News of Paul Temple

‘You mean—here?’ queried Mrs Moffat, rather taken aback.

‘Yes, here.’

‘Why should he?’

‘Well, in the first place,’ Guest elaborated, ‘he doesn’t suspect that you happen to be one of us, and he’ll probably be anxious to try and contact Richmond by telephone.’

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the telephone rang.

‘I have it switched through upstairs,’ explained Mrs Moffat succinctly. ‘We’d all better go up.’

She picked up the candle and led the way towards the crude staircase, and they gingerly climbed up to the top landing. The telephone rang again, louder now, and Mrs Moffat opened the door of a small room which was built in the roof of the cottage. Roughly furnished with a divan, a table and two or three chairs, it was lighted by a small dormer window in the daytime.

Mrs Moffat picked up the telephone, which stood on the floor at the side of the divan.

‘Hello?…Yes…When did you arrive?…When?…I see.’ She covered the mouthpiece for a moment and whispered to the two men: ‘It’s Z.2.’

‘Yes, I’m listening,’ she spoke into the instrument again. ‘Who?’ Her face became noticeably alert, even in that dim light. ‘…Paul Temple?’ she repeated somewhat incredulously. ‘What’s he like?…Yes, describe him quickly…yes—’

‘Ask her to come down here,’ broke in van Draper urgently. ‘She might know something about Richmond.’

Mrs Moffat nodded.

‘We want to see you…yes, straight away. Get here as soon as you can.’ She replaced the receiver.

‘So that was Z.2,’ murmured Guest thoughtfully. ‘I rather thought she was out of things.’

‘We needed her on this job. Z.4 ordered her up here,’ said van Draper.

Mrs Moffat was busy lighting a rather smoky oil lamp. When she had it working to her satisfaction she turned and asked them: ‘Do ye know who the gentleman was who handed ye the postcards?’

‘Not the faintest idea,’ snapped van Draper. He thought he saw a gleam of amusement in her cold eyes. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded suspiciously.

‘Paul Temple,’ replied Mrs Moffat simply.

‘Phew! Paul Temple!’ whistled Guest. ‘My God, if Temple’s on this job we can expect fireworks.’

‘What the devil is Paul Temple doing here?’ demanded van Draper fiercely.

Mrs Moffat gave the merest lift of the shoulders, but did not reply. Instead, she busied herself with the lamp once more.

‘You don’t suppose Temple happens to be Richmond, by any chance?’ suggested Guest. ‘That would account for his switching the postcards.’

‘Lindsay would have recognised him,’ said Mrs Moffat, without turning.

‘Not necessarily,’ persisted the other. ‘After all, none of us know who Z.4 is, but we take orders from him – or her.’

‘We should hear something about Richmond from Z.2,’ decided van Draper after a moody silence. ‘If she’s staying at the “Royal Gate”, then obviously she must have seen Richmond.’

‘Sh!’ called Mrs Moffat suddenly. Her keen ears had detected the lifting of the front door latch, and this was suddenly confirmed by the ringing of the shop bell.

‘Who can it be at this time?’ asked van Draper.

‘I shan’t be long,’ said Mrs Moffat, making for the door.

‘Wait!’ ordered van Draper.

She paused. ‘Well?’

‘It might be Lindsay. If he wants to use the telephone – it’s in order now. You understand?’

She nodded. They heard her descend in leisurely fashion, and presently voices floated up from below.

‘It’s Hammond!’ whispered Guest, and his confederate nodded.

‘Somehow or other, I thought he’d turn up,’ murmured van Draper. ‘Right from the beginning I had a feeling we’d get him. Is your gun here?’

Guest nodded. ‘If only Temple hadn’t tricked us over that letter, we’d be sitting pretty now we’ve got Hammond,’ said Guest.

Van Draper motioned him to be silent as footsteps were heard on the stairs.

‘You never told me you had the ’phone connected up here,’ Lindsay was saying as the door swung open.

‘Hello, Lindsay! Surprised?’ said van Draper.

‘Why, hello, Van, I didn’t expect—’

‘Drop that gun!’ called Guest sharply. A tiny revolver fell from Lindsay’s left hand onto the wooden floor.

There was silence for some seconds.

‘What’s the idea?’ asked Lindsay at length.

‘There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding,’ smiled Guest. ‘Don’t you agree, Mr Lindsay – or should I say Hammond?’

Lindsay was obviously exerting every ounce of self-control.

‘Hammond? Who the devil is Hammond?’ he demanded.

‘Your name is Hammond, my friend,’ van Draper informed him with cruel deliberation; ‘Noel Hammond, of the British Intelligence Department.’ His tone was scathing now, but Lindsay broke into a laugh which sounded surprisingly genuine.

‘British Intelligence?’ he repeated. ‘That’s damned funny. If I’m from the British Intelligence, why the devil do you think I worked with Hardwick? I’ve sweated my guts out on that blasted screen of his.’

‘Oh yes,’ agreed van Draper. ‘You worked very hard on the screen – we’ll grant you that. But you had a reason,’ he added viciously.

‘Of course I had a reason,’ replied Lindsay. ‘Six thousand reasons, to be exact.’

‘Six thousand?’ echoed Mrs Moffat. ‘Did Z.4 promise you six thousand pounds if—’