Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘I—I lost it,’ said Rex. ‘Last night after I got to bed I noticed it wasn’t in my waistcoat.’

  ‘Did you mention this to anyone?’

  ‘No,’ he decided. ‘I thought it had slipped out – the fastening worked loose – they do sometimes.’ Then another thought struck him. ‘Yes, I did – I mentioned it to Dr Steiner. He was telling me about some gold cufflinks he’d lost, and we were wondering—’

  ‘You were wondering what?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact we thought the cufflinks and watch chain might have—got together.’

  ‘You mean, you thought perhaps they’d both been stolen by the same person?’ suggested Steve.

  Rex nodded. ‘And you can take it from me, Temple—’ he was beginning with all his old assurance, but Temple interrupted him.

  ‘I have my own ideas about this business, Rex. But I should like you to tell us why you came to Scotland in the first place.’

  Rex obviously did not altogether relish this pertinent question. ‘Why I came to Scotland?’ he repeated slowly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Temple, motioning him to take a seat.

  Rex perched on the arm of a chair, frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, then seemed to make up his mind.

  ‘I came because of a man named Hardwick – John Hardwick,’ he told them.

  ‘Hardwick!’ echoed Forbes in complete astonishment. ‘What the devil do you know about Hardwick?’

  Even Temple seemed a little surprised.

  ‘About a week ago, Sir Graham, a man walked into the offices of the Evening Post. He was an untidy-looking individual, but in spite of his clothes he had a certain – what shall I say? – a certain “air” about him. He asked to see the news editor, but Cosgrove was in one of his “touch-me-not” moods, and he sent me out to have a chat with the fellow. He likes to unload that sort of job on me. Why, I could tell you things about Cosgrove that—’

  ‘All right – go on with your story!’ snapped Sir Graham.

  ‘Well, as it happened, on this occasion the fellow told me a damned interesting story. First of all, he said his name was Hardwick – Hubert C. Hardwick, and that his brother, John Hardwick, had invented some sort of a smoke screen which, coupled with an invention known as the Inverdale Beam, would set the War Office all agog. Now I’d already heard of John Hardwick, and I knew for a fact that the War Office had turned down the invention because the Inverdale Beam had proved to be a failure.’

  ‘Did Hubert Hardwick know this?’ interrupted Temple.

  ‘He did. But this is the extraordinary part about the business. Apparently, after the invention had been rejected, John Hardwick returned to Inverdale, and started work all over again on the beam. About two or three months later his brother – the chappie I saw – tried to get in touch with him, and rather to his surprise was unable to do so. He came up to Inverdale for two or three weeks in the hope of staying for a short while at Skerry Lodge, but he couldn’t even get farther than the main gate. So, in desperation, he returned to London.’

  ‘Is this Hubert C. Hardwick a wealthy man?’ asked Forbes.

  ‘Just the opposite. He hasn’t a bean.’

  Forbes nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, there’s very little more to tell, really,’ continued Rex. ‘Hubert Hardwick was convinced that his brother was being held a prisoner, and was hoping that we’d take the trouble to investigate the matter and pay him a pretty substantial sum for the privilege of doing so. The poor devil didn’t know much about Fleet Street, I’m afraid,’ he added with a short laugh.

  ‘What did Cosgrove say to all this?’ Steve was anxious to discover.

  ‘You know Cosgrove as well as I do,’ grinned Rex. ‘I think he had some sort of idea that I’d made it all up. I tried to convince him that the story was well worth a break, but he wouldn’t even listen. About two weeks later I got the sack.’ Rex took a cigarette from his case and scratched a match. ‘To be quite honest, Temple, it was the day after I saw you at Southampton. Naturally, I felt pretty despondent about things – I’d been on the London Evening Post for nearly ten years – and between me and you I made a pretty good attempt to liquidate my sorrows, as it were. Late that night, and purely by chance, I ran into Hubert C. Hardwick. I was pretty well sozzled by the time we met, and for the first couple of hours I don’t believe I even realised who the devil he was. Anyhow, he’d been up to Inverdale since our first meeting, but he’d met with very little success. Skerry Lodge was guarded like Woolwich Arsenal. It was utterly impossible to get near the place. Well, to be brief, I got pretty curious. It seemed to me that a first-rate scoop was just sitting up waiting to be—’

  ‘And so you came to Scotland,’ interrupted Forbes.

