Paul Temple and the Front Page Men. Francis Durbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ his shoulder. ‘Don’t alarm yourself, Sir Norman. They must have seen the papers before you had the message this morning. Now, tomorrow morning, take a taxi and go straight to your bank. Arrange for the nine thousand pounds exactly as the girl instructed you. Tomorrow afternoon, take the money yourself and deposit it in the telephone-box at the corner of Eastwood Avenue. As soon as you’ve deposited the money, leave the telephone-booth and return home. Is that clear?’

      ‘Then you want me to give in to these swine?’ stammered Sir Norman.

      ‘I want you to do as I tell you and leave the rest to us,’ answered the Chief Commissioner. ‘Now I’d like to see Mr. Brightman alone, if you don’t mind waiting.’

      ‘Yes, yes, I’ll wait,’ agreed Sir Norman, collecting his hat and umbrella.

      Sir Graham ushered out his guest, and returned to telephone for a map of the Mayfair district. He had just replaced the receiver when Mr. Andrew Brightman was shown in.

      The Chief Commissioner surveyed him shrewdly. ‘Please sit down, Mr. Brightman,’ he murmured politely, and his visitor complied. He was a fairly stout individual in the middle fifties. A man who was obviously the life and soul of the party. He reeked with self-assurance, and was never at a loss for a reply of some sort, whatever the situation might be.

      His hail-fellow, well-met attitude was calculated to disarm most people, and doubtless accounted, in no small measure, for his prosperous appearance. He did not seem in the least overawed by his surroundings, and faced Sir Graham with a pleasant smile, as if they were about to discuss a business proposition.

      ‘I have just been having a chat with Sir Norman Blakeley,’ began the Commissioner. ‘He tells me that your daughter disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances, and that you paid a certain sum of money for her return.’

      ‘That is so,’ asserted Brightman. For a second or two, Sir Graham appeared to be puzzled.

      ‘When did this happen?’

      ‘March of this year. The eighth to be precise, a date I shan’t easily forget,’ Brightman assured him.

      ‘Why didn’t you consult us about this matter, Mr. Brightman?’ suddenly demanded the Commissioner, with a hint of anger in his tone. But his visitor was not in the least perturbed.

      ‘To perfectly honest, Sir Graham, because I didn’t wish to take any risk.’

      Forbes’ anger was obviously rising. ‘It seems to me that you took a very grave risk.’

      That,’ murmured Andrew Brightman politely, ‘like so many things, Sir Graham, is a matter of opinion.’

      Once again the Chief Commissioner was at a loss, finally he asked, ‘Is your daughter in town at the moment?’

      ‘She’s at school in France. A small place near St. Raphael. She’s been there six months. I thought was advisable to send her away after that business.’

      Sir Graham gave a nod of understanding. ‘Now, Mr. Brightman, when you handed over this money, did you retain the numbers of the notes?’

      Brightman shook his head. ‘I was told to deliver it in twenties – I remember that rather surprised me. However, I cashed a cheque at Floyds, in Manchester Street, my private bankers. I daresay they could tell you the numbers. I understand it’s usual to keep a record.’

      Sir Graham waved aside the suggestion. ‘How did you receive your instructions about delivering the money?’ he asked.

      ‘By telephone. It was the Monday after Margaret had disappeared. I didn’t feel like going to the office in case something should turn up, and I was wandering round the library when the phone rang.’

      Sir Graham seemed incredulous. ‘Do you mean to tell me you waited two days without making any move?’

      Mr. Andrew Brightman was still very sure of himself, however. ‘I had a reason for waiting,’ he answered quietly.

      ‘Then I should very much like to hear that reason.’

      ‘When Margaret vanished,’ continued Brightman, ‘naturally my first thought was to get in touch with the police. I was actually on the point of doing so when my butler brought me a small card. There was nothing unusual about it, except that it had no address and had obviously been delivered by hand. Morgan, my butler, thinks it must have been left in the letterbox while we were all rushing over the house looking for Margaret. This must be true, because he had already cleared the first delivery of letters out of the box and put them on my desk.’

      ‘H’m, very interesting. Now tell me, who was the first person to discover your daughter was missing?’

      ‘The maid. She used to take Margaret a glass of milk at about eight o’clock every morning. On this particular day she was surprised to find Margaret was not in her room, and that apparently the bed had not been slept in. Naturally, the poor girl was quite bewildered, so she called Morgan.’

      ‘And you were about to phone the police when Morgan brought you this card?’

      Brightman nodded. ‘Yes. We’d searched the house from cellar to attic, and I was getting more and more alarmed. By the way, I thought perhaps you’d be interested to see the card.’

      He handed over a slip of pasteboard, which Sir Graham examined carefully through a small but powerful magnifying glass. It bore the simple message:

      Don’t call the police. Wait 48 hours. The child is safe.

      The Front Page Men.

      ‘Thank you,’ said Sir Graham at length. ‘I should like to keep this for the time being, if I may.’

      ‘Of course, sir,’ agreed Brightman, who now appeared to be more at ease than ever, and spoke in the slightly pompous manner of the chairman of a company who is about to disclose the payment of an extraordinary dividend. ‘You can imagine,’ he went on, ‘what a state I was in when I received that note. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly I made up my mind to wait.’ Brightman paused. ‘I needn’t tell you what that week-end was like, Sir Graham. Every minute seemed an eternity. I wouldn’t go through it again – not for a million!’

      Suddenly the recollection of this experience seemed to upset his urbanity for the first time. He swallowed hard, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and ran a finger round the edge of his collar before continuing. ‘Both Morgan and the maid wanted me to send for the police. In fact, Morgan threatened to go over my head and get in touch with Scotland Yard himself. The poor devil is devoted to Margaret, and he was completely unnerved. Then, at about half past nine, another note was delivered.’

      He handed over the second card, which read:

      Be near the telephone tomorrow morning. The child is safe.

      The Front Page Men.

      Forbes examined it carefully, but it appeared to offer no clue.

      ‘How long have Morgan and the maid been in your employment?’

      ‘Oh, quite a while – long before my wife and I parted. Morgan was with my father for some years. They both worship Margaret, if that’s what you’re thinking, Sir СКАЧАТЬ