Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of an accident – one of the cups broken – I’m so sorry,’ said Steve.

  ‘That’s all right, ma’am – these things do happen,’ smiled Mrs Weston, busily collecting the bits.

  Steve turned to her husband. ‘Would you like anything to drink, darling?’

  ‘Yes, I think I’ll have a brandy and soda,’ decided Temple. ‘What about you?’

  Forbes shook his head.

  ‘One brandy and soda, sir?’ repeated Mrs Weston, picking up the tray. ‘Shocking weather, isn’t it?’

  ‘Does it always rain like this in Scotland?’ demanded Steve conversationally.

  ‘All the time I’ve been here – straight down and as wet as the devil,’ chuckled Mrs Weston. ‘I’ll send your drink up right away, sir.’

  When Mrs Weston had retreated, Forbes resumed his restless pacing.

  ‘Temple, there’s something I want to say to you,’ he began quietly. ‘And it’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘I think I know what it is, Sir Graham,’ replied Temple with a short laugh. ‘But don’t worry, we’re leaving in the morning.’

  ‘That’s just the point,’ snapped Forbes. ‘I don’t want you to leave. Steve will have to go – that’s imperative. But I need your help, Temple. Need it more than ever in my life before.’

  Temple looked up questioningly.

  ‘When I came up here, the Intelligence people told me my task would be a difficult one,’ Forbes proceeded, ‘and that I could use whatever means I thought fit, providing I succeeded.’

  He paused for a moment, then declared grimly: ‘I’ve got to get Z.4, Temple. No matter what happens, I’ve got to get Z.4!’ He thumped the little table to emphasise the urgency of his words.

  ‘And where exactly do I come in?’ demanded Temple softly.

  ‘Well…’ temporised the Chief Commissioner, ‘you’ve met van Draper and Major Guest and—’

  ‘Isn’t there another reason, Sir Graham?’ insisted Temple with a slight smile.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Forbes after a pause. ‘The people we are up against are now pretty certain that you are Richmond – the man Hammond’s letter was intended for.’

  ‘M’m…’ mused Temple. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘And why do you want to get rid of me, Sir Graham?’ asked Steve.

  Forbes became even more serious. ‘Things are too risky,’ he declared flatly. ‘In spite of their – what shall I call it? – veneer of respectability, these people are damnably dangerous.’

  ‘He’s right, darling,’ nodded Temple, feeling that he had by no means got over the shock of his recent adventure.

  Steve looked from one to the other and sighed. ‘All right,’ she finally agreed. ‘You can run me over to Aberdeen in the morning. I believe there’s a train at 12.10.’ She wrinkled her forehead in thought. ‘I’ll go down to Bramley Lodge for a few days.’

  ‘Yes—all right, Steve.’ At that moment Ernie Weston came in, carrying a solitary glass of amber fluid on a tray.

  ‘One brandy and ginger ale,’ he announced.

  ‘I asked for a brandy and soda,’ Temple pointed out.

  ‘Oh—sorry, guv’nor, I’ll go and—’ He started for the door, but Temple recalled him. ‘That’s all right. Put it down here.’ Temple indicated the table.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Ernie, complying briskly.

  Temple handed him a tip. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said in friendly tones, ‘I lost a cigarette lighter this evening after dinner. I was wondering if you had seen it or not?’

  ‘No, not me, guv’nor,’ replied Ernie promptly, a gleam of suspicion in his pale blue eyes.

  ‘It’s rather a good one,’ continued Temple firmly, ‘and I should hate to lose it permanently.’

  Ernie’s suspicion was immediately mixed with defiance.

  ‘I ’aven’t seen no lighter – ’onest I ’aven’t,’ he protested hoarsely. ‘I don’t know if you think as ’ow there’s any funny business goin’ on ’ere, but—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ interrupted Temple mildly. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all. Good night.’ His decisive manner obviously meant the incident was closed and called for no further discussion.

  Ernie shuffled out rather self-consciously with a mumbled ‘Good night.’

  ‘Funny little devil,’ commented Forbes with a half-smile. ‘Nice to hear a bit of cockney, though, way up here.’

  ‘Darling, I didn’t know you’d lost your lighter,’ said Steve quickly.

