Send for Paul Temple, page 21
At last they got down to the river’s edge. A small path ran alongside the water, and on this Temple set down his precious burden. Telling Steve to wait a few moments, he hurried off towards the spot where Horace Daley was lying. He knelt down beside the groaning body. Suddenly Horace opened his eyes and recognized the face of the man bending over him.
The innkeeper could do no more than groan a few words that were almost unintelligible. Paul Temple struggled to hear what he was saying, at the same time loosening his collar and tie.
“Horace, listen,” said Paul Temple gently. “Who is the Knave?” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Horace,” he added, a little more urgently, as he saw him close his eyes. “Horace!”
Just then Steve Trent came up. “How—is he?”
“He’s dead,” said Temple softly. For a few moments he knelt before Horace in silence. Then he stood up. It was time to be practical.
“We’ll have to walk into the village, Steve,” he said. “It’s about half a mile, I think.”
He indicated some steps up to the bridge which they had not noticed before. When they reached the top the road was deserted. Together they set out towards the village.
Chapter XXVII
Conspiracy
It was a very startled Pryce who beheld his master standing outside the servants’ entrance to Bramley Lodge, an hour or two later. As the door opened, Paul Temple put his finger to his lips in an urgent gesture of silence. Once inside the kitchen, a whispered consultation took place between the two.
Even the most disinterested spectator would have been amused by the spectacle of Pryce tiptoeing upstairs in front of the novelist, turning round every few yards or so to beckon him on. At last they reached the library on the first floor. Paul Temple closed the door as softly as he could, then walked silently over to a chair. Not till then did they speak.
“Well, this is a surprise, sir,” exclaimed Pryce, unable to restrain himself any longer, especially now that the elaborate need for caution seemed to have ceased.
“Pryce, listen!” Paul Temple spoke quietly, but urgently. He had no time to lose. “Has anyone been here tonight, since I left with Sir Graham for ‘The Little General’?”
“Why, yes, sir.” Pryce was accustomed to queer moods as well as queer deeds from his master, but even he could not conceal the surprise he now felt. “Inspector Merritt and—”
“Inspector Merritt?” put in Paul Temple quickly.
“Yes, sir. He’s downstairs with Inspector Dale and Sir Graham. They’re waiting for you in the drawing-room. Shall I tell them that you’ve arrived?”
Temple looked at him sharply. “No,” he said. “I don’t want them to know I’m here; that’s why I came in through the back entrance.”
“I—I see, sir.”
“Pryce!” The novelist’s tones were still urgent. “How long has Sir Graham been here?”
“About, er, two hours, sir. He rather expected to find you here, sir, when he arrived.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me if I’d seen you – or a Miss Parchment. I told him that you had not been here since, er, yourself and Sir Graham left for ‘The Little General’.”
Paul Temple nodded. “Was he alone?” he asked.
“No, sir. Inspector Merritt was with him.”
“Inspector Merritt. . . . Oh, I see. Well, when did Dale arrive?”
“Much later than the others, sir. He came from Ashdown House, I believe.”
“Then what happened, Pryce?”
“I believe Inspector Dale and Sir Graham went back to the inn, sir.”
“Leaving Inspector Merritt here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the drawing-room, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. In the drawing-room.”
“Did Inspector Merritt use the telephone, do you know, Pryce?”
“Yes, I believe he did, now you come to mention it. I was passing through the kitchen and I heard the bell. . . . You know how it tinkles, sir.”
“Then I expect Sir Graham and Dale returned from the inn?”
“Yes, sir, and almost immediately two of them departed for Ashdown House again.”
“Which two?” asked P a u l Temple anxiously. “Merritt and Dale, or—”
“That I couldn’t say, sir,” replied Pryce. “I was in the kitchen getting Mrs. Neddy a cup of tea. I heard voices in the hall, and then the front door slammed.”
“What time would that be – about 10.30?”
