Meanwhile, completely unaware of this terrifying haste at the offices of The Evening Post, Sir Graham Forbes was discussing with Paul Temple the astonishing events of the last half-hour.
‘I wonder whether the poison was meant for Tyler,’ he speculated, ‘or…or for me?’
‘Yes,’ replied Paul Temple in subdued tones. ‘Yes, I wonder.’
‘It seemed strange that Tyler should be poisoned,’ went on the Commissioner, ‘just when he was on the point of talking.’
‘Yes. Yes, it seems strange, doesn’t it?’
For a few moments, neither of the two men spoke. Both seemed to be speculating on this new viewpoint. Was Skid Tyler’s death, after all, an accident, and was the poison destined for the Commissioner himself? Or had he been killed because he was just about to reveal all he knew of what was going on behind the scenes of the ‘Midland Mysteries’?
‘Oh, by the way, Temple,’ the Commissioner suddenly resumed. ‘A constable at Leamington remembers talking to a girl in a saloon car shortly before the robbery occurred. For some reason or other, he’s got it into his head that she had something to do with it.’
‘Did he take the number of the car?’ inquired Temple.
‘No, I’m afraid he didn’t,’ replied Sir Graham.
‘He’s written out a pretty good description of the girl, though.’
He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out some folders. From one of them he extracted a sheet of paper from which he started to read.
‘Height about five feet four. Dark. Rather good-looking. Dressed in a smart grey costume with a fox fur. She had a set of golf clubs in the back of the car. Oh, and apparently she wore a small black wristlet watch.’
‘A small black wristlet watch?’ repeated Temple.
‘Yes,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Does that convey anything?’ He had noticed Paul Temple’s sudden look of surprise as he came to the words ‘black wristlet watch’. He was curious to know the reason.
‘I don’t know,’ said Temple quietly. ‘It might.’
‘We’ve tried to trace the girl,’ the Commissioner informed him, ‘but so far we’ve failed.’
Paul Temple nodded. He got up from his chair, and paced up and down the room. Then he took out his inevitable pipe and carefully filled it. Not until it was smoking to his satisfaction did he speak again.
‘Sir Graham,’ he started. ‘I’ve got an idea in my mind and—’ He hesitated, as if for words.
‘Yes?’ prompted the Commissioner.
‘There’s a jeweller’s in Nottingham by the name of “Trenchman”,’ said Paul Temple suddenly, his mind now apparently made up. ‘They go in for a considerable number of antiques, and all that sort of thing. I was at Oxford with the junior partner – a fellow called Rice. Alec Rice.
‘Now if it became known that Trenchman’s had a very valuable stone on their hands, say a blue-white diamond, for argument’s sake, it would be a pretty safe bet that our friends would, in the course of time, pay Trenchman’s a friendly little visit.’
He paused while Sir Graham Forbes gave thought to his scheme. ‘Yes,’ agreed the Commissioner, though somewhat dubiously. ‘Yes, I dare say they would.’
‘Well, I’m of the opinion that the robbery at Leamington, and all the other robberies for that matter, have been very carefully planned and premeditated.’
Sir Graham was still not over-enthusiastic. ‘I still don’t quite—’ he started.
‘I’m also of the definite opinion, Sir Graham,’ Paul Temple continued, without giving the Commissioner an opportunity to express his doubts, ‘that if it became known that Trenchman’s had a very valuable stone, the people we are up against would take the trouble to verify its existence before actually planning the robbery.’
Again he paused as if to allow his words to sink in.
Sir Graham Forbes had gradually been growing interested, in spite of himself. Now he looked up with some signs of enthusiasm over the drawn lines of his face.
‘Verify its existence?’ he repeated.
‘Yes,’ agreed Temple. ‘Now Alec Rice would, I feel sure, help us over this matter. He would supply us with a list of all the inquiries they might receive about this particular stone. Naturally, most of them would be quite legitimate, but there’s the possibility, a strong possibility in my opinion, that amongst that list there would be an agent of—’
‘Of…the Knave of Diamonds!’ exclaimed Sir Graham.
‘Yes.’
‘By Jove!’
All Sir Graham’s doubts had obviously vanished. ‘By Jove!’ he said again. ‘That’s an idea, Temple!’
He started walking backwards and forwards along the well- worn patch of carpet in front of his fireplace. He tossed the stump of his cigarette into the fire, now dying away through lack of attention, and lit another of his favourite cigarettes. He was turning the plan over and over in his mind and his eyes glinted. Sir Graham Forbes was essentially a man of action. It was the lack of any method, any campaign, any scheme by which some information about the Lorraine gang might be acquired, that had brought about his continual bad temper of the last few days.
‘Now the whole idea would have to be handled very, very carefully,’ Paul Temple continued, embroidering on his plan. Now that he had got the main outline into form, he was thinking over the various details to which attention would have to be paid.
‘We’re not dealing with fools, remember,’ he went on. ‘One or two brief references to the stone might appear in the daily Press, an article or two in the trade journals, and that’s about all. There must be nothing clumsy or blatant about the way the existence of the stone is brought to light, or they’d tumble to the idea immediately.’
‘Yes, of course,’ assented the Commissioner. It was obvious by his attitude that the barriers between the two men had at last been removed.
‘I’ll get into touch with Rice immediately,’ said Paul Temple.
‘And now I suppose I’d better see this woman, Miss—er— Parchment,’ said the Commissioner with a mighty sigh.
Paul Temple’s plan was now fixed. Sir Graham was leaving the details of its execution to the novelist while he himself kept the guiding reins. Miss Parchment had been waiting his pleasure for some time, and he felt it was time he interviewed her, though the immediate prospect did not fill him with any great satisfaction. Nevertheless, he pressed the bell on his desk.
‘Miss Parchment,’ said Paul Temple thoughtfully. ‘Did she ask to see you, or—’
‘No, I sent for her,’ put in the Commissioner. ‘She was at the inn the night Harvey was murdered.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Temple with a smile. ‘I questioned her.’
‘She’s a retired schoolmistress, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. A retired schoolmistress, with a passion for old English inns.’
At that moment the door opened again, and Sergeant Leopold appeared. Immediately behind him the two men saw the somewhat stately form of Miss Parchment. Her bright eyes seemed to sparkle even brighter as Sergeant Leopold announced her presence.
Sir Graham Forbes rose to greet her. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Parchment,’ he said, ‘but I’m rather afraid that—’
But