  ‘I haven’t,’ murmured Temple imperturbably.

  Before Steve could cross-question him there was a swift knock at the door. It was opened almost immediately to reveal the mackintosh-clad figure of Rex Bryant, his shabby felt hat in one hand, an unsmoked cigarette drooping from his lower lip.

  ‘Why, Bryant! What the devil are you doing here?’ cried Temple in amazement.

  ‘Rex – this is a surprise!’ supplemented Steve.

  ‘Reporters do get about occasionally, you know,’ Rex reminded them. ‘I once even went as far as Southampton to interview a novelist who had just landed on the Golden Clipper…but that’s another story, as the subeditor said.’ He suddenly caught sight of Forbes, who had been standing in the background. ‘Hello, Sir Graham, I didn’t recognise you for a minute…’ As he spoke, Temple went over to the doorway and closed the door.

  ‘This is Rex Bryant – Sir Graham Forbes,’ said Steve.

  ‘And what is Mr Bryant of the London Evening Post doing in Scotland?’ asked Forbes.

  ‘Well, it’s rather a long story. The editor got sarcastic – I got sarcastic. The editor got fresh – I got fresh. The editor got angry – I got—’

  ‘The sack,’ guessed Steve, who knew something of editors and their methods.

  Rex shook his head. ‘Not exactly. In point of fact, I resigned. But it was a very close race; my tongue works a bit faster than his.’ He paused and eyed the novelist shrewdly up and down. ‘You look a bit off colour, Temple,’ he said.

  ‘I’m all right,’ replied Temple. ‘But you still haven’t told us why you came to Scotland.’

  ‘To see the bluebells,’ answered Rex, without a flicker of an eyelid. ‘Incidentally, I got a bit of a shock when I spotted your name in the register.’

  ‘In the register?’ repeated Temple quietly. ‘Oh yes…Well I think it might be a good idea if we all went downstairs and had a drink. What do you say?’

  ‘Why not?’ cried Rex gaily. ‘Why not?’

  On the way down, Paul Temple noticed that Rex Bryant was smiling. It was not the smile of a man who had just lost his job.

  2

  Built on a lavish plan by a wealthy American, Skerry Lodge seemed out of keeping with the sombre hills which surrounded it. Only a section of the house appeared to be in use, and several of the windows, even at the front, were half-covered with whitening. The outside of the house had obviously not been painted for some years, and had a decayed appearance which would have depressed its first owner. But it was well built, and continued to present a stolid aspect to the many Highland storms.

  It stood in a cleft in the hills, and there was no other house in sight; in fact the nearest was at High Moorford, a mile and a half away.

  In the drawing room of Skerry Lodge, Major Guest sat deep in an armchair, gloomily pondering upon the events of the past few days. He was a close student of both the novels and the exploits of Paul Temple, and the latter’s incursion into the present situation had put the Major’s nerves on edge. Paul Temple seemed to have such an uncanny knack of penetrating into the deepest laid plans, he reflected. It might be worth any risk to put him safely out of the way.

  Outside, he could hear the voice of van Draper, speaking on the telephone in the gloomy hall. Eventually, van Draper came in.

  ‘Any news of Iris?’ asked Guest.

  ‘No,’ replied the other irritably, kicking a small rug out of his path as he strode to the fire. ‘I feel like a drink,’ he declar
ed. ‘Ring for Ben.’

  Guest lazily stretched out an arm and pressed the bell.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Van. Suppose Temple doesn’t happen to be Richmond, and he’s passed on that letter.’

  ‘Well, in that case it’s all over,’ snapped van Draper, ‘so far as the letter is concerned, at any rate.’

  Guest nodded. ‘What do you think was in the letter?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ thoughtfully replied van Draper. ‘Although we can be certain of one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Hammond discovered that Hardwick’s beam wasn’t such a washout after all. That meant, of course, that the screen could be of some use to the War Office. And consequently—’

  ‘Consequently the Intelligence people are going to swoop down on Skerry Lodge like—like—’ Words evaded him for a moment. ‘Well, anyhow, they’re going to swoop down on us, and pretty soon too if you want my opinion.’

