman fidgeted uneasily.

  ‘Lina, the boys are getting anxious,’ he told her. ‘They think it’s about time the Chief came out into the open.’

  ‘And what do you think, Andrew?’ she asked, in a steely tone.

  ‘I agree with them,’ said Brightman. ‘It’s no good beating about the bush any longer. We must know who the Chief really is.’

  Four pairs of eyes were focused relentlessly upon the girl, whose features betrayed no consciousness of the crisis thrust upon her.

  ‘Before I came here tonight,’ she announced, ‘the Front Page Man gave me a message. He is meeting von Zelton tomorrow night at nine – at the Glass Bowl.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Swan Williams impatiently, ‘but how are we to know—’ Something in her expression reduced him to silence.

  ‘The Chief,’ said Lina slowly, ‘is anxious for you all to be there.’

  In the flat immediately below, a middle-aged man took off the headphones he had been wearing and thoughtfully rubbed his ears.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Wrenson’s Report

  ‘Mr. Temple, sir!’ respectfully announced Sergeant Leopold, and Sir Graham Forbes rose from his desk to welcome the novelist.

  ‘Hallo, Temple, I hope I haven’t dragged you away from a pleasant dinner,’ he began.

  ‘No, not at all, Sir Graham. I was rather late getting your phone message,’ answered Temple.

  He placed his hat on one end of the Chief Commissioner’s desk and threw his gloves down beside it.

  Forbes opened a drawer and produced a postcard.

  ‘I thought this might interest you.’

  The Front Page Men are meeting at the Glass Bowl tonight at nine … a Friend of Justice,

  read Temple. He turned the card over. ‘H’m – seems pretty crude, doesn’t it?’ he commented reflectively.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ agreed Forbes.

  ‘Have you had it tested?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently it was written by a woman.’

  ‘That’s fairly obvious, even to an amateur like myself. Haven’t you any idea who wrote it?’

  Forbes shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like the handwriting of the woman who sent the letter signed Andrea Fortune.’

  ‘At the rate we’re progressing,’ murmured Temple, ‘half the underworld of London will be involved in this case before we have finished.’

  Sir Graham threw the card back into his drawer with an impatient gesture.

  ‘By the way,’ continued Temple, ‘have you heard anything from Wrenson lately?’

  ‘I had his report through this morning.’

  ‘Ah, this sounds more like it,’ approved Temple, who always admired Wrenson. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘He seems to have been fairly busy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, he advises me to pick up Jimmy Mills, Brightman, Jed Ware, Swan Williams, and a girl named Lina Fresnay.’

  Temple, who had been nodding thoughtfully as each name was mentioned, looked up inquiringly at the last.

  ‘Lina Fresnay? Is that her real name?’

  ‘As far as we know. There’s no trace of her in our records.’

  ‘H’m. Well, Wrenson appears to have the gang very neatly tabulated. Not quite so slap-dash and dramatic as some people seemed to think.’

  ‘Yes, Wrenson’s done well up to a point.’

  ‘You mean?’

  ‘He’s obviously quite mystified about the identity of Front Page Man Number One.’

  ‘And I would be the last to blame him for that,’ smiled Temple. ‘By the way, I hope Carol is none the worse for our little adventure the other evening. The poor kid was pretty upset at the time, I could see.’

  ‘Yes, it shook her up quite a lot. She’s been very quiet just lately. I’m hoping it won’t get her down.’

  ‘It set Steve back pretty badly, too, just as I was hoping she’d recovered from that last affair,’ said Temple.

  ‘Yes, and talking of nerves, we had Mitchell in this morning. He seems to be on the verge of a breakdown.’

  ‘That was to be expected. He’s a very nervy type, of course. Very easily flustered. I hope you didn’t ask him too many awkward questions.’

  ‘No,’ grunted Forbes, ‘no more than usual. And he couldn’t tell us anything of any importance.’

  Chief Inspector Reed came in with a sheaf of reports.

  ‘I didn’t realise Mr. Temple was here, sir,’ he apologised.

  ‘That’s all right, Mac. We were just discussing the Bloomsbury affair.’ Mac laid the reports carefully before his superior and slowly shook his head.

  ‘A nasty business that, Mr. Temple. Must have been quite a shock to ye.’

