A Present from Paul Temple: Two Short Stories including Light-Fingers: A Paul Temple Story. Francis Durbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ Conrads was a famous public school at Downbeach in Sussex and Dr. Charles Raymond, author of several well-known text-books on Forensic Medicine, was a very old friend of Temple’s.

      After a word or two with Steve, Dr. Raymond said, ‘I’d like to speak to that famous husband of yours, Mrs. Temple!’

      ‘I’m sorry but Paul’s in the bathroom,’ said Steve. ‘Can I deliver a message?’

      Dr. Raymond hesitated. ‘I’d like to see Temple,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve a very serious problem on my hands, Steve, and I need help.’ There was no mistaking the note of urgency in his voice.

      ‘I’ll have a word with Paul the moment he comes out of the bathroom,’ said Steve. ‘He’ll ring you back, Charles.’

      Ten minutes later the famous private detective emerged from the bathroom and put a call through to St. Conrads. An hour later Paul and Steve were on their way to Downbeach.

      Dr. Raymond was a squat little man with a high forehead and a long thin nose. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and when he smiled – which was frequently – his pale-blue eyes twinkled with good humour.

      The moment Temple and Steve arrived at St. Conrads he took them upstairs to his study. The study was on the fourth floor and on a clear day it was possible to see almost as far as Beachy Head.

      ‘Now what seems to be the trouble, Charles?’ asked Temple.

      The doctor took an old briar pipe from his pocket and crossed over to the tobacco jar on the mantelpiece.

      ‘I’m terribly worried, Temple,’ he said thoughtfully, leaning against the mantelpiece and slowly stuffing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. ‘One of my pupils – a boy called Brian Walters – has mysteriously disappeared. Early yesterday morning Mrs. Bridie, the Matron, reported that Brian had made a rope out of his bedclothes and lowered himself out of the dormitory window.’

      Temple smiled. ‘Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been asked to investigate the disappearance of a schoolboy!’ He was thinking of the Curzon case.

      Dr. Raymond said: ‘I had to send for you, Temple, otherwise it meant reporting the matter to the police. I only want to do that as a last resort.’

      ‘What kind of a boy is Brian Walters?’ asked Temple. The headmaster smiled thoughtfully.

      ‘I wouldn’t exactly describe him as a typical boy,’ he replied. ‘He hates games, and spends most of his time on the cliffs chasing after butterflies. He has quite a collection. As he is not very strong I don’t compel him to play games; I think his hobby probably does him more good.’

      ‘He sounds pretty athletic to me – clambering out of windows in the small hours,’ grinned Temple.

      ‘He may have been after some special moth. He’s rather an eccentric little boy. His father is a professor at Cambridge and his mother does a lot of lecturing, so Brian has been left to his own devices quite a bit.’

      ‘Hasn’t he any friend in the school?’ asked Steve, anticipating her husband’s question by a fraction of a second.

      Dr. Raymond took his pipe from his mouth and tapped it on the palm of his hand.

      ‘Yes, strangely enough, he’s on quite friendly terms with a boy named Dickson, who is the reprobate of his form. I’ve caught Walters helping him with his prep several times, and they work together in the lab and sit next to each other as often as they get the chance.’

      Temple exchanged a glance with Steve and said:

      ‘I think we might have a chat with Master Dickson.’

      ‘Of course,’ nodded Dr. Raymond. ‘I’ll have him sent up immediately.’ He picked up the telephone on his desk and gave the necessary instructions.

      ‘You don’t think the boy has run away because he’s tired of school?’ suggested Steve.

      Dr. Raymond shook his head.

      ‘Walters has been very happy with us. Besides, it’s only a week to the end of term. Why should he run home now?’

      At that moment there came a nervous knock at the study door, and in response to the headmaster’s ‘Come in,’ the door opened slowly and the figure of a boy of about eleven edged itself somewhat cautiously into the room. He was rather an untidy little boy with his hair over his left eye, and a tie that was moving in the direction of his right ear.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Dickson,’ said the headmaster. ‘We want to have a word with you. Shut the door.’

      ‘Please, sir,’ burst forth Dickson. ‘It was an accident! There happened to be a little pool of sulphuric acid on my bench, and Mr. Tolworth was just leanin’ on the desk, and his hand happened to…’

      ‘That will do, Dickson,’ interposed Dr. Raymond in a severe tone, though Steve noted a twinkle in his eyes. ‘We want to talk to you about Walters. This is Mr. Temple…’

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