News of Paul Temple. Francis Durbridge

from Z.2,’ decided van Draper after a moody silence. ‘If she’s staying at the “Royal Gate”, then obviously she must have seen Richmond.’

      ‘Sh!’ called Mrs Moffat suddenly. Her keen ears had detected the lifting of the front door latch, and this was suddenly confirmed by the ringing of the shop bell.

      ‘Who can it be at this time?’ asked van Draper.

      ‘I shan’t be long,’ said Mrs Moffat, making for the door.

      ‘Wait!’ ordered van Draper.

      She paused. ‘Well?’

      ‘It might be Lindsay. If he wants to use the telephone – it’s in order now. You understand?’

      She nodded. They heard her descend in leisurely fashion, and presently voices floated up from below.

      ‘It’s Hammond!’ whispered Guest, and his confederate nodded.

      ‘Somehow or other, I thought he’d turn up,’ murmured van Draper. ‘Right from the beginning I had a feeling we’d get him. Is your gun here?’

      Guest nodded. ‘If only Temple hadn’t tricked us over that letter, we’d be sitting pretty now we’ve got Hammond,’ said Guest.

      Van Draper motioned him to be silent as footsteps were heard on the stairs.

      ‘You never told me you had the ’phone connected up here,’ Lindsay was saying as the door swung open.

      ‘Hello, Lindsay! Surprised?’ said van Draper.

      ‘Why, hello, Van, I didn’t expect—’

      ‘Drop that gun!’ called Guest sharply. A tiny revolver fell from Lindsay’s left hand onto the wooden floor.

      There was silence for some seconds.

      ‘What’s the idea?’ asked Lindsay at length.

      ‘There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding,’ smiled Guest. ‘Don’t you agree, Mr Lindsay – or should I say Hammond?’

      Lindsay was obviously exerting every ounce of self-control.

      ‘Hammond? Who the devil is Hammond?’ he demanded.

      ‘Your name is Hammond, my friend,’ van Draper informed him with cruel deliberation; ‘Noel Hammond, of the British Intelligence Department.’ His tone was scathing now, but Lindsay broke into a laugh which sounded surprisingly genuine.

      ‘British Intelligence?’ he repeated. ‘That’s damned funny. If I’m from the British Intelligence, why the devil do you think I worked with Hardwick? I’ve sweated my guts out on that blasted screen of his.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ agreed van Draper. ‘You worked very hard on the screen – we’ll grant you that. But you had a reason,’ he added viciously.

      ‘Of course I had a reason,’ replied Lindsay. ‘Six thousand reasons, to be exact.’

      ‘Six thousand?’ echoed Mrs Moffat. ‘Did Z.4 promise you six thousand pounds if—’

      ‘No – dollars,’ replied Lindsay cynically. ‘I say, what the devil is all this about, anyway?’ He looked round desperately. The two revolvers never wavered. Mrs Moffat’s ample form continued to fill the doorway.

      ‘Two years ago,’ van Draper was saying, ‘a certain Mr John Hardwick approached the War Office concerning an invention of his called the Hardwick Screen. This was tested and proved, to all intents and purposes, to be a failure—’

      ‘And then I suppose the British Intelligence Department sent me along just in case?’ suggested Lindsay sarcastically.

      ‘Yes,’ agreed van Draper quietly, ‘just in case a certain other party became interested in the screen and any future developments.’

      ‘I’ve never heard such damned nonsense in my life,’ cried Lindsay indignantly. ‘If the War Office thought the screen was a washout, why should the Intelligence Department take an interest in the affair?’

      ‘The answer to that is quite simple, my friend,’ put in Guest smoothly. ‘They’re after Z.4.’

      ‘Very interesting, I’m sure,’ said Lindsay, trying hard to appear cynical.

      ‘The Intelligence Department discovered that Z.4 had contacted Hardwick,’ pursued van Draper evenly, ‘so they determined to kill two birds with one stone. Keep away from that door!’ he commanded suddenly, as he noticed Lindsay’s glance move in that direction.

      ‘Now listen to me, van Draper,’ began Lindsay nervously. ‘Put that revolver away and don’t be a fool. Surely we can talk this over sensibly.’

      ‘What was in that letter you sent to Richmond?’ demanded van Draper inexorably.

      ‘And who is John Richmond?’ said Guest.

      ‘I—I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about,’ stammered Lindsay, who was obviously rattled.

      ‘That’s a pity,’ sneered van Draper, ‘because I’m going to give you fifteen seconds to refresh your memory.’

      He took a watch from his pocket. ‘Keep him covered, Guest,’ he ordered.

      Lindsay looked round once more in desperation.

      ‘Five,’ said van Draper imperturbably.

      Lindsay moistened his lips, then looked at Mrs Moffat. She returned his stare with eyes that were quite expressionless. There could be no help from that quarter.

      ‘Ten!’ snapped van Draper.

      ‘You—you can’t do this!’ shrieked Lindsay hysterically. He made a sudden dive for the door. Both revolvers barked, and Lindsay fell with a choking gasp across the small table. Mrs Moffat saved the lamp just in time. She picked up the table and replaced the lamp on it as if nothing had happened.

      ‘Pity he didn’t talk,’ commented van Draper unemotionally.

      Suddenly the shop bell tinkled.

       3

      Guest looked somewhat alarmed. ‘Could anyone have heard?’ he whispered.

      ‘It’s probably Z.2,’ Mrs Moffat told him in a scornful voice, as she prepared to go down.

      ‘If it is Archer, get her up here,’ ordered Guest through the half-open door.

      Meanwhile, van Draper had been briskly searching the dead man’s pockets, but had found nothing to enlighten him. He eyed the body distastefully. ‘We’ll have to get this out of the way…Better get the car and heave him over Moorford Ridge,’ he decided. Before they could make any further plans, Iris Archer entered the room. She wore a smart tweed suit, carried a Robin Hood hat, and appeared, as usual, completely self-possessed.