“Yes. A little later, if anything, sir.”
Paul Temple nodded.
“After a short while they returned from Ashdown House, sir, and all three of them – Sir Graham Forbes, Inspector Dale, and Inspector Merritt – have been in the drawing-room ever since.”
Temple got up and started walking up and down the room. Suddenly he paused in front of the desk.
“Now, Pryce, listen,” he said. “I’m going to write a short note. While I’m writing it, you slip round to the garage, get the small car out, and take it to the end of the drive. Miss Trent is there waiting. She’ll take over. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, this is important!” He spoke emphatically. “Under no circumstances must Sir Graham, Inspector Dale, or Inspector Merritt know that I’ve been here. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! Now, where’s the writing paper?” He rummaged about on his desk. “Oh, here we are!” he exclaimed as he found the pad. “Do you know, Pryce,” he said suddenly, and there was almost a jovial note in his voice, “I think this is going to be my greatest contribution to popular fiction! Yes, by Timothy, I’m sure it is.”
The faithful Pryce looked at him, wondering whether he was expected to laugh or remain serious. Then he gave up the problem, turned and closed the door noiselessly behind him. Quickly he walked downstairs. Even more quickly he walked through the hall, fervently praying that the drawing-room door would not open and somebody issue from it to ask him a series of awkward questions.
In a few seconds he had gained the safety of the kitchen. A little later, he was outside the house, armed with his duplicate key to the garage. The garage could also be reached from inside the house by means of a door in the hall, but under the circumstances Pryce was not anxious to disturb the gathering in the drawing-room.
It did not take him long to get to the garage, and he very quickly opened the doors and entered the little eight horsepower car Paul Temple kept in reserve. In a few seconds he was driving the car out of the garage, and down the drive. He stopped at the gate which closed the drive from the main road, but which had been left open all day owing to the frequent use that had been made of the drive.
Leaving the engine quietly ticking over, he got out of the car and stared into the darkness around him. There was no sign of Steve Trent.
“Miss Trent,” he called in a hoarse whisper. “Miss Trent.”
Suddenly he heard a light footstep and a girlish figure appeared beside him.
“Oh, here you are, Pryce,” she said softly.
“Mr. Temple said you would take over from here, Miss Trent, and then—”
“Yes, that’s all right, Pryce.”
Suddenly footsteps sounded behind them in the gravel, and they both turned. It was Pryce who recognized the newcomer.
“Here is Mr. Temple!” he exclaimed.
A moment or two later the novelist arrived. Temple had been hurrying and was obviously out of breath.
“Ah, you’ve got the car,” he began. “Good! Now get back to the house, Pryce,” he ordered. “And remember what I told you.”
“Yes, sir.” Pryce turned away from the car. “Good night, madam. Good night, sir.”
They saw him vanish into the darkness, and listened to his footsteps receding as he neared the house. Paul Temple took Steve by the arm.
“Merritt, Dale, and Sir Graham are at the house,” he said softly. “They’ve been waiting for me.”
“Did you see them?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. He paused. “Now listen, Steve,” he said urgently. “I’m going across the tennis court to the front of the drawing-room. They won’t be able to see me from there. I shall be gone about two minutes.”
Again Steve was puzzled. “But – what are you going to do?” she asked. Steve Trent had all the average reporter’s curiosity, and Temple’s habit of concealing his purpose inevitably increased her anxiety to know his intentions.
“I can’t explain now, Steve,” he answered. “But as soon as I get back to the car, let it rip!”
Steve nodded. Action, at any rate, she could appreciate, even if she did not understand its purpose. “Yes, all right,” she said excitedly.
As she spoke, Paul Temple vanished. She listened to his footsteps disappearing. Then she got into the car and sat in the driver’s seat in readiness.
Chapter XXVIII
The Message
“Well, I’m damned if I can understand it. We must have been here nearly two hours.”
