began to laugh. ‘What do you think?’ He looked at the lovely dark girl before him, now imperious as she was ruthless. He chuckled again. ‘What do you think?’
The plan Paul Temple had suggested to the Commissioner of Police had won wide favour. Here, at last, was a definite move that might lead to something tangible. Up to the present the police had been working completely in the dark, for both of the criminals who could be identified with the crimes, Lefty Jackson and Skid Tyler, had met a sudden and unexpected end. Scotland Yard only knew of men who had worked for the gang; they knew nothing of any of its present members, save that its leader might be a nebulous figure known as Max Lorraine or the Knave of Diamonds.
Now Paul Temple was carrying the war into the enemy camp. He had himself formed one or two shrewd suspicions, but needed confirmation for them. The police themselves welcomed the plan in that it might at last give them something positive to work on.
On the Thursday after Skid Tyler’s sudden and mysterious end at Scotland Yard, Steve Trent had driven her little sports car up to Bramley Lodge. An old acquaintance was coming to see Paul Temple, and Steve was anxious to meet him. Temple and Steve were now sitting over their coffee in the lounge, awaiting his arrival. As usual, they had much to talk about, and as usual where journalists are concerned, most of it was concerned with the stranger happenings of the moment in which they were personally involved. In this case, however, although they tried to forget the ‘Midland Mysteries’, conversation seemed to drift back to the subject quite naturally.
At last Pryce came in to announce the arrival of Alec Rice.
As he entered, Paul Temple jumped out of his seat to welcome him. The two had not met for some years, and the warmth of their greeting showed how glad they were to see each other again. The jeweller was a man who looked at least fifteen years junior to Temple, whereas he could only have been four or five years younger at the most. He was a huge man of breezy manners who swept everything before him. He was now wearing a pair of old and very voluminous grey flannel trousers with an even more ancient Harris tweed jacket. Nevertheless, Alec Rice was not entirely an old public school boy who could talk of little but sport, and had to adopt the exaggerated accent of pseudo-culture. He was essentially a businessman who had thrown off his robes of office to get into these comfortable old clothes for an informal call. Consequently, on being introduced to Steve, he felt it more discreet to withdraw as rapidly as circumstances permitted. Not that Steve made him feel gawkish or boorish at all, but he felt he was both intruding and that his garb was not quite what it might have been. Steve was wearing a long dinner dress of black silk, while Paul Temple, who was by no means a slave to fashion but liked to do ‘the right thing’, was wearing a tuxedo.
‘I’m in rather a hurry, Paul,’ he started, ‘but I—er—’ His voice tailed away in some embarrassment. ‘I—er, happened to be passing, and—er—’
Paul Temple came to his rescue.
‘That’s all right, Alec. You can speak in front of Miss Trent.’
‘Oh, good. Well, your little publicity stunt about the “Trenchman” diamond seems to be working all right. We’ve certainly had plenty of inquiries.’
‘Oh?’ questioned Temple.
‘Most of them, of course, are quite legitimate,’ Alec Rice explained. ‘People in the trade. Firms we’ve dealt with for years. But this morning, about eleven o’clock, I think it was, a girl came into the shop. She asked to see some statuettes we had in the window; she examined one or two, and eventually bought one. Just before she was leaving, however, she asked to see your stone. She said she’d read something about it in one of the newspapers.’
He paused. Paul Temple had been listening intently, while Steve had hardly dared move in case she missed a word.
‘Go on!’ said Temple.
‘Well, there’s nothing more to tell, really. She admired the diamond we showed her and, and that was the finish of it.’
Paul Temple nodded. It was a sure sign that he was very deeply interested. ‘What did she look like?’ he asked.
‘Dark!’ said Alec Rice briefly. ‘Sort of—’ Again he seemed a trifle embarrassed. Temple suspected at least a few seconds light flirtation between the two. ‘Sort of voluptuous!’ he explained.
A very feminine ripple of laughter came from Steve. Alec Rice tried to prevent the slight blush he felt stealing over his face.
‘Good looking?’ questioned Temple.
‘Yes,’ was the answer. ‘Yes, I suppose she was.’
‘Well, something must have impressed you about her, or—’
Alec Rice attempted to redeem himself in Steve Trent’s eyes.
‘As a matter of fact, old boy, I got the impression that all this business about the statuettes was a sort of blind. I think the real reason for her visit was to have a jolly good “decko” at the diamond.’
‘Was she tall?’ asked Paul Temple.
The jeweller was a little dubious. ‘Yes, I—er—I suppose she was,’ he said hesitantly.
Paul Temple laughed. ‘You don’t seem to have been very observant!’
‘Good Lord, old boy – you can hardly—’ His voice tailed off as he struggled to recollect some detail or other about the girl’s appearance. ‘I say, just a minute!’ he suddenly started. ‘I tell you what I did notice. She had a rather snappy wristlet watch. Looked to me as if it was made of onyx or something. It was—’
Temple finished the sentence for him.
‘It was black, with a diamond clasp, and a small platinum safety chain,’ he said quietly.
Alec Rice opened his mouth with surprise.
‘Yes, yes!’ he exclaimed as Paul Temple finished. ‘I say,’ he continued excitedly, ‘I say, do you know the girl?’
‘I think perhaps I do, Alec!’ replied the novelist softly. ‘I think perhaps I do.’
Temple rose and took from the mantelpiece a new pipe he had bought a few days before. It was a habitual gesture when he was thinking over some problem. For a few minutes there was silence in the room. At last the jeweller got up.
‘Oh, well,’ he said, ‘I must be toddling!’
Paul Temple was taken by surprise. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘won’t you stop and have a drink or something?’
‘Sorry, old boy – in a frightful hurry!’ Alec Rice was always in a hurry about something or other, with a seemingly endless stream of appointments.
When Temple came back to the drawing-room, after showing his friend out, he found a very puzzled Steve waiting for him.
‘Did
