– that’s what I wondered. I sent a man back to trail him, but the idiot bungled the job, and Skid disappeared.’
Paul Temple put down his pipe at which he had been puffing steadily for the last half-hour, and took his cigarette holder from the mantelpiece. Oddly enough Temple very rarely smoked cigars although he always had a selection in stock for his visitors, and he now passed a box over to Inspector Merritt. They were Brazilian cigars— ‘Havana tobacco, but grown in Brazil,’ Paul Temple explained to him; ‘I think they’re much better than plain Havana cigars. Hope you like them.’ Merritt took one, peeled off the thin wooden covering which protected it, cut the end off and lit it. Then he settled back into his comfortable armchair.
‘Did you check up on Miss Parchment?’ Temple asked him at last.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘She’s all right as far as I can make out. Retired schoolmistress. Lives alone in a small flat near the Tottenham Court Road. Passionately fond of reading and old English inns. Seems a hell of a life to me – but it sounds genuine enough.’
Temple walked up and down the room, occasionally flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.
‘Somehow,’ he said at last, ‘I feel sure that in some peculiar way, Miss Parchment fits into all this mystery about “The Little General”…Harvey’s murder…and the jewel robberies.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know how…but I’m sure she does.’
‘Well, your hunches aren’t often wrong, Paul,’ Merritt replied, ‘but I fail to see how an innocent old dame with a passion for—’
The telephone ringing outside cut short his sentence. Temple got up and with an apology left the room. Pryce was probably some distance away downstairs in the servants’ quarters, and there seemed little need to bring him up while the call was in all probability one he would have to answer.
After a moment or two he came back into the room with the instrument in his hands, a long extension cord trailing behind him. ‘It’s for you, Charles,’ he explained, putting the instrument down on the low table. With a word of thanks the inspector picked up the receiver.
‘Hello! Yes, speaking! Oh, hello, Sergeant. Yes…yes—’ He looked up at Temple significantly.
‘Yes…Go on…When did it happen?…Good lord! Yes, yes, of course…You’d better pick me up here. Yes, goodbye.’
Throughout the conversation, Inspector Merritt had rapidly been growing more and more restless. Now, as he replaced the receiver, he jumped out of his chair and almost rushed up to Temple who was standing with his back to the fire.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Temple quickly.
‘They’ve done it again.’
‘You mean…?’
‘It’s Leamington this time. Frobisher’s, of Regent Street. £14,000 worth of stuff.’
Temple whistled. ‘By Timothy!’ he exclaimed.
‘There’ll be hell to pay over this,’ went on the inspector irritably.
‘When did it happen?’
‘About an hour ago. Practically in broad daylight. That smash sounds a dam’ funny business to me.’
‘What smash?’
‘A lorry crashed into a dress shop which was next door to the jeweller’s,’ Merritt explained. ‘There was such a devil of a row over the smash that no one took the slightest notice of what was happening next door.’
‘Sounds like a cover,’ said Temple thoughtfully.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Both were too busy assimilating news of this latest development. Inspector Merritt’s first spasm of sharp excitement had gone and he sat down again in his armchair, and relit the cigar he had been too busy to continue smoking.
Suddenly Temple turned. His face was set in an expression of grim determination.
‘Charles. Tell them to hold that lorry driver.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, by Timothy,’ said Temple, ‘I’ll bet a fiver it’s Skid Tyler.’
‘Would you mind taking a seat, sir, and I’ll see if Miss Trent is in.’
The sentence had a slightly unpleasant ring in its familiarity. But then, reflected Paul Temple, with a smile, you can’t be too careful in a newspaper office. Reporters and the editorial staff often find it quite essential to their personal well-being to be out to certain callers. For exactly the same reason, the telephone operators had standing orders never to divulge to chance inquirers on the telephone the home address of certain members of the staff.
Temple sat down in the hard solitary chair the waiting-room possessed and waited for Steve Trent to come down. He looked at the clock. It was exactly three. Time was an important factor in his life, and he liked to keep his appointments to the minute if it was humanly possible. He had telephoned Sir Graham Forbes at the Yard and told him he hoped to be along with ‘a surprise visitor’ at about quarter-past three. That would just give him easy time to drive from The Evening Post offices along the Embankment to the police headquarters.
He had not long to wait in the little waiting-room. A page boy came downstairs closely followed by Steve Trent, ‘looking even more charming than ever,’ reflected Temple. She was wearing a business-like costume of black and white check tweed which looked smart, would stand up to office wear, and was far from being masculine. Steve was very fond of tweeds, and if possible even wore them in summer weather. ‘Only that appalling mess of a hat she’s wearing to spoil the effect,’ Paul Temple told himself. But then Paul Temple, like so many men, was just a little old-fashioned where female hats were concerned.
Her flashing smile of welcome showed the pleasure she felt at meeting Paul Temple again. She had another smile for the commissionaire as she went out, a habitual gesture which endeared her to that section of the staff—‘not stuck up like some of the others,’ the commissionaire commented.
Together they walked over to Paul Temple’s car which was waiting outside, and drove to Scotland Yard. Steve Trent had a host of questions to ask. Nevertheless, neither of them spoke during their short drive. Both seemed to give their thoughts to the coming interview.
At the Yard, they were quickly escorted to the Commissioner’s office on the first floor. Sir Graham Forbes had a warm, if somewhat embarrassed, greeting for Paul Temple.
‘I told you over the telephone that Miss Trent has a story to tell that will greatly interest you, Sir Graham,’ Temple began.
As soon as he heard that Steve was Superintendent Harvey’s sister, and that she knew a great deal about his work