  Temple nodded. ‘Who’s on the job – Hunter?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sir Graham, ‘Hunter was still pretty groggy at that time. He’s made a grand recovery, though, and insisted on getting back on the case.’

  ‘Ay, Hunter’s a plucky lad,’ conceded Reed, rather surprisingly, in view of his earlier antagonism towards his colleague. ‘I’m thinkin’ Hodges is havin’ a tough time on this Bloomsbury case,’ he added.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Sir Graham. ‘It’s a complete mystery. I can’t think how a woman like Ann Mitchell should get mixed up in this business.’ He paused before adding thoughtfully, ‘unless, of course, she should happen to be Andrea Fortune.’

  ‘In that case,’ argued Temple, ‘why should the gang wish to destroy its master-mind? And what’s more—’

  He paused as the door opened noisily and Hunter came in. Physically, he seemed none the worse for his recent beating-up, but at the moment he was over-excited, and a scar on the side of his forehead was dyed deep crimson.

  ‘What’s the matter, laddie?’ Reed greeted him. ‘Ye seem a wee bit—’

  ‘I’ve picked up Jimmy Mills!’ announced Hunter, breathlessly.

  ‘Good man!’ applauded the Chief Commissioner.

  ‘Jimmy Mills?’ echoed Reed, very much surprised. ‘Where in the world did ye find him?’

  ‘I’ve been trailing him since three o’clock this afternoon,’ panted Hunter. ‘He’s in a devil of a state, and I reckon he’ll talk if—’

  ‘Let’s have him in here,’ suggested Forbes, at once.

  Hunter opened the door, and they heard the voice of Jimmy Mills engaged in heated argument with Sergeant Leopold. At a nod from Hunter, Jimmy was thrust into the room, closely followed by the sergeant.

  ‘What the ’ell is the idea of bringin’ me ’ere?’ yelled Jimmy in angry tones. ‘You’ve got nothin’ against me!’

  ‘If you’ll be quiet for a minute, Mills, I’m going to charge you with the murder of Lucky Gibson, and also being implicated with the death of Sergeant Donovan, Tony Rivoli and—’

  ‘You leave me alone!’ shouted Jimmy. ‘Leave me alone, or by God I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll tell us the truth,’ said the Chief Commissioner with one of his penetrating looks, ‘and you can start by telling us who is the Front Page Man.’

  Jimmy Mills’ demeanour suddenly underwent a complete change.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered, hoarsely.

  ‘Well, whoever he is, he’s certainly sitting pretty, isn’t he, Jimmy?’ put in Paul Temple.

  Jimmy saw the novelist for the first time since he had entered the room. ‘Oh, so you’re here, Mr. Temple,’ he sneered.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Temple imperturbably, ‘I’m here, Jimmy.’

  ‘Think you’re pretty clever, I dare say,’ scoffed Mills.

  ‘Not at all, Jimmy,’ replied the novelist. ‘You’re the clever one.’

  ‘What d’yer mean ? I’ve got my rights, I ’ave. You can’t get me in ’ere and do as you like without any evidence against me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy,’ Temple smi
led sweetly, ‘you’ll get what’s coming to you.’

  Paul Temple’s composure seemed to upset Mills’ air of bravado.

  ‘Get—what’s coming to me?’ he repeated, nervously licking his lips. ‘You don’t mean that they’ll—’

  ‘Remember Lucky Gibson,’ Temple softly reminded him.

  ‘No – they can’t do that!’

  ‘Of course they can’t,’ agreed Temple, ‘if they’re inside!’

  ‘Jimmy, I should strongly advise you in your own interests to talk,’ said Sir Graham.

  ‘Ay, ye’ve got nothing to lose,’ Reed pointed out.

  Mills seemed to be torn by an inward struggle.

  ‘All right,’ he gasped after a while. ‘I’ll talk!’ Then he seemed scared of his decision, but Hunter was on him in a flash.

  ‘Who is Front Page Man Number One?’ he questioned.

  There was silence for a few seconds. Then, ‘Nobody knows,’ whispered Jimmy, ‘except—the girl.’

  ‘You mean Lina Fresnay?’ asked Temple.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Doesn’t Brightman know?’