  ‘Assuming, of course, that the letter reaches Richmond,’ van Draper pointed out.

  ‘But even if it doesn’t – or at any rate hasn’t,’ persisted Guest, ‘we still have Temple to contend with.’

  Van Draper detected a note of fear in the other’s voice, and eyed him rather contemptuously. ‘That rather depends, doesn’t it, on whether or not Iris succeeded?’ he queried.

  Heavy footsteps sounded outside, and the door opened to admit Ben. Ben Collins, assisted by a daily woman, made a sketchy attempt at running the domestic arrangements at Skerry Lodge. He was a rather heavily built man of about forty-five.

  ‘Did you ring?’ he asked in a deep, hoarse voice.

  ‘Yes,’ replied van Draper swiftly. ‘Fetch me a whisky and soda.’

  Ben crossed to the sideboard as if he resented the fact that van Draper could not get himself a drink. ‘You haven’t heard from Z.2 yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We’re expecting her at any minute.’

  ‘If she hasn’t got that letter, we ought to get Hardwick and the screen out of here damn’ quick, if you ask me,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I say,’ agreed Guest quickly.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ snapped van Draper. ‘Not when we are expecting Z.4.’

  ‘Do you think Z.4 really will come into the open this time?’ It was Ben who spoke, and there was a note of irritation in his voice.

  ‘He’s got to.’

  ‘But Hardwick’s more or less finished working on the screen,’ argued Guest. ‘We’re all set – so what the devil is he waiting—’

  ‘Listen!’ said Ben suddenly.

  They were silent. In the distance the roar of a car could be heard, making its uncertain way along the rough and bumpy road that led to Skerry Lodge.

  ‘Iris!’ breathed Guest. ‘She’s certainly stepping on it.’

  The car came flying to the front door and lurched itself to a stop. As Iris came into the room, the three men were standing anxiously awaiting her.

  ‘What happened?’ said Guest, almost as soon as she had opened the door. Iris dropped her bag on the table and perched herself rather wearily on the arm of a chair.

  ‘Temple hasn’t got the letter,’ she announced. ‘What’s more, he isn’t Richmond.’

  ‘Then who is?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Iris in a depressed voice.

  ‘What happened to Temple?’ asked van Draper, tossing down the remains of his whisky.

  Both Guest and van Draper were eyeing her anxiously. After a brief pause, she answered their unspoken query with a shake of the head. ‘No. I used one of the cigarettes. It’s no use putting Temple out of the way unless he intends to meddle.’

  Guest seemed anxious to argue, but he was interrupted by the unexpected entrance of Mrs Moffat, heavily muffled in a plain grey woollen cloak. Ben was obviously startled, for Mrs Moffat never visited Skerry Lodge unless she had a particularly good reason for doing so.

  ‘Mrs Moffat – what is it?’ cried van Draper, in some alarm.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ said Guest, rising to his feet.

  Mrs Moffat was unperturbed. She crossed to the fireplace, threw back her cloak and announced: ‘I’ve had my instructions from Z.4.’ Her voice was quiet and unemotional. The men looked at each other. Curiosity mingled with a certain amount of apprehension.

  ‘What are they?’ asked van Draper at length.

  Mrs Moffat folded her hands and surveyed them equably.

  ‘Paul Temple and his wife leave for Aberdeen tomorrow morning – by road,’ she informed them.

  ‘Well?’ said Guest.

  Mrs Moffat gazed thoughtfully into the fire. ‘They mustn’t reach Aberdeen alive. That’s all.’

  There was silence for some moments.

  ‘But how the devil can we stop them?’ burst out Guest.

  Ben, who had poured himself a generous drink, came over from the sideboard. ‘There’s a bridge, isn’t there – not far from Skellyfore,’ he murmured.

  ‘A bridge?’ repeated van Draper in puzzled tones. ‘What the devil has a bridge got to do with it?’

  Ben took a gulp of whisky. ‘Have you ever been to Aberdeen by road from Inverdale?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ admitted van Draper, ‘I haven’t.’

