Yard what Gerald thought about the Knave being responsible for—’
‘Yes, I do, Steve. Believe me, I’ll do all I possibly can to help you, my dear. I promised you that, but until Scotland Yard finally decide to—’
The telephone bell ringing outside interrupted him in midsentence.
Presently, the ringing stopped and they heard Pryce’s voice. ‘Yes, sir, this is Bramley Lodge! Yes, sir…I’ll see if he’s in!’ After a little while Pryce came into the drawing-room.
‘Chief Inspector Dale on the telephone, sir,’ he said.
‘Dale!’ said Paul Temple with some measure of surprise. He left the room and picked up the receiver off the small table in the hall.
‘Hello? Yes, Paul Temple speaking. Hello, Dale, how are you? I’m pretty fit, thanks. Pardon? Yes.… Yes…When does he want to see me? Mm…All right. Tell Sir Graham I’ll be there. Thanks for ringing. Goodbye!’ He replaced the receiver and came back into the drawing-room looking rather amused. ‘That was Dale of Scotland Yard!’ he informed Steve. ‘He was speaking for the Commissioner.’
‘Speaking for the Commissioner,’ repeated Steve with obvious surprise in her voice.
Temple nodded.
‘They want to see me!’ he said quietly.
‘To see you. That can only mean…’
‘It can only mean one of two things,’ said Paul Temple slowly, ‘they either want to know the reason why your brother visited me the night he was murdered, or they’ve decided—’
Steve completed the sentence for him.
‘To send for Paul Temple!’
Temple looked at her with a smile. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘To send for Paul Temple.’
Royal Leamington Spa, or just simply Leamington, if you find its full title a little too pretentious, is a comparatively innocuous watering-place a couple of miles from Warwick and a hundred miles or so from London. It is very proud of its traditions. So, for that matter, are Blackpool and Brighton, but they are traditions of a somewhat different order. Leamington has never really quite grown up. It still thinks of the day when Queen Victoria paid it a visit and it suddenly became ‘Royal’.
When the worthy inhabitants of Leamington opened their newspapers on the morning after Paul Temple had had lunch with Steve Trent they were justifiably startled. Royal Leamington Spa quite definitely did not extend a warm welcome to smash-and-grab raiders!
On the particular Saturday evening to which the reports referred, dusk was already beginning to fall. A beneficent Providence, aided perhaps by the borough council and kindred bodies, had decreed that Leamington’s shops must be closed on Thursday afternoons. Consequently, the greater part of Leamington’s more permanent residents were now completing their weekend shopping, while a few early holiday makers helped to crowd the streets. Here and there, a far too modern cinema blazoned its attractive lights and strove to attract the younger element of the population to some soul-stirring drama emanating from Hollywood.
By the clock on the tower of the town hall, the time was exactly twenty-five minutes to eight.
At that moment a large maroon-coloured saloon car of American make drew up by the kerbside. At the wheel sat a lovely girl who looked in the early twenties. It was her dark complexion, together with her almost black hair against which scarlet lips seemed to form a danger signal, that attracted the attention of Police Constable Roberts. Oddly enough he was also attracted by a rather unusual wristlet watch the girl was wearing.
Police Constable Roberts had done nothing all the afternoon except keep a paternal eye on the crowds of shoppers. Now and again, he had been forced to instruct some unwilling driver that he must not park his car by the pavement.
Proper parking places had been provided and they had to be used. The normal traffic of the town would never get a chance of passing through Regent Street if every motorist suddenly decided to park his car when, and where, he thought fit.
This beautiful young motorist, however, was rather a different problem. For one thing, reflected the policeman, she was quite obviously a stranger to the Spa and did not seem to appreciate the difficulties where parking was concerned. Her flashing smile, however, was having a far greater effect on him than he cared to admit. Nevertheless, he had his duty to perform.
‘I’m sorry, miss,’ Police Constable Roberts cleared his throat, ‘but you can’t park ’ere.’
‘Oh, really, officer,’ smiled the girl, ‘I’m most awfully sorry – I promised to meet a friend here and—’
‘Sorry, miss!’ replied the still obdurate policeman, ‘you’ll have to take it round to the Square.’
The motorist began to make the most of her feminine charms (‘vamped me proper’ the constable told his friends afterwards when discussing the episode). Gradually, very gradually, she could see the policeman beginning to relent.
‘But couldn’t I stay here for just a little while? I know it’s most irregular, but—’
Police Constable Roberts succumbed at last. ‘Well, er—’ He smiled back at her. ‘It won’t have to be for long, miss!’
‘No, of course not. It’s really most awfully kind of you!’ she returned, with the most melting gratitude in her voice.
She had vanquished him completely. The police constable even felt it incumbent on him to apologize for his abruptness.
‘Oh, that’s all right, miss. Sorry to be such a nuisance, but you know what it is – we fellows have to keep on the job.’
‘Why, yes, of course!’ she agreed, with yet another of her flashing smiles. It encouraged Police Constable Roberts to linger awhile. He really did seem to be getting along rather well with this charming young person, he told himself.
‘I was only saying to the sergeant last Monday,’ he commented by way of making conversation, ‘the whole parking problem could be settled as easy as pie if only the local authorities would have the common-sense to…to—’
He broke off in mid-sentence. No longer were his eyes fixed inside the car. He took his foot from off the running board, his arm from the convenient resting-place of the open window. He was staring behind the car, up towards the crest of the hill.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the girl suddenly.
‘Look at that lorry coming down the hill!’ replied the constable with obvious alarm in his voice. ‘He’s going all over the place. Why…something must be…must be…Good God, he’s going for the pavement—’ Police Constable Roberts staggered back from the car with bewildered astonishment.
The lorry – a great lumbering old vehicle – had crested
