‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
‘Go on, Steve …’
‘I didn’t know what to do. I made my driver wait a bit and then when I saw him getting into a taxi I decided to follow him. He’s here at Harridge’s.’
‘Where are you actually speaking from?’
‘I’m in a ’phone booth on the ground floor, you know, next to the flower stall.’
‘Where’s the man?’
‘He’s in the snack-bar. It’s all right, he can’t come out without my seeing him, in any case he’s only just given his order.’
‘Has he seen you?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘O.K., darling. Now, don’t do anything foolish. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ Temple slammed the receiver down and stood up.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Get your hat, Sir Graham. I’ll explain in the car.’
The lift was occupied. Rather than wait for it Temple raced down the stairs, with Forbes not far behind. His Jaguar was parked almost directly opposite the flat. He was in the driving seat and had the engine started before Forbes slid in beside him. The car had pulled out from the kerb before Sir Graham had time to fasten his seat-belt.
‘You’ll cover me if I get stopped for speeding, Sir Graham?’
‘What’s this –’ Forbes was still regaining his breath. ‘What’s this all about?’
As soon as he heard that Steve had spotted the burglar at Harridge’s Forbes used the in-car telephone to contact his office at Scotland Yard. Temple concentrated on his driving. The knowledge that Steve was perfectly capable of attempting to prevent her quarry from leaving made him take chances. Forbes closed his eyes as Temple raced across the King’s Road just as the lights went red. Through Belgrave Square the tyres were shrieking. Down the narrows of Pont Street he switched on his headlamps and used his horn ruthlessly to clear a passage. As he swung right into Sloane Street the car heeled over and Forbes was only prevented from falling into his lap by the seat-belt.
Traffic was already building up to the evening rush hour and it was seven minutes before the tall Harridge’s building came in sight. There was no hope of finding a parking space anywhere near the store. Temple double-parked close to the entrance which he knew was nearest the flower stall. He left Forbes to deal with a scandalised traffic warden who was gesticulating wildly.
He spotted Steve as soon as he burst through the swing doors. She was standing beside the flower stall at the top of the steps that led down into the snack-bar. She was pale with tension.
‘Thank goodness, Paul! You’ve been quick.’
‘Is he still here?’
‘Yes. At that table over by the window. He’s just paying his bill.’
Using a floral display for cover Temple peered into the snack-bar. The man’s face was in profile. He had no doubt it was the intruder of five nights ago.
Forbes had come in hot on Temple’s heels.
‘Hello, Steve. He’s still here?’
‘Yes, Sir Graham.’
‘Vosper’s outside. He’s putting men on all the exits. We’ll soon have this place sealed up.’
‘It’s our man all right,’ Temple said, moving back out of sight.
‘Steve, is this the only exit from the snack-bar?’
‘Yes, I think – watch out, Paul! He’s coming this way!’
The man had risen from his seat clutching a Samsonite suitcase. He started towards the steps at the top of which Steve and the two men were waiting. Whether he spotted Steve or was warned by some instinct no one would ever know. He halted abruptly, then turned on his heel and ran towards the door which led to the kitchen. A waitress entering with a loaded tray was bowled over by the heavy suitcase.
‘Stay here, Steve,’ Temple commanded, as he raced down the flight of stairs and through the tables of the snack-bar.
He had to step across the fallen waitress and the scattered dishes to push open the door leading to the kitchen. The chefs in their white coats and cylindrical hats had stopped work and were gaping at the wild figure which was already at the tradesman’s entrance, struggling with one hand to open the door.
Temple gained ground on his quarry through the kitchen. Outside on the pavement he had to pause for a moment. Which way had the man with the suitcase gone? Then he saw him, twenty yards away, heading for the busy High Street. For someone burdened with a heavy suitcase he was moving fast. Temple gained on him again during the short sprint to the main thoroughfare. The entrance to an Underground station yawned invitingly beyond the stream of traffic. The man threw one backward glance over his shoulder, then made his fatal mistake. Missing the warning painted on the roadway to LOOK LEFT, he looked right and walked straight into the path of a taxi bowling fast along the bus lane against the stream of traffic.
The taxi driver slammed on his brakes but it was too late. The man was caught by the front mudguard and slammed against a lamp standard. Temple heard the sickening crunch of his head against the solid metal. The suitcase was projected fifteen feet along the gutter.
‘Sorry we’ve been so long, Steve.’
Half an hour had passed before Temple and Forbes were able to rejoin Steve in the snack-bar. They found her starting on her third cup of coffee.
‘What happened?’
‘He was killed, Steve,’ Forbes told her. ‘Went straight under a taxi. It must have been instantaneous.’
‘Oh Paul, I feel awful.’ Steve shook her head, near to tears.
‘Now Steve, listen, there’s no point in reproaching yourself about this,’ Forbes reassured her. ‘If he hadn’t run for it this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘No, I suppose not. Who was he, do you know?’
‘According to this diary which we found on him, his name’s Mark Kendell.’ Forbes had the diary open at the first page. ‘78A Nelson Towers, Chelsea. I’ll get Vosper to check that.’
‘Anything else of interest?’ Temple had sat down beside Steve and put a hand on her arm to comfort her.
‘No, there doesn’t seem to be. Just a minute.’ Forbes was flicking through the pages of the diary. ‘Apparently he had a date this evening. October 19th 8.45. The Manila. Appointment with C.B.’
‘The Manila?’ Temple echoed. ‘That name’s familiar.’
‘Yes, don’t you remember, darling? Mrs Portland mentioned it. She said that her step-daughter was engaged … Now that’s funny. She said that her step-daughter
