‘That’s right, sir,’ nodded Crane. ‘She was found in the express from Manchester. The word “Rex” was scrawled across the window.’
‘So it was,’ nodded Temple. ‘This Rex would appear to be something of an exhibitionist.’
‘Yes, and there again, you see, Temple, there didn’t seem to be a motive,’ interposed Forbes eagerly.
Temple lighted another cigarette and asked: ‘Could it have been suicide?’
Crane’s upper lip twitched sardonically.
‘Suicide?’ he repeated in an amused tone. ‘Not a chance!’
‘Surely with a temperament like Norma Rice’s—’ began Temple diffidently, but Crane interrupted.
‘She’d just opened in a new play at Manchester that had been a big success, and was coming to London in a fortnight’s time. What’s more, she’d got herself engaged to be married, so you might say everything in the garden was rosy. Couldn’t possibly have been suicide, whichever way you look at it.’
Temple frowned and looked across at Sir Graham, who appeared to be lost in thought.
‘Was Miss Rice shot through the head?’
Forbes came back to earth with a start.
‘Good God, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘As a matter of fact, when the ticket-inspector found her he thought she was asleep.’
‘She’d been poisoned,’ added Crane. ‘Obviously somebody had given her an overdose of Amashyer.’ He turned to Temple. ‘It’s a delayed-action narcotic that takes about six hours as a rule to prove fatal, Mr.Temple.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of Amashyer, Inspector,’ smiled Temple, who had been among the first to discover the presence of this drug in London some years previously. He refilled Crane’s tankard, then turned to Sir Graham.
‘How many of these murders did you say there had been, Sir Graham?’
‘Five.’
‘And in every case you came across the word “Rex”?’
Forbes nodded slowly. ‘On the window of a railway carriage, on the windscreen of a car, on a small lace handkerchief written in lipstick, on the face of a watch—’
‘And don’t forget the tattoo mark on the dead man’s wrist,’ put in Crane, who seemed to take a morbid delight in the more gruesome aspects of the case.
Forbes sipped his sherry, wishing Temple would make up his mind whether he was going to work on the case. He was anxious to get back to his office, acquaint himself with any recent developments and get his team of picked men launched on their respective lines of investigation. He had not been particularly enthusiastic about Lord Flexdale’s decision to call in Temple, for he had the impression that during the past year or so Paul Temple had become rather more interested in writing about crime than in active participation. No doubt Steve had something to do with this, and you couldn’t blame her. Temple made a packet of money out of his books, so why should he go rushing into danger just for the fun of the thing? Yet Temple seemed more than a little interested in this case – that was a part of the man’s charm, decided Forbes. He had a capacity for taking a lively interest in whatever you chose to talk about.
‘Is this word “Rex” the only link between each particular murder?’ Temple was asking, his dark brown eyes alight with eagerness. ‘Is that your only reason for suspecting that each murder was committed by the same person?’
‘Yes, of course,’ nodded Forbes. ‘Except that in one case…’ Forbes seemed to hesitate.
‘In one case…’ prompted Temple.
‘We found a card on Richard East, a visiting-card,’ admitted Forbes. ‘Of course, it may mean nothing at all – just the merest coincidence. After all, most men have a habit of tucking an odd visiting-card in one of their waistcoat pockets.’
‘You mean it was one of his own cards?’
‘Yes – but there was a name scribbled on the back,’ broke in Crane.
‘Oh,’ said Temple. ‘Anyone we know?’
‘It conveyed nothing to us at the time. But we found the same name scribbled in the back of a diary which was in Norma Rice’s handbag.’
‘This is most interesting,’ said Temple, leaning forward in the chair. ‘And what was the name?’
‘It was just “Mrs. Trevelyan”.’
‘Trevelyan,’ mused Temple, obviously more than a little intrigued. ‘No address?’
‘No address.’
Forbes shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘And now you know as much as we do, Temple,’ he murmured dryly. ‘If I didn’t think this business was damned serious, believe me, I wouldn’t be bothering you. In fact, when Lord Flexdale mentioned it, I told him you were up to your eyes in work, but he insisted.’
Temple sighed.
‘I’d like to help you, Sir Graham, I really would,’ he admitted. ‘But you see after that business with the Marquis, I made Steve a promise. I promised her faithfully that under no circumstance would I take on another case.’
He was about to explain further when the door handle turned and Steve herself came in, wearing an attractive costume and what was obviously a new hat. Temple raised his eyebrows the merest fraction. There was a flicker of amusement round his mobile mouth as he welcomed her.
‘Hello, darling. Look who’s here!’
Steve was patently delighted to see Sir Graham, and went across to shake hands.
‘It’s good to see you again after all this time, Sir Graham.’
‘And you look younger every time we meet,’ he responded gallantly.
‘She certainly looks a very different woman,’ supplements her husband. ‘I say, what the devil have you been doing to yourself, darling?’
Steve could not repress a smile.
‘It’s the new hat, darling. Don’t you like it?’
Temple put his head on one side and scrutinised the article in question with a serious air.
‘Is it back to front?’ he asked at last.
‘Of course it’s not back to front!’ retorted Steve indignantly and they all laughed.
Forbes introduced Crane to Steve and they chatted for some minutes about minor matters. Then, suddenly remembering the hours of work awaiting him at the Yard, Forbes said: ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be getting along. Thanks for the sherry, Temple. Good-bye, Steve. I hope we’ll be meeting again fairly soon. Don’t bury yourself in the country quite so long next time.’
He picked up his hat and gloves from a chair.
‘Why don’t you come to dinner one night while we’re up here, Sir Graham?’ asked Steve. ‘We’d love to have you.’
Forbes nodded. ‘Let’s make it one night next week. May I give you a ring to let you know?’
‘Do,’ urged Temple, accompanying the visitors to the door.
When he returned, Steve had taken off her hat, and was sitting on the settee placidly knitting. This was an accomplishment she had acquired recently from the housekeeper at Bramley Lodge, and one which she found both soothing and satisfying. Intent upon turning the heel of a sock – the second of the first pair which she intended shortly to present with pride to her husband – she only looked up for a second as he came in.
‘You seem very pleased with yourself,’ smiled Temple, going to pour himself another glass of sherry,