Paul Temple 3-Book Collection: Send for Paul Temple, Paul Temple and the Front Page Men, News of Paul Temple. Francis DurbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Would you mind taking a seat, sir, and I’ll see if Miss Trent is in.’
The sentence had a slightly unpleasant ring in its familiarity. But then, reflected Paul Temple, with a smile, you can’t be too careful in a newspaper office. Reporters and the editorial staff often find it quite essential to their personal well-being to be out to certain callers. For exactly the same reason, the telephone operators had standing orders never to divulge to chance inquirers on the telephone the home address of certain members of the staff.
Temple sat down in the hard solitary chair the waiting-room possessed and waited for Steve Trent to come down. He looked at the clock. It was exactly three. Time was an important factor in his life, and he liked to keep his appointments to the minute if it was humanly possible. He had telephoned Sir Graham Forbes at the Yard and told him he hoped to be along with ‘a surprise visitor’ at about quarter-past three. That would just give him easy time to drive from The Evening Post offices along the Embankment to the police headquarters.
He had not long to wait in the little waiting-room. A page boy came downstairs closely followed by Steve Trent, ‘looking even more charming than ever,’ reflected Temple. She was wearing a business-like costume of black and white check tweed which looked smart, would stand up to office wear, and was far from being masculine. Steve was very fond of tweeds, and if possible even wore them in summer weather. ‘Only that appalling mess of a hat she’s wearing to spoil the effect,’ Paul Temple told himself. But then Paul Temple, like so many men, was just a little old-fashioned where female hats were concerned.
Her flashing smile of welcome showed the pleasure she felt at meeting Paul Temple again. She had another smile for the commissionaire as she went out, a habitual gesture which endeared her to that section of the staff—‘not stuck up like some of the others,’ the commissionaire commented.
Together they walked over to Paul Temple’s car which was waiting outside, and drove to Scotland Yard. Steve Trent had a host of questions to ask. Nevertheless, neither of them spoke during their short drive. Both seemed to give their thoughts to the coming interview.
At the Yard, they were quickly escorted to the Commissioner’s office on the first floor. Sir Graham Forbes had a warm, if somewhat embarrassed, greeting for Paul Temple.
‘I told you over the telephone that Miss Trent has a story to tell that will greatly interest you, Sir Graham,’ Temple began.
As soon as he heard that Steve was Superintendent Harvey’s sister, and that she knew a great deal about his work in South Africa, the Commissioner showed an interest he had certainly not felt on being told that a girl reporter from The Evening Post was being brought to see him. In fact, unknown to Paul Temple, Sir Graham had turned a delicate shade of puce when he had been told about her over the telephone.
Sir Graham now made sure his guests were comfortable, and ordered tea to be sent in to them. Then he opened a drawer in his capacious desk and produced a small box.
‘A cigarette, Miss Trent?’ he said, placing the box before her.
Steve noticed the cigarettes were a brown colour and she hesitated before accepting one.
‘They’re Russian,’ explained Sir Graham. ‘I’m sure you’ll like them.’
After Temple had offered her a light, Steve slowly commenced her story. She was slightly nervous at first, but gradually gained confidence.
‘It’s an interesting story, Miss Trent,’ said Sir Graham Forbes as she came to the end. ‘Er—very interesting. You say that from the very beginning your brother was under the impression that the brains behind these robberies was this man—er—Max Lorraine – the man who calls himself “The Knave of Diamonds”?’
‘Yes.’
Sir Graham turned to the novelist. ‘What do you think of all this, Temple?’
‘Well, Sir Graham,’ he replied, ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that we are up against a definite criminal organization whose activities are directed by a man who is, well to say the least of it, out of the ordinary run of criminals.’
‘Yes, I agree with you there,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean that we are up against this man Miss Trent talks about, the Knave of Diamonds.’
‘No, but nevertheless I think we are, Sir Graham,’ replied the novelist. ‘Harvey was no fool. Harvey was convinced in his own mind that we were up against the Knave – and he was murdered!’
‘What makes you so certain that Harvey was murdered?’
‘It was as obvious as daylight,’ Temple replied. ‘He was holding the revolver in his left hand, and the poor devil had been shot through the back of his head. It was on the left side of his head, and Harvey was left-handed all right, but I hardly think he was a contortionist into the bargain.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ agreed the Commissioner. ‘Harvey was murdered.’ He said it not merely in agreement and acceptance of Temple’s argument, but revealing what actually was thought at the Yard. ‘We spotted it immediately,’ he went on. ‘I was surprised the doctor didn’t.’
‘The police doctor was down with the flu,’ Temple informed him. ‘A Dr. Milton came along with the sergeant – he’s a retired medico who happens to be an acquaintance of mine.’ He paused, then added thoughtfully: ‘Still, I must admit I thought it was rather funny he never noticed it.’
They paused while the Commissioner poured out more tea for them. Then he turned to Steve.
‘Miss Trent, when was the last time you saw your brother?’
‘Shortly before he visited Mr. Temple,’ she replied.
‘Oh, I see. Did he seem cheerful and in normal health?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ answered Steve. ‘We never really saw a great deal of one another, you know, Sir Graham. My work kept me busy quite a lot, and he was always dashing out of town on some case or other.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I saw Merritt last night,’ said Temple suddenly, ‘and he told me about this business at Leamington. Did you hold the driver of the lorry?’
‘Yes,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘You were right about that, by the way. It was Skid Tyler.’
‘Have you questioned him?’
‘Not yet. Merritt’s bringing him here this afternoon. I’ve got a feeling that Tyler might talk.’
‘Yes, he might,’ replied Temple, inwardly marvelling at the amount of personal interest the Commissioner was taking in the case. He was certainly not underestimating its importance, and by undertaking work he normally had to leave entirely to the chiefs of the C.I.D., he showed the effect the robberies, as well as the Press agitation, had made on him.
‘I don’t expect he’ll know a great deal,’ the Commissioner continued; ‘he’s most probably one of the small fry. On the other hand, you never can tell.’
Paul Temple thought it was time he changed the subject. So far, the visit had been more or less confined to a discussion of Steve’s story. He had not yet been told why Chief Inspector Dale had telephoned to arrange an appointment.
‘Sir Graham—’ he started.
‘Yes?’
‘Why did you send for me this afternoon?’
The Commissioner coughed. He proceeded to look embarrassed, as embarrassed as he had been when they were originally ushered into his office.
‘Yes, I’ve—er—I’ve been waiting for you to ask that question,’ he said.
‘Well, Sir Graham?’
‘Ever since these robberies first started, there has been a definite campaign both in the newspapers, and amongst a certain section