‘Trying to be funny?’ interrupted Temple. ‘My dear Skid, I’m an amateur humorist compared with the crowd you’ve been mixing with.’
‘What—do—you mean?’
‘What do I mean?’ Temple began to laugh. Even the three policemen looked at him with slight bewilderment.
‘Oh! Oh! Our old friend Skid drives the lorry! Our old friend Skid smashes into the dress shop! Our old friend Skid gets arrested! Our old friend Skid visits Scotland Yard! Our old…’
‘Shut up! Shut yer blarsted mouth!’
‘My dear Skid,’ said Temple quietly, ‘don’t be a damned fool! Why should you take the “rap”? Why should you—’
‘I’m not talking!’ Skid was almost hysterical. ‘I’m not a squealer! I—I know what’s good for me!’
More and more did Skid Tyler feel that he was being driven into a corner by his pitiless foe. More and more he realized that, all unwittingly, he had been giving away precious information, and that he had made it perfectly clear that he was closely involved in the Leamington jewel robbery.
‘You’ll talk,’ said Temple in a determined voice. ‘And you’ll talk fast. What were you doing at Evesham? What where you doing near “The Little General” inn?’
‘I tell you I’ve never been near the blarsted place!’
‘Skid, listen.… This isn’t a one-sided little affair like share- pushing. This is big stuff. This is Crime with a capital C. And you’re in it. In it up to the neck!’ Gradually Paul Temple’s voice had reached a climax. ‘Now talk!’ he said softly.
Skid looked up at his merciless antagonist, towering above him. The room was in absolute silence. All felt the tension in the air. Its utter heaviness. At any moment now might come the blinding flash and the deafening roar of thunder.
Skid looked from one face to the other. He saw no pity. Gradually he was yielding. Temple saw it.
So did Forbes, Dale, and Merritt. Still they said nothing.
Finally he broke down.
‘All right…all right—’ he moaned. ‘I’ll talk…but first I want…a drink. I’m …I’m all…all shot to pieces.’
It was true. Skid had turned a deathly pale. He was trembling violently from head to foot. With his final decision, it amounted almost to a mental breakdown. Skid was suddenly, utterly, exhausted.
Sir Graham Forbes had got up. ‘All right, I’ll get you some brandy,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some in the cupboard.’ He walked over to the cupboard in the corner of the room near where Steve Trent was sitting.
‘Excuse me, Miss Trent,’ he said. She pushed her chair out of his way. Sir Graham opened the cupboard door and took out a bottle of brandy. As he proceeded to open it, Paul Temple said: ‘Skid, what is “The Green Finger”?’
‘It’s…the organization…that’s been responsible for the jewel robberies.’ Skid was now almost incoherent. ‘The chief of the gang is known as…as the Knave of Diamonds.’
Steve Trent looked up. ‘Max Lorraine!’ she said softly.
‘Have you ever met this person who—’
‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone! For God’s sake, leave me alone!’ Skid’s voice had reached a definite hysterical pitch. He leaped up and made for the door, as if in a despairing effort to flee from his persecutors. Firm hands pulled him back into the chair again.
Forbes walked up to him with a glass of brandy in his hand.
‘Here – drink this!’ he said, giving him the glass.
Skid Tyler seized the glass and gulped its contents down in one draught. The pallor left his cheeks. The strong spirit seemed to bring back life and strength to him. He settled back in his chair.
Paul Temple leaned forward and spoke gently, earnestly.
‘Now, Skid, listen,’ he said. ‘This is important. Have you ever—’
Skid’s face was undergoing curious changes, and Temple paused.
‘Have you ever—’
Temple stopped. Skid’s face had turned a deathly pale and he was sitting back in his chair as though utterly exhausted by long physical and mental effort.
‘Skid!’ The others crowded round Skid, staring at him in horror. Steve Trent had rushed up. She felt Skid Tyler’s forehead with her right hand.
‘Skid! SKID!’ shouted Temple.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the Commissioner, with astonishment and horror in his voice.
‘Look at him!’ answered Temple. ‘Skid!’ he shouted again. ‘Skid! SKID!’
Forbes knelt down by his side. He put his arm round the ex-convict. Dale had taken his wrist and was feeling his pulse. Paul Temple himself had fallen on his knees in front of Skid Tyler’s chair. He was holding him by the knees and gazing up into his face.
It was an extraordinary scene.
‘What is it?’ asked Chief Inspector Dale. ‘He looks so—’ his voice tailed off into nothingness.
Suddenly Inspector Merritt spoke. ‘Pass me that glass, Sir Graham!’
The Commissioner looked curiously at him.
‘The glass, but…Good God!’ he suddenly ejaculated. ‘You don’t mean—’
He stopped as Temple rose to his feet. Dale released the man’s wrist; then he, too, stood up. The four men stood there in silence, amazement and horror on their faces.
‘He’s dead!’ Paul Temple made the announcement quietly. Again that heavy, lasting silence.
‘Dead!’ Steve repeated, in what was almost a cry of terror.
‘Yes, he’s dead all right,’ said Dale presently. ‘What’s in the glass, Merritt?’
Inspector Merritt had been standing a little away from the others, carefully examining the glass from which Skid Tyler had drunk.
‘Enough poison to kill a regiment,’ he announced sombrely.
‘But—but that’s impossible,’ the Commissioner stuttered. ‘Why it—it was a new bottle. I…I—’
Suddenly the door opened. Sergeant Leopold appeared.
‘A lady to see you, sir, by the name of—’
‘I can’t see anyone,’ interrupted Sir Graham irritably. ‘Tell her I’m out. Tell her to—’
‘Oh, just a minute, Sergeant,’ interposed Paul Temple smoothly. He, alone, seemed to have preserved his normal composure. A caller, and a woman at that, who had succeeded in getting herself announced to the Commissioner, interested him. Especially at this particular moment. ‘Who is the lady?’ he asked.
‘It’s a Miss Parchment, sir,’ said the sergeant quietly. ‘A Miss Amelia Victoria Parchment.’
For the moment the dead body of Skid Tyler was forgotten. Temple alone seemed to take this extraordinarily timed visit completely for granted.
As