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       CHAPTER II

       Paul Temple Takes Over

      WHEN the body of Sir Ernest Cranbury had been taken away conversation seemed to flow more easily, and there were three or four animated groups in the studio, busily discussing what could be done, what had caused Sir Ernest’s death, whether or not he could be replaced on the Brains Trust at such short notice – and what precisely had Rex to do with his sudden and mysterious death?

      They apparently expected Temple to enlighten them upon this last point, but discovered that he seemed to know as little as they did. For one thing, he had never met Sir Ernest before and had not the least idea why he should be singled out by Rex in this manner. It was this aspect of the case which intrigued Temple. Rex’s victims appeared to come from all classes of people – as far as Temple could judge the only thing they had in common was a certain degree of financial stability, though this was by no means absolutely certain. On the face of it, Norma Rice was a successful actress, but that did not necessarily mean she had a great deal of money.

      Temple mused upon these and other things, taking little part in the conversations that seethed around him. Meanwhile, the producer of the programme was busily telephoning the Programme Controller.

      It was eventually decided that it would be advisable to cancel the present session of the Brains Trust and substitute a recording of a much earlier session in the programme.

      Temple breathed a small sigh of relief and asked if he could telephone his wife. In the tiny control-cubicle which the engineers had now deserted, he managed to get through to Steve and ask her to pick him up right away. In reply to her startled query about the broadcast, he told her that there had been an accident and the programme was cancelled. Having twice reassured her that he himself was in no way involved, she agreed to come right away.

      Accompanied by Mulroy, who was still trying to pump him, Temple took the lift down to the private bar in the basement. He drank a large glass of whisky, refused a second, and made his uncertain way along endless corridors and upstairs until he came into the entrance hall once again.

      A little knot of reporters had already gathered there, and among them was Rex Bryant, of the Evening Post, who had been considerably involved in one of Temple’s earlier cases. He caught sight of the novelist and came over to him eagerly. After various mutual inquiries, Rex Bryant said, ‘Well, now, what about a story on this Rex affair?’ Temple shook his head.

      ‘I’m sorry to say you’re probably just as wise about it as I am,’ he confessed.

      ‘Then tell me if that story’s true about your being called in on the case. Are you really going to work on it?’

      ‘That rather depends,’ murmured Temple.

      ‘On what?’

      ‘Well, you’ve heard of actors appearing by kind permission of some management or other?’

      ‘Yes, of course, but what—’

      ‘I’, explained Temple, ‘also take on a case by kind permission of a lady who’s waiting for me outside in a car.’ He turned to go. ‘Give me a ring a bit later on, Bryant, and I’ll help you if I can.’

      He found Steve sitting in the car outside with a tiny worried frown corrugating her forehead.

      ‘Are you sure there’s nothing seriously wrong, darling?’ she asked as he opened the door of the car and got in beside her.

      ‘Nothing wrong with me,’ he replied. ‘But Sir Ernest Cranbury has had a nasty heart attack, and I’m afraid…’

      She guessed the rest.

      ‘Have they told his wife?’ was her next question.

      ‘Sir Ernest, so they tell me, is a bachelor who lived in a nice flat just off Park Lane,’ explained Temple.

      Steve nodded thoughtfully, started the car, and they set off along upper Regent Street.

      As they waited for the traffic lights to change, Steve said, ‘It must have been a dreadful shock to everybody in the studio.’

      ‘Frightful,’ nodded Temple. ‘We didn’t know what the devil to do. It was all so sudden. No doubt if we’d had to answer a question on how to deal with just such an emergency, we should have given long and plausible replies, but when the event was beneath our noses it was quite a different kettle of fish!’

      ‘What did the doctor say?’

      Temple shrugged.

      ‘There was nothing much for him to add to what we’d guessed. There’ll be an inquest, of course.’

      Steve nodded thoughtfully and released the clutch as the lights changed.

      ‘Do you think it was heart failure, just over-excitement?’ she asked presently, trying to make her voice sound as casual as possible.

      Temple did not speak for a few seconds. Then he said thoughtfully, ‘No, I don’t.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because just before he passed out he said to me, “I want to tell you about Rex”,’ replied Temple unemotionally, thinking he might as well enlighten Steve now, for she would be certain to hear or read his evidence at the inquest. She took it with comparative calm.

      ‘Rex…’ she murmured thoughtfully, pulling up again at another set of lights. ‘What do you think he could have meant?’ she asked.

      ‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that. There was something else too that rather intrigued me.’

      He began to fumble in his coat pocket, then leaned forward and switched on the overhead light in the car.

      ‘We had to search Sir Ernest’s pockets to try and find his address. Inside his wallet there was this piece of paper – it dropped on the floor. No one else noticed it, so I – er – naturally…’

      ‘Naturally,’ smiled Steve. The lights were still against her, so she took the paper and looked at it quickly.

      ‘There’s nothing on it,’ she said.

      ‘Look in the corner – it’s written rather faintly in pencil.’

      She held the paper closer and read, ‘Mrs. Trevelyan.’

      He took the paper and nodded. Steve suddenly sat bolt upright.

      ‘Paul, that was the name you told me about, the one on the visiting-card and in the diary belonging to Norma Rice.’

      ‘Exactly. Hi—look out, the lights have changed!’

      The car shot forward again, and they travelled for about two hundred yards without speaking. Then Temple happened to look through the side window and noticed a large black saloon edging dangerously near them and moving at a fair speed.

      ‘By Timothy, he seems to be in a hurry!’ commented Temple as the car came almost level. With a sudden impulse he switched off the roof light.

      Quite suddenly, the overtaking car seemed to lurch towards them. Temple grabbed