he tried to answer in an easy tone.
‘Have ye come far?’
This is practically a cross-examination, reflected Temple. But he said: ‘London.’
‘London? That’s a long way,’ commented the woman, in a rather warmer tone. ‘I’ve a married sister in London. Peckham, I think it is. Would there be a place called Peckham?’
Temple nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there is a place called Peckham.’
‘It must be a wonderful thing to travel,’ sighed the woman. ‘Often wish I had the time, an’ money o’ course. What was it Shakespeare said about travellers?’
‘As far as I can gather, he said quite a number of things,’ smiled Temple.
‘H’m—will ye be wanting anything else now?’ Her voice was cold, almost as if she regretted the previous conversation.
Temple was about to reply when the doorbell clanged violently and a very excited young man entered the shop. He had obviously been running hard, for he stood against the door with almost a sigh of relief.
‘Why, Mr Lindsay!’ exclaimed the woman in some surprise.
‘Hello, Mrs Moffat,’ gasped Lindsay.
‘Gracious me, ye’ve certainly been running!’
‘I’m sorry for bursting in like this,’ he apologised. ‘No, please don’t go, sir!’ There was a note of urgency in his voice as he placed his hand on Temple’s sleeve. In another minute he had recovered his breath.
‘Apart from being out of breath, you seem rather excited about something,’ said Temple. ‘Is anything the matter?’
David Lindsay smiled. It was a very infectious smile.
‘I saw your car about a quarter of a mile back. Then I saw you stop at Mrs Moffat’s, so I raced along after you. I was afraid you might get started again before…before I could get here in time.’
‘Can I help you at all?’ queried Temple, who rather liked the look of the young man.
‘I was wondering if you happened to be going to Inverdale?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am.’
‘Then would you be good enough to do me a favour?’
‘Well, I might. What is it exactly?’
‘There’s an inn at Inverdale,’ said Lindsay, ‘called the “Royal Gate”. I don’t know whether you know it or not?’
‘As a matter of fact my wife and I intend spending the night at Inverdale, so—’
‘Oh, that’s splendid!’ Lindsay’s blue eyes lit up. ‘Well, when you get there, would you be good enough to ask for a Mr John Richmond, and then…’ His voice became rather more tense. ‘And then will you please give him this letter?’ He handed an envelope to Temple, who studied it thoughtfully.
‘Mr John Richmond,’ he repeated, as if he were trying to place the name. ‘Why yes, I’ll do that with pleasure.’
Lindsay gave him a searching look.
‘Please realise that this is most important,’ he said earnestly. ‘Under no circumstances must you give the letter to anyone else – under no circumstances.’
‘But supposing this Mr Richmond doesn’t happen to be staying at the inn?’ asked Temple.
‘He’ll be there all right,’ declared Lindsay with quiet confidence.
‘Why didn’t you stop me when you first saw the car a quarter of a mile back?’ Temple wanted to know.
‘I was afraid that you might be—someone else.’
Temple glanced up sharply. There was an honest, straight-forward look in the young man’s eyes, so he pursued the question no further.
‘Don’t worry about the letter. I’ll see that your friend gets it all right. It’s a straight road into the village, I gather?’
‘Perfectly. You can’t possibly go wrong. The “Royal Gate” is on the left-hand side, about halfway through.’
‘Thanks,’ said Temple, lifting the latch.
‘Ye’re forgetting your postcards,’ Mrs Moffat reminded him.
‘So I am,’ he smiled, picking up the envelope. ‘Good night!’
When the door had closed, David Lindsay turned to Mrs Moffat, who had been an interested spectator.
‘Mrs Moffat, I’m sorry to trouble you, but do you think I might use your ’phone?’
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Lindsay,’ she replied with great deliberation, ‘but the telephone’s out of order. It has been ever since yon storm started.’
This was obviously a blow to Lindsay.
‘I see,’ he murmured, wrinkling his forehead in some perplexity.
‘Ye can try it if ye like, of course,’ offered Mrs Moffat.
‘It won’t be any use, though. The wires must have broken somewhere.’
‘Yes, yes, all right,’ murmured Lindsay, whose thoughts were now obviously elsewhere.
‘If there’s anything I can do, Mr Lindsay—’
‘No, no, I’m afraid you can’t do anything. Thanks all the same.’ He wished her good night and departed. She went to the window and watched him until he was almost out of sight. Then she bolted the door cautiously, crossed to the telephone and picked up the old type earpiece.
‘Hello? I want Inverdale 74…Hello, is that you?’ Her voice was almost a whisper now. ‘Yes—he’s been here. Just left…No…no, I couldn’t. He gave a letter to a man who was—’ There was an interruption which obviously irritated her. ‘For God’s sake, listen to me,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘He gave the letter to a man who happened to be in the shop at the time…Yes—it was addressed to a Mr John Richmond at the “Royal Gate”.’
Suddenly Mrs Moffat replaced the receiver and permitted herself the luxury of a grim chuckle.
4
‘That young man seemed to be in rather a hurry,’ commented Steve, when Temple returned to the car.
He recounted what had happened in the little shop as they started rather cautiously on their way towards the village.
‘He saw the car about a quarter of a mile before we stopped,’ said Temple, after they had been travelling for about ten minutes.
‘Then why didn’t he stop us?’
‘Yes, that’s what I wanted to know,’
