News of Paul Temple. Francis Durbridge

a London hotel, where he had met his wife, who was employed there as a chambermaid. She had apparently come to London from Yorkshire to find better paid work, and between them they soon managed to save a few hundred pounds, which constituted the ‘ingoing’ to the ‘Royal Gate’.

      Buxom Mrs Weston, with the North Country roses still unfaded in her cheeks, had soon taken a fancy to Steve.

      ‘I think you’ll be very comfortable ’ere,’ she was saying.

      ‘It may not be as palatial as some of these railway hotels, but the view’s champion, anyway.’

      Steve looked round the fairly small bedroom which was sparsely furnished but very clean.

      ‘This room will do very nicely, thanks,’ she smiled. Mrs Weston smoothed imaginary creases out of her apron and nodded pleasantly.

      Her husband entered, carrying two large suitcases. He was rather out of breath and dropped them thankfully. ‘I’ll bring up the other stuff later,’ he announced. ‘Where do I put this?’

      ‘That’s all right – leave it to me,’ said Temple.

      Ernie Weston seemed quite pleased to obey. He was an inch or two shorter than his wife, a few years older and rather wizened in appearance. While Mrs Weston bustled around, fetching towels and other requisites, Ernie stood in the doorway looking on. He made no effort to go.

      ‘You seem to be fairly busy,’ remarked Steve conversationally. ‘Is it always like this?’

      ‘Crikey, no!’ exploded Ernie. ‘This place was a proper white elephant up till a couple o’ months ago. Ain’t that right, Mother?’

      ‘Well, things ’ave certainly bucked up, there’s no doubt about that,’ agreed Mrs Weston cheerfully.

      ‘Bucked up! Blimey, I should think they ’ave. I’ve been run off me feet for weeks from early morning till last thing at night. ’Ave you come far, sir?’

      ‘We left Edinburgh this morning, about ten.’

      ‘Pretty good goin’,’ commented Ernie. ‘I expect you’re feelin’ a bit peckish?’

      ‘Yes, we are rather,’ admitted Steve.

      ‘Dinner’ll be on at any minute now – seven-thirty. You’ll hear the gong,’ said Ernie, adding whimsically, ‘the gong was Mother’s idea.’

      His wife glared at him, then turned to Steve. ‘We started getting so many “posh” folk here, I thought we’d better live up to it,’ she explained. ‘Would you like a wash and brush up, ma’am?’

      She took Steve to the bathroom, leaving Temple alone with Ernie.

      ‘I’ll pop down and get the other stuff up, sir,’ volunteered the landlord.

      ‘No, just a minute.’

      Ernie perched himself easily on the edge of a small table. Temple suddenly shot a question.

      ‘Do you and your wife run this place?’

      ‘That’s right, sir. Weston’s the name. Bin ’ere six months now.’

      ‘Do you like it?’

      ‘Well, it’s a bit quiet, sir, after London.’

      ‘The hotel seems pretty full at the moment.’

      ‘Not ’arf. Everybody seems to ’ave made their minds up to go on ’oliday just now. Between you and me, sir, you wouldn’t be ’aving this room if me and the missus weren’t pally.’ He chuckled to himself as he helped Temple to lift a case onto a small bench at the foot of the bed.

      The novelist flung a pair of pale blue pyjamas onto his pillow, and asked: ‘Have you anyone staying here named Richmond—John Richmond?’

      ‘Why yes, sir!’ said Ernie, rather startled. ‘Is ’e a pal o’ yours?’

      ‘No, but I’d like a word with him.’

      ‘Well, I think ’e’s out, sir. But ’e’ll soon be back for dinner.’

      ‘Good. I’ll see him then.’

      Temple was a little dubious as to whether he should offer to tip his host, but Ernie accepted the coin with alacrity.

      ‘Thank you, sir – and if you fancy anythin’ tasty-like for dinner, just tell the missis.’ He winked and departed.

      Temple went on with his unpacking, whistling quietly to himself. He had almost finished, and was just debating as to whether he should open his wife’s case, when there was a knock at the door.

      ‘Come in,’ called Temple, thinking it was Ernie with the other luggage.

      The door opened and a voice with a Teutonic accent rasped: ‘I trust I do not intrude, Mr Temple?’

      Temple turned swiftly.

      ‘Why, Doctor Steiner! Come in!’ He held out his hand to the German, who appeared just a little embarrassed.

      ‘I saw your name in the register,’ he said rather shyly, ‘and could not resist this opportunity of renewing our—transatlantic friendship.’

      ‘It’s delightful to see you again,’ Temple assured him. ‘But I am surprised. What are you doing in Scotland?’

      ‘I am on holiday,’ replied Steiner. ‘Trying to forget that I am a Doctor of Philosophy at the University of Philadelphia. But it is not easy, I am afraid. These Scottish people are very interesting to a philosopher. They are in many ways highly religious and, shall we say, narrow-minded. And yet they worship their national poet, Robert Burns. You have, no doubt, heard of Burns?’

      Having heard of little else since arriving in Scotland, Temple smiled and nodded.

      ‘And yet again,’ pursued the professor, ‘the Scottish race frown upon divorce. They look upon marriage as sacred, binding and eternal. Yet it is easier to many in Scotland than anywhere else in the British Isles. Perhaps you can explain these inconsistencies, Mr Temple. I should be most happy to listen and to take notes.’

      But before Temple could make any attempt to reply, the door opened quickly and Steve rushed in.

      ‘Paul, the most amazing thing—’ She stopped suddenly at the sight of Doctor Steiner.

      ‘I thought you’d be surprised,’ laughed Temple. ‘Dr Steiner has just arrived. He spotted our name in the register.’

      ‘Perhaps I am wasting my time on philosophy,’ smiled Steiner as he shook hands with Steve. ‘I should be a detective—yes?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘But surely you tell me on the ’plane that shortly you leave for the South of France?’

      ‘Paul changed his mind,’ Steve informed him. ‘He thought it would be too hot.’

      ‘I like that, I must say!’ protested Temple.

      ‘I am glad to see a man change his mind,’ declared Steiner, with a twinkle in his grey eyes. ‘Well, I do not think you will find it too hot in Scotland. B-r-r! I have never felt it so cold, not even in Philadelphia.’

      ‘How long are you staying here, Doctor?’ asked Temple.

      ‘I don’t know. It all depends—on the weather,’ he added hurriedly. Rather unexpectedly Steiner turned towards the door. ‘I must start unpacking. We shall meet later, I hope—at dinner.’

      ‘Why, yes, of course. You must sit at our table. I’ll arrange it,’ said Temple.

      ‘I shall be honoured. Then for the time being…auf wiedersehen!’ He bowed slightly and went out. As the door closed Temple turned to his wife.

      ‘Now, what’s all this excitement about?’ he demanded. ‘You came dashing in here as if all the Campbells and McLeods were after you.’

      ‘Paul,