suppose there isn’t a chance that you might change your mind about the play?’
Iris shook her head regretfully. ‘No. No, I’m afraid there isn’t, darling.’
‘Iris, do you mind if I tell you something quite frankly?’ said Temple suddenly. ‘Six months ago you wrote me a letter about the play. You said you thought it was well written, extremely amusing, and that the part of “Lady Seaton” was quite the best part offered you for many years.’
‘Oh yes, I did,’ agreed Iris flippantly. ‘I remember the letter perfectly. And I meant it, Paul. Every word of it.’ She leaned forward. ‘Really, I was quite sincere.’
‘Yes,’ smiled Temple. ‘Yes, I know you were.’
Temple felt it was high time the cards went on the table. ‘Iris, why are you leaving the cast?’ he demanded flatly. ‘It’s not because you don’t like the play any longer. I know you well enough to realise you wouldn’t change your mind. It’s not because the part doesn’t suit you. You’ve got another and more important reason, haven’t you?’
It was some little time before Iris spoke, but when she did there was a strange and somewhat urgent note in her voice.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s no use asking me what that reason is, because I can’t tell you.’
Temple rose and poured himself a drink.
‘If we postponed the production, say for two or three months,’ he suggested, ‘would that be all right?’
Iris looked a little bewildered. ‘You mean, would I be prepared to play “Lady Seaton” if you held things over, till…say, just before Christmas?’
Temple nodded.
‘But darling, you can’t do that!’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he persisted.
Iris took a cigarette from her case. ‘I should love to do it, Paul,’ she said softly. ‘It’s a fine play, and a wonderful part for me, but—’
‘But what?’
‘But I must be free between now and the tenth of November.’
Temple perched himself on the arm of a chair and looked into her eyes. ‘All right, then that’s settled,’ he said. ‘I’ll write to Seaman tonight.’
‘Paul, you’re a darling!’ cried Iris in amazement. ‘The thought of not playing “Lady Seaton” nearly broke my heart.’ She was obviously both genuinely relieved and delighted.
‘Go ahead and kiss him, Iris!’ smiled Steve. ‘It’s overrated, anyway.’
‘You don’t know what a weight you’ve taken off my mind, Paul,’ said Iris, finishing her cocktail. ‘Now, I really must fly!’
‘When are you leaving?’ asked Steve.
‘On Saturday – by ’plane at midday.’
‘And I can tell Seaman you’ll be back in town for the end of November!’ pursued Temple.
‘Not a day later than the seventeenth, I promise you,’ replied Iris, drawing on her gloves.
‘Good. Then take care of yourself, Iris,’ laughed Temple. ‘I don’t want any accidents happening to my leading lady.’
Iris was turning to go when Temple’s manservant opened the door and announced Sir Graham Forbes.
Both Temple and his wife appeared surprised, for they had not seen Sir Graham for some months. Steve was more than a little alarmed, for Sir Graham’s visits were usually associated with something a little more exciting than afternoon tea.
‘It’s all right, Steve,’ smiled her husband, ‘there’s nothing to get excited about.’
‘Sir Graham Forbes?’ queried Iris, setting her hat at a jaunty angle. ‘Isn’t he connected with Scotland Yard or something?’
‘It is Scotland Yard,’ Temple informed her, as she followed Pryce. She bade them an extravagant farewell, and Temple once more repeated his assurance that he would write to Seaman that night.
As Pryce carefully closed the door, Steve turned to her husband with a worried frown. ‘Paul, if Sir Graham is here because he needs your help, then please—’ There was a catch in her voice.
Temple squeezed her arm affectionately.
‘Sir Graham is here because he needs a cocktail. A very strong cocktail. And nothing else, Mrs Temple,’ came the urbane voice of Scotland Yard’s Chief Commissioner.
‘Why, Sir Graham!’ ejaculated Steve.
‘Come along in, Sir Graham!’ laughed Temple. ‘It’s grand seeing you again. Though I thought Pryce—’
‘Yes, Pryce wanted to announce me all right,’ smiled Sir Graham. ‘But he seemed to have his hands full with the blonde.’
‘That was Iris Archer. You’ve probably heard of her,’ Temple informed him.
‘Iris Archer?’ Sir Graham was obviously impressed.
Temple crossed over to the cocktail cabinet.
‘What would you like, Sir Graham? Sherry? Bronx?’
‘I’d rather like a Bronx,’ said Sir Graham, watching Temple rather curiously as he selected the ingredients. ‘What was the trip like, Temple? Got a bit of a shock when I heard you were coming over on the Clipper.’
‘Oh, lovely!’ enthused Steve. ‘We enjoyed every minute of it, didn’t we, darling?’
‘Every minute,’ agreed Temple, handing their visitor his drink and then pouring out a glass of sherry for Steve.
Sir Graham smacked his lips.
‘Isn’t Iris Archer going into a play of yours? I seem to remember reading something about it?’ he asked.
‘Well, she was going into a play of mine,’ replied Temple. ‘Now things seem a little uncertain.’
‘H’m. Pity.’ grunted Forbes, who understood little or nothing of the complications that arise in the theatre world.
‘What’s Scotland Yard doing at the moment?’ asked Temple.
‘Just at the moment,’ began Forbes with elaborate emphasis, ‘we are up against one of the greatest criminal organisations—’
Steve had almost risen from her chair, and Sir Graham broke into a heavy laugh.
‘He’s only pulling your leg, darling,’ Temple reassured her, but somehow Steve did not altogether appreciate the joke.
‘As a matter of fact, things are pretty dead. They have been for months,’ continued the Chief Commissioner evenly.