The Commissioner was clearly not in the best of tempers. He was still in the drawing-room at Bramley Lodge, waiting for the arrival of Paul Temple. Indeed, Sir Graham was finding it difficult to contain himself.
“Did Temple say he was coming back here, sir?” asked Chief Inspector Dale.
“Yes, of course he did!” Sir Graham snapped. “After the raid on the inn, he departed with Miss Parchment and said he’d meet us here, didn’t he, Merritt?”
“That’s right, sir,” Merritt agreed.
“Well, he wasn’t at Ashdown House when I left,” said Dale thoughtfully.
“Of course he wasn’t,” added the Commissioner abruptly. “What the devil would he be doing at Ashdown House?”
“Well, wherever he is,” put in Inspector Merritt, “I think he might have telephoned, instead of keeping us in the dark like this.”
“Yes, I agree with you,” said the Commissioner.
For a few moments, there was silence. Dale walked over to the telephone as if he were going to put a call through, then stood motionless before the receiver.
“Sir Graham,” he said suddenly. “Perhaps this explains why we haven’t received a telephone message from Temple.”
The Commissioner got up and joined Dale in the hall.
“Good lord!” he exclaimed with astonishment, as he looked at the spot Dale indicated.
The telephone cable had been cut. It appeared at first glance to have been hacked through with a penknife or a small pair of scissors. Merritt came over to them and picked up the ends. He was looking very surprised.
“It can’t have been unless—” He paused.
“Unless what, Merritt?”
“I was going to say, unless it’s been done quite recently,” he said.
“I say, Sir Graham,” said Dale suddenly, “do you know anything about this butler fellow—er—Pryce?”
“No,” the Commissioner replied thoughtfully. “No, I don’t, Dale. And then there’s the Irish woman. The woman who says she’s Steve Trent’s landlady . . . She’s still in the house, remember.”
“Yes, you’re right, Sir Graham,” Dale replied. “And she delivered the gramophone record that time when Temple and Miss Trent had such—”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Inspector Merritt. “Why, Mrs. Neddy is out—” He did not complete the sentence.
There was a sudden crack in the room, followed almost immediately by the sound of glass splintering. On the carpet in front of them a small white object appeared.
“Good God!” exclaimed the Commissioner with a start. “What’s that?”
The three men looked at each other with curious expressions on their faces. Then Dale bent down to pick up the object that had been hurled through the French windows. It was a stone with a small piece of paper wrapped round it.
“Listen!” said Sir Graham suddenly.
From outside came the sound of a car starting, and then two brief pauses as the gears were changed.
“Well, that’s certainly a quick getaway,” remarked Merritt. “I say,” he went on, “what does it say on the note?”
“Yes,” echoed Dale, “what is it, Sir Graham?”
The latter had passed the note over to the Commissioner and put the stone in his pocket. Sir Graham unfolded the small piece of paper. A puzzled frown came over his face while the other two watched him closely.
“Well?” asked Dale at last.
The Commissioner said nothing. He was engrossed in the mysterious slip of paper.
“What is it?” It was Inspector Merritt’s turn to show his curiosity.
The Commissioner slowly raised his head. His voice was shaking slightly when he replied. “It says:
Temple caught. . . . First Penguin awaiting instructions. . . . Malvern Pigeons despatched. . . . Ludmilla.”
Chapter XXIX
The Meeting is Adjourned
The Commissioner passed the strange missive across to Inspector Dale. Merritt, however, was the first to break the silence that had fallen on the room.
“Temple caught!” he murmured. Slowly, unconsciously, he began to rub his hands together. Then he walked over to the French windows and inspected the jagged hole the stone had made. For a few seconds he stood looking into the garden. Then, unable to see anything, he returned to the table.
“Ludmilla”, said Chief Inspector Dale suddenly, looking more bewildered than ever. “Who the dickens is Ludmilla?”
