made their way towards the stairs that Steve had indicated.
‘Can you hear voices?’ asked Paul Temple suddenly.
Steve listened intently. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, I think I can.’
They could both hear men talking, but it was all too far away to distinguish what was being said.
‘If we climb to the top of the staircase, we might hear better,’ suggested Temple.
‘Yes,’ said Steve, obviously keyed up with excitement.
She set her foot on the first step and proceeded to make her way up the staircase, followed closely by Temple.
‘Be careful, Steve!’ he admonished her.
Taking care not to make any noise, they climbed the old wooden stairs. The voices were growing more distinct now, but at all cost their presence must not be discovered.
Suddenly, a board creaked very loudly. The noise rang through the silent gloom almost like a pistol shot. Both stopped dead. Temple gently pushed Steve to the edge of the stairs.
‘Don’t walk in the middle,’ he whispered.
Keeping close to the rail on the outside, Steve slowly and cautiously picked her way up, with Paul Temple immediately behind her. At last they came to a door from which the voices were now clearly audible.
‘Paul, listen!’ said Steve, turning round. ‘Listen—’
Both stood motionless behind the door. They recognized the accents of Dr. Milton and Horace Daley, the innkeeper. Both appeared angry. Both were raising their voices.
‘What’s happened to Skid?’ demanded Horace suddenly.
There was a pause. Then they heard Dr. Milton’s answer.
‘He’s dead!’
‘Dead!’ the innkeeper shrieked. ‘I thought you said the smash was—’
‘It wasn’t the smash, Horace,’ came from the doctor in subdued tones.
There was a slight pause before Horace spoke again. ‘Then what was it?’ he said suddenly.
‘He—had—to be taken care of.’
‘Taken—care—of,’ repeated the innkeeper. There was a pause. ‘You don’t mean the Knave—’
‘Yes.’
Steve turned to look at her companion through the gloom, but she could not make out the expression on Temple’s face.
‘Why should he?’ she now heard Horace demand angrily. ‘Why should Skid be murdered?’
‘He had to go,’ the doctor answered. ‘He was on the point of talking.’
‘How do we know he was on the point of talking?’
‘That’s what I says,’ came from a third voice they could not identify.
‘It was the same with Snipey Jackson and Lefty. They did their job well and then…’
Dr. Milton cut the innkeeper short.
‘Jackson was a fool!’ they heard him exclaim. ‘And an incompetent fool into the bargain. He didn’t even wear gloves on the Leicester job.’
‘And what about Lefty?’
‘That was my fault,’ the doctor replied more calmly. ‘I was sorry about that. I only meant to give the poor devil a whiff of chloroform and he passed out on me.’
There was silence for a few moments. Then they heard Horace Daley speak again.
‘Yes, well, it sounds all right. But I’m just getting a bit windy. The Knave is just a little too smart for my liking.’
‘A little too smart, eh, Horace? How very interesting!’
It was a woman’s voice. With a start of surprise, Temple recognized it. He bent over towards Steve and whispered: ‘Diana Thornley!’
‘If the Knave wasn’t smart, we shouldn’t be here, my friend,’ the doctor continued; ‘you can take that from me.’
‘What do you mean?’ they heard Horace Daley ask, with hesitancy and nervousness in his voice.
Dr. Milton explained. ‘The Knave received information about a valuable diamond owned by a Nottingham firm called “Trenchman’s”. Diana went round there this morning and had a look at it.’
Paul Temple found a cold little hand being inserted into his. It was far too dark for either of them to see more than a dim outline of the other, but he knew by the way her hand trembled that Steve was excited.
‘We were supposed to make all the arrangements about the job tonight,’ the doctor was saying. ‘But this morning, after Diana got back, the Chief rang up and—’
He paused. ‘Well?’ demanded Horace.
‘The Trenchman diamond was a trap – a charming little noose, my friend, for us all to put our pretty little necks in!’
‘Strewth!’ exclaimed the innkeeper. ‘What about Diana?’ he asked quickly. ‘How do we know she wasn’t spotted?’
‘We don’t know. Diana’s got to lie low for a while.’
Once again they heard the mysterious third voice join in the discussion.
‘It’s a damn good job the Chief found out about Trenchman’s, or we should ’ave been in a pretty pickle.’
‘Whose idea was it to have a “plant” like that?’ demanded Horace Daley. ‘I bet a fiver it—’
Dr. Milton interrupted him again. ‘It was Mr. Paul Temple’s idea, unless I’m very much mistaken. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, Mr. Temple is going to be aptly rewarded for his originality.’
‘Then heaven help the poor devil if you get your hands on him, Doc,’ they heard the innkeeper burst out. ‘D’you remember that Greek fellow…and the small drops of acid? I’ll never forget his face. Why, he was—’
Dr. Milton began to laugh. It was a hard, cruel laugh, and Steve shuddered violently as she heard him. Temple put his arm about her protectively. The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started.
‘Now listen,’ said Milton sharply. ‘The Chief’s got another idea up his sleeve, and as far as I can make out, it’s going to be a pretty big proposition. He wants you all here, in Room 7, on Saturday, at nine sharp.’
‘Is—is he coming?’ inquired Horace.
‘Yes,’ the doctor answered. ‘Yes, he’s coming.’ He paused. ‘Dixie,’ he said, obviously addressing the owner of the unknown voice, ‘I want you to meet Snow at the house. I’ll see he gets his
