Paul Temple 3-Book Collection

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘You seem to have overlooked the fact that I have a witness,’ said Temple. ‘Doctor Steiner came into the room and caught you.’

  ‘And who the hell is Dr Steiner?’ cried Iris angrily. ‘It’s only a case of his word against mine.’

  ‘It needn’t be a case of anything, Iris,’ Temple interposed suavely, ‘if you use your head.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I just want you to answer a question.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Are you Z.4?’

  Iris straightened herself sharply.

  ‘No!’ she cried almost desperately.

  ‘Then,’ persisted Temple, ‘who is?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Mrs Moffat?’ suggested Temple sofdy.

  ‘I don’t know, I tell you,’ she replied petulantly.

  ‘All right,’ Temple nodded. ‘A little while ago you said “We know from what Mrs Moffat said that Z.4 is here at the inn”. … How do we know that Z.4 is here?’

  Iris hesitated, but replied eventually: ‘Because Mrs Moffat received a message from Z.4.’

  ‘Was the message received the night before Steve and I left for Aberdeen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My God, Temple!’ cried Sir Graham, striding swiftly up and down, ‘it seems to prove that Mrs Moffat is right. Only someone staying at the inn could possibly have known that you and Steve were leaving.’

  But Temple was concentrating on Iris.

  ‘If Mrs Moffat isn’t Z.4, does she know who Z.4 really is?’ he continued.

  ‘No,’ answered Iris; ‘not yet.’

  Temple nodded slowly as he turned over the significance of the last remark.

  ‘But surely Guest or van Draper must have made contact,’ interrupted Forbes rather excitedly.

  Iris smiled enigmatically – a smile that had gone a long way to making her famous.

  ‘No one knows the identity of Z.4, Sir Graham,’ she told him. ‘Not even the infallible Paul Temple.’

  But Temple refused to rise to the bait. All he said was: ‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that, Iris, if I were you.’

  There was something in his voice which made both Iris and Forbes pause. Their reflections were interrupted, however, by a knock at the door. Forbes looked apprehensively at the body.

  ‘That sounds like Mrs Weston,’ he said. ‘We’d better keep her out of here.’

  ‘It’s all right – she can’t see Ben from the door,’ Temple reassured him. When he opened the door, Mrs Weston was waiting with a telegram.

  ‘Just arrived, Mr Temple – it’s for you this time.’

  Temple took the envelope, which was somewhat crumpled.

  ‘Looks as if it’s been opened,’ she murmured.

  Temple was scanning the message.

  ‘All right, thanks, Mrs Weston. No reply.’ He closed the door.

  ‘Anything important?’ asked Forbes.

  Temple shook his head. He thrust the envelope into his pocket and resumed the cross-examination.

  ‘Iris, what do you mean by saying that Mrs Moffat doesn’t know who Z.4 is—yet? What does that “yet” imply?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It can imply just what the devil you like.’

  Temple took a step nearer. ‘You’ve got to tell us more about Mrs Moffat,’ he said grimly.

  ‘And you’ve also got to tell us where they’ve taken Hardwick,’ added Forbes.

  ‘I don’t know where they’ve taken Hardwick. I’ve told you that already,’ she replied coolly.

  ‘And Mrs Moffat?’

  Iris seemed disconcerted for a moment. Then she said steadily: ‘There’s nothing more to tell about Mrs Moffat. And if you think I’m going to spend the rest of the night going through a blasted third degree, then you’re very much mistaken.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Archer,’ said Forbes smoothly. ‘If you have no wish to answer any further questions, that’s quite in order.’

  His manner made Iris apprehensive.

  ‘What’s going to happen now?’ she was anxious to know.

  ‘You’ll spend the night here,’ Forbes informed her coldly. ‘Tomorrow, Detective Inspector Fuller will take you to Glasgow.’

  ‘Under arrest?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Temple made one last attempt.

  ‘Iris, don’t be a fool!’ he urged. ‘You know perfectly well what they’ve done with Hardwick.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake leave me alone!’ she said in a voice that was very near to tears.

  Temple said: ‘I’m sorry, Iris, but we’ve got to find out what they’ve done to John Hardwick!’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she cried. ‘How many more times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘It’s no use, Temple,’ growled Forbes.