  Jimmy shook his head emphatically. Once more he licked his lips. ‘The gang’s meeting tonight at the Glass Bowl,’ he informed them.

  ‘Ah,’ grunted Forbes, ‘the Glass Bowl, eh? What’s the idea of this meeting?’

  ‘A man named von Zelton is coming over from Munich. He’s a fence – come to get the Carter Collection.’

  ‘And he’s going to be at the Glass Bowl?’ asked Forbes.

  ‘Yes, that’s where he’s meeting the Chief,’

  ‘You mean the Front Page Man?’ demanded Hunter, incredulously.

  ‘Let’s get this straight,’ interrupted Sir Graham. ‘You mean the Front Page Man will be at the Glass Bowl tonight with von Zelton – and the Carter Collection?’

  ‘Yes,’ cried Jimmy hysterically. ‘Yes! Yes!’

  ‘Take him away, Sergeant,’ ordered Forbes swiftly, and turned towards Reed.

  ‘I shall want the Glass Bowl surrounded, Mac. Take as many men as you want.’

  Reed nodded briskly.

  ‘And tell Thompson to watch all the airports for von Zelton,’ went on Forbes, turning to Hunter, who hurriedly left the room to obey this order.

  Sir Graham snatched up the telephone. His face was set and grim.

  ‘Harcourt? This is the Chief Commissioner. I want the Flying Squad!’

  CHAPTER XXX

  The Flying Squad

  As the first police-car came into sight, the small group of loungers outside the Glass Bowl vanished swiftly into the heavy mist which was swirling in from the river, and by the time the last car had lurched to a standstill there was not a soul to be seen. The police spread themselves silently around the tavern, and Reed marshalled the men he had detailed to accompany him.

  In less than two minutes, a sergeant reported to Reed that the house was completely surrounded. The Chief Inspector took a last look round and pushed open the front door.

  In the passage a down-at-heel young man was playing an accordion and singing. At the sight of the policemen, his voice quavered and the instrument wheezed discordantly into silence. He shrank against the wall, and the police pushed past him.

  When they came to the door of the bar-parlour, the noisy chatter faded until the only sounds were those of uneasy shuffling. One man who had not realised what was going on swung round abruptly to ascertain what had caused the silence. His arm caught a tray of glasses on the counter and they swept to the floor with a crash which seemed almost as loud as an exploding bomb.

  ‘’Ere, what the ’ell d’you think you’re playin’ at?’ screeched Mrs. Taylor, who was the first to recover her voice. ‘I’ll ’ave you know this is a respectable ’ouse!’

  Reed stepped into the room.

  ‘Ye’re a pleasant conversationalist, Mrs. Taylor,’ he retorted dryly, ‘but I’m in no mood for chatterin’ with ye tonight.’ He rapidly surveyed the faces of everybody present, decided they were not the men he sought, and turned to his colleagues.

  ‘Hunter, Rogers, Thornton, Deal and Priestly – follow me. The rest stay here.’

  As he turned to go, he warned the customers to remain in the bar.

  Reed then went along the passage to the tap-room. The only customers, however, were a couple of Lascar sailors and three local hangers-on, whom he recognised by sight.

  ‘Upstairs!’ commanded Mac briefly, and his men filed as noiselessly as possible up the narrow wooden staircase. At the top, Reed motioned to them to remain silent while he went along to each of the four doors and listened for some minutes. Outside the farthest door he paused, and, hearing a certain amount of desultory conversation inside, beckoned cautiously to his companions. At a signal from the Chief Inspector, each produced a revolver. He waited for a moment, then seized the knob firmly and flung open the door.

  Three figures seated by the fire swung round as one man.

  ‘The police!’ cried Swan Williams.

  ‘If any of ye move, it’ll be the last time ye’ll ever—’ snapped Reed, but the rest of his words were cut short by a shot. Slightly behind the others, Jed Ware had quickly produced a gun, aimed at the electric bulb, and reduced the room to darkness. The four men dropped to their knees, taking cover behind chairs and any other article of furniture that was handy. Standing in the narrow doorway, the police offered an easy target, and they had to back out into the corridor, dragging Thornton and Rogers, both of whom had been hit, out of the line of fire.