  ‘Exactly, Sir Graham.’

  ‘Have you been near Skerry Lodge since you arrived here?’ asked Temple.

  ‘You bet your life,’ snapped Rex briskly.

  ‘What sort of place is it?’

  ‘Looks more like a medieval castle than anything else. It’s built on the side of a small lake in the hills – Loch Abaford I believe they call it.’

  ‘Did you get near the house?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t try,’ Rex admitted. ‘Hubert Hardwick’s frontal attack had failed, so I decided to get the lie of the land before I did any real sightseeing.’

  At this point Steve took Temple by the arm and said softly: ‘Paul, don’t you think one of us ought to see Mrs Weston and …?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that, Steve,’ he replied. ‘I think it might be a good idea if you broke the news. You seem to be able to handle her better than we do.’

  Steve nodded, and quietly left them.

  ‘Here’s your watch chain, Bryant,’ said Forbes at length. ‘I should take better care of it in future.’

  Rex seemed a little surprised to get the chain back.

  ‘Look here, Sir Graham, I don’t know whether you still think I had anything to do with this business, but I can assure you on my word of honour that—’

  Temple did not seem unduly impressed by the reporter’s obvious sincerity. He merely thrust the wedding ring in front of Rex and asked: ‘Have you seen this before?’

  ‘Why, no,’ replied the reporter in a puzzled voice. ‘What is it? Looks like a wedding ring.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Temple evenly. ‘I should imagine that’s what it is.’

  Rex picked up the ring rather gingerly and examined it.

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘We found it – on Weston,’ Temple informed him.

  Once again Rex seemed surprised.

  Then Temple asked: ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’

  Rex shifted rather uncomfortably. ‘I think we’ll leave that till later,’ he said. ‘It’s not very important…’

  Temple nodded.

  ‘Then you might pop downstairs and see how Steve’s getting on with Mrs Weston – she might want some help. I’m afraid it’ll be a dreadful shock for the old girl.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Rex, and after a moment’s hesitation, made for the door.

  When the door had closed, Forbes turned towards the novelist.

  ‘This business is getting serious – damned serious,’ he began urgently. ‘We’ve got to get Hardwick away from Skerry Lodge – and above all we’ve got to get Z.4.’

  Temple thoughtfully fingered the platinum ring.

  ‘If John Hardwick has succeeded in perfecting the Inverdale Beam,’ he mused, ‘he’ll have served his purpose…so far as Z.4 is concerned, at any rate.’

  ‘Yes, but according to the letter we received from Lindsay, or rather Hammond, he hasn’t perfected it. At least, not quite. We may still be in time, Temple.’

  The novelist hardly seemed to be listening. With his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he stared for some moments out of the window. Then he turned.

  ‘Have you got that letter, Sir Graham?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Forbes, fumbling in his wall
et and producing the letter in question.

  Identity of Z.4 unknown even by important members of organisation. Believe Z.4 to be in Scotland and likely to contact headquarters within next three weeks.

  Temple carefully refolded the note and handed it back to Sir Graham.

  ‘Headquarters,’ repeated Forbes with some deliberation. ‘I wonder if Hammond meant Skerry Lodge.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Temple admitted. His brain was working in other directions. ‘If the identity of Z.4 is unknown,’ he propounded at length, ‘then how will he contact the organisation? They must have some means of identification, or—’

  ‘Z.4 has probably supplied them with some sort of password,’ prompted Forbes, ‘so that when he does contact them they will instantly recognise him – or her.’

  Temple lifted his eyebrows at the suggestion implied in the Chief Commissioner’s last two words. ‘You don’t think Iris Archer happens to be Z.4?’

  Sir Graham merely smiled.

  ‘Rather like a medieval castle…that’s what Bryant said about Skerry Lodge, isn’t it?’ mused Temple. ‘Sounds interesting. I think it might be quite a good idea if Steve and I drove over there.’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t take any risks,’ urged Forbes, and crossed over to the dead man. He eyed the body thoughtfully through half-closed eyes.

  ‘Who do you think murdered him?’