  There was silence for a few moments. Though she had momentarily allowed her emotions to get the better of her, Iris made a quick recovery. Eventually she spoke quite calmly: ‘Since I have apparently no other alternative but to spend the night here, perhaps you will be good enough to show me to my room,’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes – all right,’ Forbes agreed.

  He was moving over to the door when Temple stopped him.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said the novelist.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Iris, in tones of exaggerated weariness.

  Temple took the orange envelope from his pocket.

  ‘I’d like you to know the contents of this telegram, Iris.’

  ‘It can’t possibly interest me,’ she protested, though there was an element of doubt in her voice.

  ‘That,’ said Temple slowly, ‘is a matter of opinion.’

  ‘What does it say, Temple?’ asked Forbes.

  ‘It was handed in at Nice at five-thirty this evening,’ continued Temple. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read it for yourself.’

  He passed the flimsy paper over to Iris. She read:

  Thanks for telegram. Information you require as follows:

  Hotel Martinez. April fourteenth nineteen thirty-two.

  The telegram fell from Iris’ fingers.

  ‘Look out, Temple, she’s going to faint!’ cried Forbes.

  But Temple had anticipated this. Carefully he lowered Iris into an armchair.

  ‘She’s passed out all right,’ commented Forbes drily, picking up the telegram.

  ‘Hotel Martinez…April the fourteenth, nineteen thirty-two…’ he repeated.

  The Chief Commissioner looked across at Paul Temple. He was obviously bewildered.

  3

  The first-class waiting room at High Moorford Junction is one of the last places on earth in which one would choose to wait. In fact, most passengers preferred to linger on the platform, except in very cold weather, when there was a faint glimmer of fire in the rusty grate.

  The dirty green walls had been recklessly scribbled upon, and even the generously coloured posters depicting the alluring attractions of the Sunny South had a dowdy appearance. Though the waiting room was swept out daily, one could feel the dust hanging in the atmosphere, and it came as no surprise to see cobwebs in distant corners.

  It was towards midday when Detective Inspector Fuller and Iris Archer entered the waiting room, followed by Andy Claike, whose stationmaster’s uniform looked as if it would be the better for the vigorous application of a clothes brush.

  Fuller was not in the best of tempers, for he had been misinformed about the train services. And Andy Claike had not been exactly helpful, beyond shaking his head mournfully and insisting that they would have to change for Glasgow.

  ‘And how long have we got to wait here?’ Fuller was saying as they entered the waiting room.

  ‘Ye can’t tell,’ replied Andy with an indifferent shrug.

  ‘Not long, I hope,’ put in Iris.

  ‘Ye can’t tell,’ repeated Andy woodenly.

  ‘They told us at Inverdale that it was a through train,’ Fuller insisted.

  ‘Och, they must have forgott
en the trains have been altered for the autumn schedule,’ Andy suggested.

  ‘I see – then it’s a good job you yanked us out in time,’ said Fuller.

  ‘Do you think I might have a cigarette, Inspector?’ asked Iris. ‘Or would that be asking too much?’

  Fuller shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, miss. That would be against my instructions.’ He turned to Andy once more. ‘Look here – are you quite certain that we change here for Glasgow?’

  ‘I’m stationmaster here,’ replied Andy with sudden dignity.

  ‘I didn’t ask you that!’ Fuller snapped.

  ‘Ye’ll be here three hours at least,’ Claike calmly informed him. ‘The next train is at three-fifteen.’

  ‘Three-fifteen!’ echoed Fuller in astonishment.

  Andy nodded. ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘But, good heavens, man,’ snorted Fuller in exasperation, ‘we can’t stay in here all that time!’

  If Andy resented this criticism of the waiting room, he showed no sign of it.

  ‘There’s always the platform, of course,’ he replied indifferently.

  ‘Look here,’ went on Fuller in some desperation, ‘my name’s Fuller – Detective Inspector Fuller.’

  ‘How d’ye do?’ muttered Andy, quite unimpressed. ‘Andy Claike’s the name – stationmaster.’