The Commissioner looked strangely at him. “She’s a friend of this man Max Lorraine, alias the Knave of Diamonds,” he explained. “She’s the girl who lived at Ashdown House with this so-called Doctor Milton.”
“Oh, yes,” came Dale’s rather puzzled answer. He hesitated a while. “But I say,” he continued, “who’s the ‘First Penguin’?” A queer smile spread over his face as he spoke the words.
“Heaven only knows,” answered the Commissioner abruptly. “This business seems to get more complicated week after week.” He scratched his head and lit another cigarette. He had been smoking unceasingly ever since he had set foot in the drawing-room, and having exhausted his own supply, was now helping himself to a box of Virginia cigarettes that Pryce had thoughtfully set down on the table.
“What do they mean by ‘Malvern Pigeons despatched’?” inquired Merritt with a frown.
A strange light came into the Commissioner’s eyes. “There’s some pigeons at ‘The Little General’,” he remarked thoughtfully. “I wonder—”
“Good lord, yes!” exclaimed Dale.
“Yes, of course,” put in Merritt quickly. “Of course there are.” He jumped out of his chair and faced the other two. They were again sitting in the comfortable armchairs in front of the big coal fire. The weather had grown warmer during the last few days, but the evenings were still cold, and the crackle of the flames helped to make the room very inviting.
“Malvern—” said Dale thoughtfully, as if talking to himself: “Malvern pigeons despatched . . . Why!” he exclaimed suddenly. “It must have some connection with the robbery at Malvern. . . . Surely, that’s why—”
An oath broke from Inspector Merritt. The Commissioner looked up at him sharply. “What is it?” he asked.
“We are fools if you like,” answered Merritt. A strange light had spread over his face. “That’s how they’ve been getting the diamonds out of the country—”
Dale whistled. “You mean . . . by pigeons . . . carrier pigeons . . .?”
“Yes,” said Merritt quietly.
The Commissioner clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m damned!” he exclaimed.
Silence fell on them as they considered this new idea. It explained why they had never yet succeeded in discovering how the stolen jewels were smuggled out of the country. Never once had the police been able to lay hands on any of the property that had been stolen. Carrier Pigeons!
“But, Sir Graham,” observed Inspector Merritt quietly, the obvious thought striking him, “why should they give the game away, in a note like this. . . . ‘Malvern pigeons despatched.’ . . . They must have known we’d guess.”
“They’re not worried about our guessing their little secrets now, Merritt,” the Commissioner replied. “All they’re concerned about is getting the whole matter straightened out, and then vanishing. And, by God, it looks as if they’re doing it. . . . They’ve got Temple . . . and they’ve got the girl.” His voice had risen to a crescendo as he spoke and his expression showed the anxiety he felt.
“Yes,” put in Dale, “but that still doesn’t explain why this note should be thrown through the window, Sir Graham. The note was obviously intended for the Knave of Diamonds—”
Merritt hastened to his support. “Yes, that’s right,” he exclaimed.
“Then this girl—er—”
“Ludmilla,” supplied Sir Graham Forbes.
“. . . Ludmilla, must believe that the Knave is here. Here!” he repeated emphatically. “In this house.”
“But there isn’t anyone here,” said the Commissioner, almost helplessly, “except for us and—”
“And Pryce,” added Dale, as the Commissioner hesitated.
“Yes,” agreed the latter, “and Pryce.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Merritt. “But Pryce is out of the question, why—” He broke off. “Just a minute! Don’t forget that old woman’s still here, Mrs. Neddy.”
“Steve Trent’s landlady—” The Commissioner cleared his throat. “I keep forgetting her,” he added.
“The thing that really beats me is this ‘First Penguin’ reference,” said Dale. “What the devil, or who the devil, is the ‘First Penguin’?”
Merritt nodded. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
Sir Graham Forbes took his wallet out of his pocket where he had put the note for safety, and again inspected the message, hoping, perhaps, to find a solution to their problem. Dale looked over his shoulder as he read it.