  ‘Z.4,’ replied Temple coolly.

  ‘But—why?’ asked Forbes in some surprise.

  ‘Exactly, Sir Graham. But—why?’

  ‘You think Ernie Weston was a member of the organisation?’

  ‘I’m almost sure he wasn’t,’ smiled Temple.

  Forbes was obviously anxious to pump Temple further, but there was a faint knock at the door, which opened an inch or so. ‘May I come in, Mr Temple?’ came the familiar voice of Dr Steiner.

  ‘Dr Steiner!’ cried Temple. ‘Why, yes, please do.’

  Steiner closed the door rather clumsily. He was wearing a badly fitting suit of grey tweeds, and his tie was not quite straight. It was obvious that he was more than a little agitated.

  ‘This is a dreadful business, is it not?’ he began, taking one look at Weston and turning away with a shudder. ‘I have just left Mrs Temple, she told me about…about this poor fellow.’

  Temple manoeuvred him over to the fireplace.

  ‘Dr Steiner,’ he began earnestly, ‘is it true that you lost a pair of cufflinks the night you arrived here?’

  Steiner seemed to have expected a more urgent question.

  ‘Why, yes—yes, that’s true,’ he declared. ‘But why do you ask? Perhaps they have been found—yes?’

  Temple shook his head. ‘No. I’m afraid they haven’t. But I think you’ll get them back all right.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Steiner. ‘Indeed, I hope so.’

  It was Sir Graham’s turn to speak, and there was a glint in his grey eyes as he surveyed Steiner.

  ‘Doctor Steiner, I wonder if you would permit me to ask you rather an unusual question?’ he began.

  After a short pause Steiner gave a slight shrug.

  ‘But—of course.’

  ‘What are you doing in Scotland?’ queried Forbes in level tones.

  ‘In Scotland?’ repeated Steiner with a bewildered glance at Temple. ‘Why…I am on holiday.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be just as well if I introduced—’ Temple began.

  ‘My name is Richmond,’ interposed Forbes. ‘John Richmond.’

  ‘And mine, sir, is Steiner – Doctor Ludwig Steiner,’ declared the Austrian. ‘Professor of Philosophy at the Unversity of Philadelphia.’

  2

  Ben Collins gave a cursory polish to some newly washed tumblers in the drawing room at Skerry Lodge. He was a big man, both in voice and manner, but he moved about the drawing room with a strange, almost feline dignity. His outward manner gave no indication of his real feelings, for beneath his calm and impersonal demeanour he was both nervous and apprehensive. According to plan, reflected Ben, the battered sports car at the foot of the ravine should have been Temple’s. He felt intensely annoyed that his plan had not succeeded. And coupled with his annoyance he felt a strange foreboding. Once before a carefully laid plan had failed, and the outcome had not been pleasant. Ben shrugged his shoulders. It was a gesture he instinctively made when his thoughts wended their way into unpleasant channels. He did not like to think of Rita Allenby, nor of the single sheet of grey notepaper he had received after the inquest. He still had that sheet of notepaper tucked away in his wallet. The first, and only, communication he had personally received from Z.4.

  The note had given a detailed account of his movements on the night of the murder, and had politely informed him that in his haste to escape from the somewhat sordid atmosphere of a Bloomsbury boarding house he had dropped a handkerchief. A handkerchief bearing both initials and laundry mark. Z.4 had assured him, however, that there was no danger of this information falling into the hands of the police, providing he obeyed instructions. Two days later Ben obeyed the instructions he had received, and for the first time was introduced to Laurence van Draper. At first he did not like van Draper. There was a certain ‘air’ about him, thought Ben, which immediately stamped him as a member of the leisured classes. He also had the unfortunate habit of asking a great many questions. Ben did not like men who asked questions; and he most certainly was not an admirer of what he flamboyantly termed ‘proletarian enemies’. Also, Ben had a shrewd suspicion that van Draper might be Z.4. Later, however, when he became more intimately connected with the organisation, he revised his opinion on this matter and to a certain extent of van Draper himself.

  Certainly both van Draper and Guest were annoyed that Temple had escaped, and each tried to blame the other for the mismanagement of the accident.