  Ben perched on the edge of the table and hugged his glass, ‘There’s a bridge about two miles from a village called Skellyfore,’ he explained hoarsely. ‘Just over the bridge is a corner – “Hell’s Elbow”, I think they call it. One of the worst corners you’ve ever come across. They’ve got a big “Danger” sign that hits you slap in the eye just as you come to the bridge.’ He paused, then added with a significant wink: ‘Now if that “Danger” sign got lost somehow, and there was a car parked on the bend…’

  ‘That’s a damn’ good idea!’ broke in van Draper approvingly.

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Guest, ‘but it might not be fatal.’

  But Ben was equal to the emergency.

  ‘It would be fatal all right,’ he grunted, ‘if there was something in the stationary car.’

  Iris looked up in quick interrogation.

  ‘You mean—an explosive!’ cried van Draper. ‘So that when Temple’s car hits the other…my God, Ben, that’s an idea! That’s certainly an idea!’

  ‘Ben, I didn’t think you’d got the brain,’ said Iris.

  Ben grinned rather sheepishly and poured himself another drink.

  Meanwhile, the Major turned to Mrs Moffat and began to question her about the instructions she had received. He was mystified to think that Z.4 should prefer to communicate them to this dour little Scotswoman rather than to himself or van Draper. Mrs Moffat dived into a shabby handbag and produced a slip of paper, which she handed to Guest. On it was typewritten:

  Paul Temple and wife motoring to Aberdeen tomorrow morning. Imperative that they do not reach there.

  Guest passed it round without a word.

  Van Draper glanced at it casually, then said: ‘I wonder how Z.4 knew about Temple leaving for Aberdeen.’

  Guest shrugged his shoulders. ‘The note seems to suggest that Z.4 must be staying at the inn, doesn’t it?’ he hazarded.

  ‘Yes,’ reflected Guest. ‘That’s true.’ He folded the note thoughtfully and gave it to Iris.

  Ben took advantage of their absorption to help himself to yet another large drink.

  3

  Paul Temple rather enjoyed driving along these Highland roads with their sudden bends and steep gradients. He liked to nurse the car, to get the most out of her in the struggle to overcome these obstacles which had yet to succumb completely to the hand of Man.

  Temple and Steve had started out soon after breakfast, following quite a touching farewell between Steve and Mrs Weston, who had apparently ‘taken a reet fancy’ to her visitor. They had previously explained to the Westons that Steve’s telephone message had been an urgent recall to a sick relative in London, and both host and hostess had been suitably sympathetic, though this morning Mrs Weston had displayed a
somewhat embarrassing curiosity.

  However, that was all over now, and the car had been purring to Temple’s satisfaction for the past hour. The roads were not yet dry after the previous night’s rain, and once or twice Temple had to correct a slight skid.

  At length they came to the tiny village, which a huge black and gold sign indicated as Skellyfore, adding that Aberdeen was forty-two miles distant. As her husband slowed down a little to pass through the village, Steve took advantage of the rather more subdued roar of the engine to start a conversation.

  ‘Paul,’ she began gently.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘You—you will take care of yourself, won’t you?’ she demanded in rather a shaky voice.

  Temple grinned.

  ‘Of course I will,’ he assured her cheerily. ‘Good heavens, Steve, there’s nothing to worry about!’

  Steve wasn’t so sure. Although she was accustomed by now to Temple extricating himself from a series of complicated situations, the events of the past two days seemed far more formidable than anything he had previously tackled.

  After a long pause, she asked: ‘Why do you think Rex Bryant came to Inverdale?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Temple, swerving skilfully to avoid an ancient hen which had chosen that particular moment to cross the road.

  ‘His story about getting the sack didn’t sound very convincing, did it?’ persisted Steve.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ smiled Temple, still refusing to be drawn.

  Steve tried another line of approach.

  ‘Paul, I rather think Sir Graham suspects Dr Steiner.’

  ‘Dr Steiner…’m…’ murmured Temple dubiously.

  ‘What exactly does that mean?’

  Temple turned and smiled at her.

  ‘Amongst other things, it means that Steiner was right about the hotel register.’

  ‘You mean that you did sign it after all?’

  ‘No. The landlord brought a new one out for the doctor to sign and added a few names from the old register – including ours.’

  Steve wrinkled her forehead in deep thought. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by three strident hoots from a bright red sports car which was rapidly gaining on them.