Paul Temple Intervenes. Francis Durbridge

eight o’clock tonight.’

      Temple flicked the ash from his cigarette and looked at the clock. It was ten-past seven.

      ‘And you’ve conducted all these investigations entirely on your own?’ he asked.

      ‘Practically. In the course of making them, I’ve run across a young fellow named Roger Storey, who was engaged to Lady Alice, and seems to have some vague idea of exacting a terrible revenge for her death. He’s one of those innocuous young men with plenty of money and unlimited time on his hands. We’ve met several times and discussed many theories about the murder. He helped me to follow up some investigations about a man named Sir Felix Reybourn.’

      Temple looked up, quickly.

      ‘The Egyptologist? What about him?’

      ‘Nothing really definite, apart from the fact that he was, as far as we can trace, the last person to see The Marquis victims alive.’

      ‘That’s very remarkable,’ said Temple with a thoughtful frown. ‘Are you quite sure about it?’

      She shook her head. ‘I’m still working on that angle of the case – of course, if Sir Felix turns up to our appointment tonight, then it’ll be quite straightforward. All the same, keep it under your hat for the time being.’

      Temple pressed the bell and ordered more drinks.

      ‘I really must congratulate you on a smart piece of work,’ he said. ‘There’s one aspect of the business really puzzles me though.’

      ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

      Temple placed her drink in front of her and added soda to his whisky.

      ‘What puzzles me is the reason why you are so anxious to tell me all this?’

      The girl smiled.

      ‘The Duchess of Mapleton has several influential friends at the Home Office. Last week, she told me that you were being called in on the case. She was rather worried because she thought you’d be sure to get on to the dope business. So I suggested that I should take you into our confidence and leave the rest to your discretion. I said that according to Who’s Who, you had been educated at Winchester and Oxford, and that seemed to pacify the old dear.’

      Temple laughed.

      ‘I’m sure I couldn’t wish for a more intelligent partner,’ he declared, sincerely. ‘But I really think you should allow me to come with you tonight.’ The girl shook her head most emphatically.

      ‘No, no—that would ruin everything. I’m not aiming at a showdown in the Bombay Road. I just want to discover the identity of the leader. After that, it ought to be plain sailing.’

      ‘As a precaution, Miss Cartwright, would you mind telling me the number of the house in Bombay Road?’

      ‘Why, of course, it’s 79A. But promise you won’t interfere in any way. If I can pull this off myself, it’ll be a feather in my cap.’

      ‘It’ll be a complete head-dress,’ Temple assured her, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘But I would like to add a word of warning.’

      ‘Well?’ she smiled.

      ‘Don’t be too certain about the plain sailing. My own experiences have always lain amongst some very rough seas.’

      Rita picked up her handbag and tucked it under her arm.

      ‘I’ve been lucky so far,’ she said, lightly. ‘Maybe my luck will hold.’

      But there was a look in her pale blue eyes which seemed to doubt her words.

      Sir Graham Forbes stirred his coffee and reflected that Paul Temple and Steve had changed very little since the days when they had joined him in the relentless pursuit of the Front Page Men. If anything, Temple was perhaps a trifle more sunburnt and had possibly lost a little in weight.

      During dinner they had talked mainly of Paul Temple’s visit to the United States, and Forbes had many questions to ask concerning the F.B.I, and other officials whom he knew out there. It was not until he had half-drained his cup of coffee that Forbes suddenly demanded: ‘What did you mean exactly by that postscript?’

      Temple knocked the ash off his cigar and frowned thoughtfully. At length, he said:

      ‘Out in the States, Sir Graham, I was attached to the “C” branch of the M.O.I.’

      ‘I gathered you were up to something of that sort from what Colonel Randall told me,’ nodded Forbes.

      ‘While we were there,’ Temple continued, ‘the newspapers started spreading their front pages with a story about this fellow called The Marquis. At first, I thought the whole business was grossly exaggerated, but one evening about a week ago I received a special radio message from the Home Secretary’s office that rather changed my ideas, and I knew then …’ He hesitated.

      ‘You knew then that, to put it mildly, things were getting pretty serious.’

      Paul Temple smiled in some relief as he realised that Forbes knew rather more than he had anticipated. ‘I didn’t particularly want to leave the States, Sir Graham. It was interesting work out there – always something moving, and I was beginning to show some results. But I could hardly ignore that message.’

      Sir Graham placed his cup on the table and leaned forward.

      ‘The Home Secretary had a very good reason for sending for you, Temple,’ he declared quietly. ‘I realised a month ago that you were the only man for certain aspects of this job. We need your help, Temple, that’s the long and short of it. We need your help pretty badly.’

      Temple and Steve exchanged an understanding glance.

      Temple said: ‘I’m very relieved to hear all this from you, Sir Graham. You know I’ve never had any desire to intervene in any of your cases, and I’ve no intention of doing so now if—’

      ‘Don’t talk nonsense, darling,’ interrupted Steve, refilling Sir Graham’s cup. ‘You know perfectly well that you have every intention of intervening. And you still haven’t answered Sir Graham’s question about Rita Cartwright.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Forbes, ‘I want to hear more about that young lady.’

      Temple scratched a match and applied it to his cigar.

      ‘I’ve only a few sketchy sort of facts, Sir Graham, but I gather that Rita Cartwright is a girl who always wanted a career that was “different.” So, heaven help her, she became a sort of private inquiry agent. She’s had a certain amount of luck, including a commission to inquire into one of The Marquis murders. The next time I see her however, I intend to advise the—’

      ‘There’ll be no next time,’ put in Forbes gloomily. ‘The body of Rita Cartwright was picked out of the Thames last night. A few hours later, it was identified by a young fellow named Roger Storey.’

      Temple wrinkled his forehead. ‘That name’s familiar.’

      ‘Yes, he’s Lady Alice Mapleton’s fiancé. Rather an interfering young devil, but we let him down lightly as a rule. The poor fellow’s had a bad time. They were to have been married in a few months.’

      ‘There’s one thing I haven’t mentioned about Rita Cartwright,’ said Temple, slowly. ‘When she left me last night, she was going to keep an appointment with the leader of a dope-running organisation …’

      Sir Graham looked up quickly. ‘Eh? Where?’

      ‘At 79A Bombay Road. I’m given to understand that she has been going there for several weeks.’

      Sir Graham was plainly impressed, and going over to the telephone, dialled a number and gave some rapid instructions.

      ‘I’m afraid your men won’t find very much there,’ said Temple, as Sir Graham replaced the receiver.

      ‘Oh