  ‘You saw the car, Guest. Why the devil didn’t you make some attempt to stop it?’ van Draper was saying.

  ‘Stop it?’ laughed Guest sardonically. ‘Don’t talk such damned nonsense. The idiot must have been doing sixty.’

  ‘Everything was fine,’ said Ben from the sideboard. ‘Even the weather played into our hands.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said van Draper, rather resenting this from Ben. ‘There’s no need to start going into that all over again.’

  ‘Not the slightest need,’ said a cool, feminine voice.

  Iris Archer stood in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, so you’re back,’ said Guest, swinging round in his chair. ‘What’s happened about Temple?’

  ‘He’s back at the inn,’ Iris informed him, drawing off her gloves. She went to the sideboard and helped herself to a whisky and soda, waving aside Ben’s offer to mix it for her.

  ‘The car idea wasn’t so hot after all, eh, Ben?’ She smiled grimly, setting down the glass.

  ‘It would have been,’ protested Ben indignantly, ‘if that damn’ fool of a driver hadn’t stepped on it and got there first.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think Temple is one of those lucky devils who can’t be put out,’ said Guest.

  ‘If Temple is still at the inn, you’d better take care of him, Iris.’

  Iris slowly shook her head.

  ‘That’s out of the question, Ben. I can’t go back there – not now.’

  ‘Of course she can’t, Laurence.’ Guest backed her up.

  ‘Temple has got to be taken care of,’ asserted van Draper, on the verge of losing his temper again. ‘We’ve bungled one attempt, and we mustn’t bungle another.’

  ‘Indeed we mustn’t,’ said a quiet voice.

  ‘Mrs Moffat!’ cried van Draper.

  Mrs Moffat closed the door and came towards the centre of the room. Mrs Moffat’s visits to Skerry Lodge were very infrequent and her appearance filled the room with an air of expectancy.

  ‘You’ve got to get Hardwick away,’ she declared firmly.

  ‘Why?’ demanded van Draper in some surprise.

  ‘What’s happened?’ supplemented
Guest.

  ‘My God!’ gasped Ben. ‘Don’t say the police—’

  Iris crossed over to Mrs Moffat. ‘You’ve had instructions from Z.4?’

  Mrs Moffat nodded.

  ‘There’s nothing to get alarmed about,’ she announced, ‘only we’ve got to get Hardwick and the screen away from Skerry Lodge.’

  ‘But—why?’ persisted van Draper softly.

  ‘Because of Temple.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, rather bewildered.

  ‘Paul Temple,’ Mrs Moffat slowly informed them, ‘is coming here.’

  Guest and van Draper exchanged startled glances.

  ‘How do you know this?’ It was van Draper who spoke.

  ‘Instructions,’ replied Mrs Moffat with a brief smile, ‘from Z.4.’

  ‘And what’s going to happen?’

  ‘Van Draper and Guest can take Hardwick down to the chalet,’ decided Mrs Moffat. She turned towards Guest, who was helping himself to a drink. ‘You must hold him there until you receive word from Ben.’

  ‘And what,’ demanded Ben, ‘am I supposed to be doing while all this is going on?’

  Mrs Moffat smiled again, a grim, twisted little smile that accentuated every line on her face.

  ‘You will be entertaining Mr Temple,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘Entertaining Temple!’ echoed Ben.

  Mrs Moffat nodded with slow emphasis.

  ‘When Temple arrives,’ proceeded Mrs Moffat smoothly, ‘you will show him in here, and then go down into the basement.’

  ‘Basement?’ said van Draper, obviously puzzled.

  ‘My God!’ cried Ben. ‘You don’t want me to flood the basement?’

  ‘That is exactly what I do want you to do! Only make certain that Temple is in the basement before the water reaches the first grid.’

  ‘Why, he’ll be trapped like a rat!’ gasped Guest.

  But Ben was beginning to fall in with the idea.

  ‘The idea is all right,’ he said suddenly, ‘if we can once get Temple into the basement.’

  ‘You’ll get him there,’ pronounced Mrs Moffat calmly, ‘if you use your head.’

  Ben nodded thoughtfully. The more he thought of the idea, the better he liked it. After all, the loch was supposed to be deep, and there would certainly be no trace of the body.