Dead to the World: Based on Paul Temple and the Jonathan Mystery. Francis Durbridge

rather brutally.’

      ‘Which she didn’t like at all, I suppose?’

      ‘When I could get her between fainting fits she seemed pretty bitter about the affair, yes.’

      ‘Well, that has been known to be a motive for murder … But surely a fluffy little blonde given to fainting couldn’t be capable of a gruesome shooting like this?’

      Hyde shrugged his shoulders and a tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘When I was a young man, Mr Holt – when I was a young man, it was often my experience that the fluffy, blue-eyed little blondes were the most cruel and calculating wenches of them all!’ Holt laughed, and Hyde hastened to add, ‘Now don’t misunderstand me – at this stage I’m definitely not suggesting anything other than keeping an open mind about all possibilities and a sharp look-out for a motive.’

      ‘Fair enough. Why was the engagement broken off?’

      ‘Antoinette Sheen,’ Hyde replied succinctly.

      ‘I see. And what is she like – also blonde and fluffy?’

      The Inspector smiled, broadly this time, and rolled his eyes in an unexpectedly frivolous gesture. ‘She’s neither! She’s about as different from Julie as chalk from cheese. Very beautiful, very poised, and will definitely not see twenty-five again.’

      ‘Antoinette Sheen …’ Holt mused. ‘That name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it.’

      ‘By profession she’s a novelist,’ Hyde explained. ‘Somewhat lurid historical romances, I gather.’

      ‘Ah, yes, of course. Are they successful?’

      ‘That would appear to be the case. At any rate, she supports herself by her writing. She has a mind of her own, she knows what she wants out of life, and I should guess she gets it. By hobby she’s a painter. She says her friendship with Vance was based purely on their common interest in the Arts. Myself – well, I’m a staid old married man, of course, but I must say if I’d been in Vance’s shoes I’d have been interested in other aspects of Miss Sheen’s personality! To be perfectly frank, she’s really rather stunning!’

      ‘H’m …’ Holt said, raising his eyebrows. ‘And what does Julie Benson do for a living?’

      ‘She’s secretary to Professor Harold Dalesford, lecturer in Political Economy up at the College.’

      ‘Does that mean Vance was one of his students?’

      ‘Yes, he was.’

      ‘What about their alibis? The two girls, I mean.’

      ‘Well …’ Hyde paused and fiddled with the orderly row of pencils lined up on his neat and impersonal desk. ‘As you may remember, I prefer to proceed cautiously in these matters; it never pays to jump to conclusions. But I’ll commit myself so far as to say that I don’t like either of their stories. Julie Benson claimed that she was working late for Professor Dalesford on the night of the murder – which he denies. He was at the piano recital. Julie’s the sweet-voiced, English rose type, but I’m afraid that doesn’t prevent her from being a very bad liar.’

      ‘Interesting,’ observed Holt. ‘And Miss Sheen?’

      ‘She was at the College that night too. She attended the piano recital.’

      ‘Alone, or with someone?’

      ‘With Professor Dalesford.’

      ‘With her rival’s boss? Funny set-up. One more question: how far from Scholars’ Row is the room or hall where this piano recital was held?’

      Hyde said, completely wooden-faced, ‘It would take you about four or five minutes to get from one to the other.’

      A silence followed, whilst the Inspector cleaned and refilled his pipe and Holt pondered on the problem. The younger man was obviously intrigued, and Hyde judged that very little more would be needed to succeed in trapping his interest entirely.

      ‘The boy would have celebrated his twenty-first birthday if he’d lived another day. I think it shows what a loner he was, that on this day of all days there were only two birthday cards for him.’ He got out the Scranton file once more. ‘Perhaps you’d like to have a look at those greetings cards?’

      Holt examined them carefully. ‘From Antoinette … My, what a lot of flourishes! The card’s in good taste, though. And Julie … a forlorn attempt to attract her ex-fiancé’s attention maybe?… But wait a moment! I wonder … Could I have a look at the …’

      The Inspector was already sliding his magnifying glass and the New Feature, opened at page eighteen, across the desk.

      Holt compared the signature on Julie Benson’s card with the handwriting at the foot of the Prospero article. ‘You’re right,’ he said after a moment. ‘I should think we’re definitely on to something there! It’ll be interesting to see what your calligraphy experts have to say.’

      ‘And while they’re at it,’ Hyde said, holding out a postcard, ‘they can take a look at this too.’

      It was a plain postcard of the type that can be bought in a sixpenny packet at any stationer’s. It was postmarked Harrogate and had been sent to Vance Scranton at the College. The message, printed in neat, well-spaced block capitals, was simple; all it said was:

      HAVING A WONDERFUL TIME.

      REGARDS FROM CHRISTOPHER.

      ‘Well, at least Vance had a friend somewhere.’

      Hyde shook his head. ‘That’s just where the mystery starts. There is no Christopher – or at least, we can’t trace him.’

      ‘That’s odd.’

      ‘Nobody we’ve questioned – and we’ve been through just about the entire student body – has ever heard him mention anyone by the name of Christopher. Julie Benson doesn’t know him, nor does Miss Sheen; we drew a blank with all the professors and lecturers on the teaching faculty, and his parents can’t throw any light on the matter either.’

      ‘That’s strange. Do you think it’s important?’

      ‘It’s too early to say. We’ll have to wait for the lab’s report on the postcard.’

      ‘You begin to intrigue me, Inspector.’

      ‘I was hoping I would. To be quite frank, I’d be very glad of your help. The Scranton case isn’t the only one I have on my plate at the moment. We’re just about snowed under.’ He paused for a fraction of a second, then went on, ‘I don’t want to ask for too much of your time; you’re a very busy man, I know. But – well, there is one specific job – a very small job – it shouldn’t take up a great deal of …’

      ‘Perhaps you’d tell me what it is?’

      Now that he had reached the point in the conversation at which he had been aiming, the Inspector became surprisingly hesitant. Clearing his throat he muttered, ‘This is all very unorthodox, of course, and if you should get into trouble there’s no guarantee that the Yard would be able to …’

      ‘What do I have to do, Inspector?’

      ‘Talk to Curly,’ was the unexpected reply.

      ‘Curly? Who’s Curly?’

      ‘He’s an old lag. If he or any of his pals saw me coming they’d take off faster than a space rocket from Cape Kennedy! But he owes me a good turn. He was up on a charge of receiving stolen goods some years ago, and I didn’t feel it was entirely his fault so I used my influence to get him off a very stiff sentence. I’ve never asked a favour in return, and he isn’t one of our regular informers.’

      ‘But you think he might be of some use in this particular case?’

      Hyde raised his hands and made a grimace of despair. ‘What is one to do?