  Reed scratched his head in some perplexity and sent for more men. He had reason to suspect that Brightman and one of the others were hors de combat, and decided to force the issue. Ordering his men to bring along an ancient horsehair sofa which stood on the landing, Reed had it pushed into the doorway, thus affording them some measure of protection.

  Two revolvers still blazed, but the police now brought a small machine-gun into play, and it was not long before the Front Page Men were silent.

  Reed went into the room as the smoke cleared away, and curiously surveyed the inert forms by the light of a torch.

  There was no sign of Front Page Man Number One.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  News of Hargreaves, Gilbert Wrenson, and Mr. J. P. Goldie

  ‘Well, I must say you seem to bear a charmed life, Hunter,’ said Sir Graham Forbes rather grimly the next morning. ‘How are the others?’

  ‘Thornton’s pretty bad, sir,’ Hunter informed him.

  ‘Tut! Tut! And Rogers?’

  ‘Oh, it turned out that he wasn’t badly hurt after all. The lucky devil had his cigarette-case in his breastpocket, and the bullet went off that and just grazed his shoulder.’

  ‘Is Mac all right?’ asked Temple, who was standing by the Commissioner’s desk.

  ‘Not a scratch!’ grinned Hunter. ‘Heaven only knows how they missed him!’

  Sir Graham handed round his cigarettes and slowly lit one for himself.

  ‘It’s a great pity you didn’t manage to get your hands on Lina Fresnay,’ he murmured, regretfully. ‘According to a report I have here, she was in the bar-parlour when you arrived.’

  ‘I can’t understand it!’ said Hunter, wrinkling his forehead. ‘Both Mac and I looked round carefully. Of course, it was thick with smoke – even so, she must have slipped through the cordon somehow.’

  ‘Bad management somewhere,’ growled Forbes. ‘What about Brightman?’

  ‘He’s in a pretty bad way,’ replied Hunter. ‘They all are, except for Swan Williams.’

  ‘Have you questioned him?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘H’m. Won’t talk, I suppose?’

  ‘He’ll talk all right, but he doesn’t seem to know a great deal.’

  ‘Just as I expected,’ said Temple. ‘They were working in the dark most of the time. Is Brightman likely to be well enough to say anything soon?’

  ‘He was a little better this morning,’ answered Hunter. ‘As a matter of fact
, Mac’s with him at the moment.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have acted so hastily,’ reflected Sir Graham. ‘If we’d waited, we’d probably have got the Front Page Man. I shouldn’t wonder if the sight of the police-cars scared him away.’

  Temple puffed a neat smoke-ring into the air.

  ‘The Front Page Man never had any intention of going near the Glass Bowl last night,’ he announced, calmly.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ demanded Forbes sharply.

  Temple leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘Von Zelton arrives from Munich with the express purpose of buying the Carter Collection from the Front Page Men. But Front Page Man Number One has seen the red light. Things are getting a bit too hot. He therefore arranges for the gang to wait for him at the Glass Bowl, whilst he, personally, sees von Zelton elsewhere and clinches the deal. Of course, if it should happen that the Glass Bowl came to be raided that particular evening, well – that was a bit of bad luck for the gang.’

  ‘You mean he double-crossed them!’ said Hunter, excitedly.

  Temple nodded.

  ‘Then that explains the note I received – telling us about the meeting at the Glass Bowl,’ deliberated Forbes.

  ‘It does seem to fit in,’ smiled Temple.

  They heard a knock at the door, and Reed came in looking rather sorry for himself.

  ‘Hallo, Mac. You don’t seem very pleased to find yourself alive,’ Forbes greeted him.

  ‘I’ve just been having a friendly little chat with an oyster,’ said Reed, glumly.

  ‘Won’t Brightman talk?’ asked Hunter, with some interest.

  ‘Talk! Ye have the devil’s own job to mak’ the blighter nod!’ Reed ruffled his sandy hair in vexation.

  ‘This affair is damned annoying!’ muttered Forbes, with pronounced irritation.

  ‘But Sir Graham,’ Hunter put in, ‘if the Front Page Man wasn’t at the Glass Bowl …’

  ‘I’m not worried about that so much,’ replied Sir Graham, briefly. ‘I’m inclined to accept Temple’s theory that he had no intention of turning up at the Glass Bowl. What I am worried about is the fact that the girl slipped through our fingers.’