Paul Temple 3-Book Collection: Send for Paul Temple, Paul Temple and the Front Page Men, News of Paul Temple. Francis Durbridge

room empty?’ inquired Steve softly.

      ‘Yes.’

      The room was just as they had left it. In all probability their absence had not even been noticed. Paul Temple stepped through the opening and turned round to assist Steve.

      ‘Careful!’ he warned. He paused and looked round. ‘Now how do we close this panel from the…Oh, the statue, Steve!’

      ‘I’ll do it.’ Steve walked quickly over to the little statue she had discovered, gave it a twist, and to her satisfaction saw the panel close.

      ‘Good!’ exclaimed Paul Temple.

      ‘Now what…?’ she asked. ‘Are we going to wait here, or—’

      ‘No. I think we’ve seen enough of Ashdown House for the time being. I’ll get hold of this butler fellow and tell him we’re not waiting.’ He looked round. ‘Is that a bell push?’ he asked, pointing to the wall by the fireside, where Steve was standing.

      ‘Yes. I’ll ring.’

      She pressed it. Then they sat down in two of the armchairs the room boasted and tried desperately hard to look both very bored and very innocent. At last they heard footsteps in the hall outside.

      ‘He’s coming!’ said Temple softly.

      The door opened, and Snow Williams appeared.

      ‘You rang, sir?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Temple with such a perfect air of indifference that Steve had difficulty in keeping her face straight. ‘We’ve, er, decided not to wait for Dr. Milton. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give him my kind regards?’

      ‘Certainly, sir.’ Snow led the way to the door without any apparent suspicions. ‘Good night, sir! Good night, Miss!’

      Steve and Temple drank in the fresh air greedily. Both felt glad to be outside again. As they walked slowly over to the car neither of them spoke. Both seemed to have far too much to think about. Paul Temple folded a rug over Steve’s knees, made sure she was comfortable, then pressed the self-starter. After two or three turns, the engine was firing, and he slipped the gear lever into position. A few moments later, they were shooting down the drive towards the main road which would take them back to Bramley Lodge.

      After a mile or so, Paul Temple suddenly came to a standstill beside the road and switched off his headlamps. Steve looked round at him in surprise.

      ‘Why have you stopped?’ she asked.

      ‘Because I want to have a chat with you, young lady!’ he replied.

      ‘Oh, Mr. Temple!’ said Steve flippantly and with a laugh.

      ‘Steve,’ he said very soberly, ‘I’m worried.’

      ‘Worried?’ she echoed, now serious again; ‘Why?’

      ‘I’m worried because you’re mixed up in this affair. These people are dangerous. They’ll stop at nothing. You’ve got to watch yourself, Steve. You’ve got to watch yourself.’

      ‘Don’t worry…I will!’ she said reassuringly. ‘You’re very sweet!’ she added gently.

      ‘Ever since that incident in your flat…with the record…I’ve been very anxious for you.’ There was urgency in Temple’s voice. ‘Can’t you go away for a little while, Steve. Perhaps—’

      ‘No,’ she replied decisively. ‘No, and even if I could – I shouldn’t. This is my affair, Paul – my affair more than anyone else’s – the Knave of Diamonds killed my brother, remember—’

      Her knuckles were clenched and Temple noticed the row of white spots where the bones were forced against the skin. Her lips were pressed firmly together. Paul Temple realized that his passenger could be a very determined little person when she chose.

      ‘But Steve—’

      ‘But that isn’t everything,’ she continued firmly. ‘The whole affair is much deeper than that, Paul…much deeper.’ For a few moments, she sat in silence, her face set in a deep frown. ‘From the very beginning of the Cape Town–Simonstown robberies eight years ago,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘I knew, and hated, the name of Max Lorraine. I knew that sooner or later…I should have to face him. Please believe me, Paul, when I say—’

      Again Temple interrupted her. ‘Steve, listen!’ he said suddenly. ‘We agreed that it would be Paul Temple versus Max Lorraine. You heard them talking in that room at the inn: and you know the type of people we’re up against.’ He paused expressively. ‘Steve, for my sake – you’ve got to keep out of this!’

      ‘But Paul—’

      He refused to let her say what she wanted. ‘I shall make a point of seeing Sir Graham first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘the inn must be raided on Thursday, at all cost!’ Suddenly, he changed the subject. ‘Steve, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.’

      ‘Well?’ There was something in the tone of his voice that had aroused her curiosity.

      ‘You remember, you told me, that when your brother was investigating the Cape Town–Simonstown robberies he worked with another officer, a man who was later murdered by Max Lorraine?’

      ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

      ‘Tell me – what did they call that man?’

      Steve tried to recall the name of the man to mind. ‘Bellman!’ she exclaimed at length, ‘Sydney Bellman.’ Then after a pause she said: ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘I was just wondering,’ said Paul Temple quietly, ‘I was just wondering.’

CHAPTER XVIII

       The Commissioner’s Orders

      It was with some sense of satisfaction that Paul Temple mounted the steps which would take him into the hall at Scotland Yard. On the occasion of his visit there with Steve Trent a few days ago, the first he had paid since his newspaper days, he had felt remarkably like a guilty schoolboy being hauled before his headmaster for cheating.