Send for Paul Temple Again!. Francis Durbridge

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      ‘But I don’t understand—’ interrupted Doctor Kohima in a bewildered tone. ‘In fact, I’m afraid you’re going to get rather a surprise…’

      But Temple did not seem in the least surprised. With the merest suggestion of a smile playing around his lips, he said: ‘I don’t think so, Doctor Kohima. You are simply going to tell me that you haven’t got a chauffeur!’

      As Steve was not waiting with the car outside, Temple decided to walk back to the flat. As he strode along the wide pavements of Wigmore Street he turned over the mystery of Doctor Kohima’s car in his mind. The doctor’s surprise had seemed genuine enough, which was no more than one could expect, for one could hardly suspect an established psychiatrist of repute to be connected with an incident of this character. It was probably a sheer coincidence that his car had been chosen from the hundreds or more in the garage.

      And yet there was Mrs. Trevelyan.

      No doubt about it, this woman was in some way connected with Rex. There had been those clues on the dead bodies, and she herself had almost admitted as much. She was supposed to be going to tell him more tonight. In fact, she seemed terribly anxious to tell what she knew. Could it be a case of a guilty conscience? Mrs. Trevelyan might even be Rex herself, and tonight’s appointment some sort of trap. All the same, Temple meant to keep the appointment. He had found more than once that if one walked into a trap knowingly and kept one’s wits, the trapper was often himself caught. His mind went back to the elaborate and ingenious plans laid by the Marquis at the October Hotel…but they had culminated in an episode which had revealed the identity of The Marquis. There was such a thing as baiting the trap too generously.

      Temple pondered upon these and other similar ideas as he came into Oxford Street and crossed it to turn down into Mayfair. Finding that he had left his latchkey in his other suit, Temple had to ring the bell to be admitted to the flat. He was beginning to wonder if Steve had returned when the door swung quickly open, and a bland yellow face smiled up into his.

      ‘Good afternoon. You are Mr. Temple, yes?’ said a cheerful voice which was of obvious Oriental origin.

      ‘Er – yes –’ murmured Temple, somewhat taken aback.

      ‘Welcome home, Mr. Temple,’ continued the little man, with a slight inclination of his head as he stepped aside for Temple to enter.

      ‘Thanks very much,’ was all Temple could manage by way of reply.

      As the door closed, the man said, ‘I will take your hat and coat, thank you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ murmured Temple politely, secretly wondering what all this was about.

      ‘Not at all,’ smiled the other, quite unabashed. ‘It is a pleasure to serve you, sir.’

      At that moment, to Temple’s great relief, Steve came out of the lounge.

      ‘Hello, Paul,’ she greeted him. Then turned to the little man. ‘Oh, Ricky – this is Mr. Temple.’

      Ricky smiled even more widely than before.

      ‘I recognise him,’ he announced proudly. ‘We get on pretty well together – I hope.’

      Even Steve seemed slightly at a loss.

      ‘Yes, well, that will be all now, thank you, Ricky,’ she said, and the little man bowed and went into the kitchen. In the lounge, Temple said, ‘Steve, where on earth did you pick him up?’

      ‘At the registry office. He was waiting for a job there – and I was looking for someone – and they hadn’t another soul on their books, so I thought, well, there’s no harm in giving him a trial.’

      ‘By Timothy, what next?’ exclaimed her husband. ‘Ever since Pryce left, there’s been one long succession—’

      ‘Paul, you don’t seem to have any idea just how difficult it is to get servants,’ said Steve, faintly exasperated.

      ‘Difficult!’ echoed Temple. ‘We’ve had three Czechs, a Viennese, a Hungarian, a Greek…and now, for Pete’s sake, a Chinese!’

      ‘Siamese, darling!’ she corrected him. ‘And, anyway, he’s got awfully good references. I was lucky to catch him before he registered, or he’d most certainly have been snapped up by some film star. As it was, I only got him through mentioning your name.’

      ‘My name?’

      ‘Yes, he’s quite an admirer of your books. He says he reads them to improve his English!’

      Temple caught Steve’s eye and could not repress a smile.

      ‘Okay, we’ll give him a trial,’ he grinned. ‘But chop-suey for breakfast just once and he’ll need all those references!’

      ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Steve quickly. ‘Sir Graham’s in the study.’

      ‘What does he want?’ asked Temple.

      ‘I’ve no idea, darling. He’s been talking most interestingly about the weather. Inspector Crane’s with him – you know – the sandy one with the unfortunate manner.’

      ‘Must be something in the wind,’ mused Temple, as they went along to the study.

      Forbes and Crane were talking rapidly, but they stopped as soon as the door opened. Forbes looked as if he had not slept very well of late – the lines on the rugged face were more deeply marked than ever. But he smiled as Temple and Steve entered the room.

      ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Sir Graham. Good afternoon, Inspector,’ said Temple, noting that Crane looked even more surly than usual.

      Steve brought them a drink, and after a short interchange of noncommittal pleasantries, Temple lay back in his chair and asked:

      ‘Well, what goes on now? Any more developments, Sir Graham?’

      Sir Graham took a deep breath.

      ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘there’s always something moving on this case. That’s one thing to be thankful for, anyway.’

      ‘Then what is it this time?’

      ‘Well, it looks as if we might be on to something at last.’ Forbes paused for a moment, then said, ‘Temple, do you happen to have heard of a man called Hans Muller?’

      ‘Hans Muller,’ repeated Temple thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I know the gentleman. Big, fair man. Dutch extraction. Has he turned up again?’

      ‘What do you make of him?’ demanded Crane bluntly.

      ‘Oh, well,’ shrugged Temple, ‘the man’s a crook, of course but a fairly intelligent one. Why do you ask?’

      ‘We’ve received a letter from him – or, rather, the inspector has. Show it Mr. Temple, Inspector.’

      Crane fumbled in an inside pocket and produced a thin blue envelope.

      ‘Here it is, sir,’ he replied.

      ‘Then СКАЧАТЬ