was often asked by artist friends (and strangers) as well as photographers, for permission to make some permanent record of the lovely old mansion. Only to Surrealists did he refuse.
The house was set in the middle of a large park with a drive fringed by luxurious old beech trees to the main Warwick Road below. About the exact size of his grounds, Temple felt rather dubious. He had bought a half-inch Ordnance Survey map only a few weeks before and by dint of laborious calculation and lengthy use of compasses and dividers, discovered that he possessed eighty-five acres of very pleasant land. But his confidence in his own mathematical knowledge was not exactly great. (‘When I was at Rugby, my marks for mathematics used to be 8 per cent with the most monotonous regularity,’ he used to tell his friends.) He had not yet remembered to pass the problem on to more mathematically minded friends and as in addition, all the papers concerning the estate were ‘locked away somewhere’, he had only very vague ideas about his own property.
On the Monday, two days after the conference at Scotland Yard, Dr. Milton and his niece, Diana Thornley, neighbours of the novelist, had succeeded in penetrating the cordon of newspapermen and were now sitting in the comfortable drawing-room of Bramley Lodge.
They had just enjoyed an excellent dinner prepared under the very personal supervision of Temple himself, for he quite rightly prided himself on his culinary knowledge. In fact, he used to boast that his knowledge of West End restaurants was second to none. Certainly he knew almost every chef in London well enough to spend many a half-hour in wistful contemplation of the mysterious processes to which they subjected the raw materials of the meal he was later to enjoy.
The knowledge he thus gained would go to benefit his guests. This evening Dr. Milton and Diana Thornley had certainly appreciated the meal that had been set before them.
Now they were sipping their coffee before a great fire of coal and holly, the men in deep brown leather armchairs, Miss Thornley on a stool by the inglenook. A heavy Turkish carpet softened the room, and the comfortable old furniture seemed to impart an intimate, sociable atmosphere.
The vivacious, dark-haired and dark-eyed girl of twenty- seven who looked as if she had Spanish blood in her, contrasted strangely with the two men. Yet she bore them many similarities in temperament. Impetuous, yet firm-lipped, she was a girl of hard character who looked as if she enjoyed life to the full. That she was not married was a continual source of wonder, and even anxiety, to the country people in the district.
Her uncle showed little family likeness to Diana Thornley. But then, as Dr. Milton explained, she took after her mother, not her father, who was Milton’s brother. He had a wiry figure, which looked as if it had seen hardship and could easily face more. He rarely seemed completely at his ease.
He told Temple he had had an extensive practice in Sydney and that he had done some exploration into the great deserts of Western Australia. Now he had come back to the home country to retire. He seemed very little over fifty and was probably younger, very young to retire, reflected Temple. But he seemed to have enough money to spend, and always enough to do to obviate boredom.
Temple himself was a modern embodiment of Sir Philip Sydney. Courtly in manners, a dominant character without ever giving the impression of dominating. He was equally at home in the double-breasted dinner-jacket he was now wearing, the perfect host entertaining his guests, or in coarse, loose tweeds striding along the country lanes.
Nobody was surprised to learn that he preferred rugby football to cricket, although he had played both. Now at the age of forty, he was past the violence of the game but still rarely missed an international match. He had done well in the pack for his college team at Oxford but, strangely enough, he had never got past the selection committee for the varsity side. The fact that he had never secured his blue was a constant source of regret.
He had a habit of leisurely movement and retained traces of what, in his younger days, had been a very pronounced Oxford drawl. On the other hand, you felt that here was a man whose bulk would be no great hindrance to action, and that in a fight it was as well to have him on your side.
Conversation had turned gradually to crime as it often did in that drawing-room. They were discussing the notorious Tenworthy case and Temple’s personal contacts as distinguished from his abstract interest in crime.
‘A man called Tenworthy murdered his wife by gently pushing her over Leaton Cliffs in Cornwall,’ the novelist reminded Dr. Milton. ‘That was two years ago, the beginning of my active interest in criminology.’
‘You must have taken an interest in the case from the very beginning,’ said Diana Thornley. ‘Surely you just didn’t make a lot of Charlie Chan observations?’
Her uncle looked at her with a kindly and tolerant, yet none the less broad, amusement. ‘Don’t be silly!’ he admonished her. ‘Mr. Temple is far too modest. I remember reading about the Tenworthy affair. He made several startling discoveries which the police had entirely overlooked. As a matter of fact, they arrested a young man called Roberts, who had nothing to do with the case, if I remember rightly.’
The details of the case were coming back to the two men now. It had caused a tremendous stir at the time. The newspapers had started a ‘Release Roberts!’ campaign. Indignation meetings had been held over the country and questions had been asked in the House of Commons. Young Roberts was finally set free and awarded £1,000 as compensation.
‘Yes, Len Roberts,’ said Paul Temple in a soft voice. ‘By Timothy, that boy had a near shave!’
‘Well, no wonder all the newspapers are saying, “Send for Paul Temple!”’ smiled Diana Thornley, with an excitement that sent a glow of colour into her cheeks.
Her host laughed. ‘The newspapers, like your uncle, are inclined to exaggerate my ability, Miss Thornley!’ he said. ‘I am afraid they see in me what is technically described as “good copy”!’
‘I’ve been reading a great deal about these robberies,’ said Dr. Milton. ‘They really are remarkable, you know. Four robberies in six months, and all within the same area. I’m not one for grumbling, but I do really think it’s about time the police started to show some results.
‘Now look at that business in Birmingham only this week. The police haven’t even got a single clue!’
‘Yes,’ said Diana softly. ‘The night watchman was murdered too.’
‘Murdered?’ asked her uncle, with surprise in his voice. ‘I didn’t know that!’
‘Apparently he was chloroformed and didn’t recover from it,’ explained his host. ‘I have a sort of feeling that was an accident.’
‘Yes,’ said Milton after a moment’s thought, his face set in a deep frown, ‘perhaps you’re right. We shall soon start thinking we’ve settled down in the wrong country, Diana!’ he added, laughing.
They discussed the ‘Midland Mysteries’ just as in a hundred thousand other homes in the country they were being discussed. Whilst jewellers and diamond merchants tested their safes and burglar alarms, taking the latest precautions of every kind, before nervously rubbing their hands and hoping the insurance companies wouldn’t be too argumentative when the disaster inevitably arrived.
‘Mr. Temple—’ started Diana suddenly.
‘Yes?’
‘What do you really think about these robberies? Do you think it’s the work of an organized sort of gang, or do you think…’
‘Oh,