  ‘Your sparkling personality doesn’t seem to have registered, Inspector,’ smiled Iris.

  Fuller shook himself impatiently.

  ‘Mr Claike, I don’t think you quite appreciate the urgency of my business,’ he rasped.

  ‘The next train to Glasgow will be at three-fifteen,’ Claike put in quietly. ‘It would still be at three-fifteen, Mr Fuller, if you were the Czar of Russia.’

  ‘But there isn’t a Czar of Russia any longer, Mr Claike,’ interposed Iris brightly. ‘Hasn’t the news reached here yet?’ Andy regarded her curiously, then turned to Fuller.

  ‘Who is this young woman?’ he demanded quietly. ‘I’ve seen her before somewhere—’

  Fuller did not attempt to answer his question.

  ‘Have you a telephone here?’ he demanded.

  ‘There’s one in the office,’ Andy informed him. ‘It’ll cost ye—’

  ‘That’s all right. Where’s the office?’

  ‘At the end of the platform – near the slot machine.’

  Fuller turned to Iris. ‘I’m going to telephone for a car. We can’t stay here until three-fifteen – God knows when we’d get to Glasgow.’

  ‘You think of everything, Inspector,’ said Iris sarcastically. ‘Anyhow, I’m not in any hurry.’

  ‘Well, I am!’ snapped Fuller. ‘I’ve got a wife and kids waiting for me.’

  Iris shrugged. ‘It must take nerve to marry a policeman,’ she said.

  Fuller smiled and went across to Claike again.

  ‘I want you to stay here while I telephone.’

  ‘I have my job to be getting on with, ye know,’ Andy pointed out.

  Fuller ignored the remark.

  ‘Is there a key to this door?’

  Andy nodded.

  ‘I should like it, please.’

  ‘But look here—’ the stationmaster began to protest, when Iris broke in with her rippling laugh.

  ‘It’s quite all right, Mr Claike. You see, I’m a desperate criminal, so naturally the Inspector must take all the necessary precautions.’

  Andy gave a mirthless chuckle.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m quite capable of lookin’ after a wee lass – though I may not be a policeman.’

  Fuller gave him a shrewd glance.

  ‘H’m…all right,’ he agreed at length. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  The door closed with a squeak of protest, and the Inspector’s heavy footsteps echoed along the platform.

  A tank engine puffed breathlessly in one of the sidings. A goods train clanked its way dismally through the station and the whistle of a distant express came shrilling over the moors. Iris took her cigarette case from her bag, then replaced it. Suddenly she went over to the stationmaster, took off his hat, and broke into waves of hysterical laughter.

  ‘My God! What a make-up! Darling, I could have screamed.’ She replaced the hat. ‘Where’s Laurence?’

  Guest adjusted his hat carefully. ‘He’s in the office – waiting for the Inspector.’

  ‘Poor old Fuller – not a bad sort, if he didn’t take his work so seriously. I’m afraid he’s in for a warm reception.’ She perched on the edge of the table. ‘Tell me, how did it all happen?’

  Guest smiled. ‘Mrs Moffat must take the credit for the idea,’ he admitted.

  ‘Mrs Moffat?’

  ‘Yes. She knew that the train stopped at High Moorford. Apparently this particular train always does.’

  ‘But the stationmaster?’

  Guest laughed. ‘It didn’t take us long to handle poor old Claike, although young Merson was certainly a handful.’

  ‘Merson?’

  ‘He’s the porter,’ Guest explained. ‘And how that boy can wallop.’ He rubbed his jaw rather gingerly.

  ‘But what have you done with these people?’

  ‘Claike’s all right. We dumped him in a goods wagon on the other side of the line. Merson, I regret to say, overstepped the bounds of discretion, so we had to put him to sleep rather forcibly.’

  The door opened with its customary groan, and van Draper came in.

  ‘She’s all right then?’ he asked, with a sharp glance at Iris.

  Iris nodded. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’

  Van Draper was obviously ill at ease.

  ‘We’d better get away from here, Guest, and damn’ quickly, too,’ he announced.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Fuller.’ Van Draper sighed. ‘My God, that man was a handful.’

  Guest took Iris by the arm. As they made for the door, he began issuing instructions.

  ‘Your car’s outside, Iris. Make straight for the chalet – you know the way. Straight through the village and bear left about a mile from Aberford.’

  Iris halted.

  ‘But what about you and Laurence?’

  ‘We have to see Mrs Moffat. We’ll join you at the chalet later.’

  ‘I see.’ Iris paused, then suddenly faced van Draper. ‘Laurence, how did Mrs Moffat know that I should be on that particular train?’

  ‘She received the information from Z.4,’ replied van Draper coolly.

  Iris’ smooth brow contracted. She was more than a little puzzled.

  ‘Z.4 hasn’t contacted her yet…personally, I mean?’

  Van Draper shook his head.

  Iris still seemed very uneasy. She looked at each man in turn, but their faces were inscrutable.

  ‘Then I’ll see you both later…at the chalet?’ she murmured at length.

  ‘We shall be there about four,’ assented van Draper quietly.

  Iris was still patently uncomfortable, but neither man offered any further explanation. Finally, with a tiny shrug, she went to the door.

  ‘I’ll show you where your car is parked, Iris,’ offered van Draper.

  ‘Thanks.’ She turned to Guest. ‘See you later.’

  Guest nodded. ‘Goodbye, Iris.’

  When they had gone, Guest strolled round the waiting room, whistling softly to himself. Through the grimy window he saw van Draper and Iris disappear down the station drive. He was just deciding to change out of his uniform, when the door was flung open and a calm voice said: ‘Drop that gun!’

  His movement forestalled, Guest dropped his revolver. Detective Inspector Fuller crossed over and picked it up.

  ‘How…how the devil did you get out?’ stammered Guest.

  Fuller ignored the question.

  ‘Where’s the other man?’ he demanded rapidly.

  ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ stalled Guest, his brain working quickly.

  ‘Where is he?’ insisted Fuller. ‘Where is the swine?’

  Fuller w
as obviously desperate.

  ‘I tell you I don’t know,’ replied Guest with some heat.

  ‘By God, if there’s any more funny business in this place—’ began Fuller.

  ‘Look out!’ shouted Guest suddenly.

  The door had creaked again. Fuller swung round, but he was too late. There was the sharp crack of a revolver and, clutching his left side, the detective crumpled into a heap.

  Guest bent over the inert form, then straightened himself.

  ‘Good job you shouted,’ said van Draper quietly, ‘otherwise I don’t think I would have got him in time.’

  ‘No – perhaps not,’ agreed Guest softly. ‘That shot must have echoed—’

  ‘I doubt if it was heard above all that shunting that’s going on.’

  Guest nodded. ‘All the same, we’d better get out of here, Van.’ He went to the door, looked round cautiously, then beckoned to van Draper. Putting on a bold front, they walked out of the waiting room, along the platform and towards van Draper’s car, which was parked just outside.

  After they had proceeded for perhaps half a mile, Guest asked the question which had been uppermost in his mind since van Draper’s return.

  ‘Did Iris get—’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the other, rather impatiently. ‘She got away all right. The car appeared quite normal.’

  Guest wrinkled his brow, pursed his lips and nodded.

  ‘How far do you think she’ll get before anything happens?’ asked van Draper, deftly changing gear.

  ‘H’m, difficult to tell. Perhaps a couple of miles. The roads are pretty bad, you know, and she drives like the devil.’

  ‘She’ll certainly be stepping on it at the moment – good and hard. There isn’t much fear of us overtaking her just yet.’

  ‘Van, why do you think Mrs Moffat heard from Z.4 about Iris?’ said Guest, who did not altogether like the look of things.

  ‘It’s all perfectly obvious,’ said van Draper. ‘Iris must have been on the verge of talking – that’s why Z.4 worked out this pretty little plan.’

  ‘And I had instructions to “doctor” the car?’

  Van Draper nodded. ‘I feel rather sorry about Iris,’ he mused, frowning thoughtfully at the winding road ahead. ‘She had great charm, if nothing else.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Guest slowly. ‘Great charm…’

  For some minutes each man was busy with his own thoughts. They swung round a corner, and began to overtake a blue saloon ahead.