Send for Paul Temple

‘Please go on,’ he said to her at last.

Steve Trent looked up at him gratefully, then resumed her story. The circumstances of the murder of her brother’s fellow officer could never be explained.

‘A farmer came upon his lifeless body in a ditch by the roadside,’ she went on. ‘He had suddenly noticed a car by the roadside, apparently abandoned, but with its engine still running.

‘There were two bullet wounds in the head. One in the back which had evidently felled him, and one in his forehead, which might have been fired as he lay on the ground.

‘The attempts on Gerald’s life might quite well have been accidents. But somehow I don’t think they were. The first time, a large black saloon car, driven at a high speed, swerved and nearly knocked him down. That was just outside Cape Town.

‘In the other case, a large wooden crate containing a piano was being lowered from the upper floor of a house. Gerald happened to be passing: the house was only two or three doors from where he was living at the time. Suddenly, a rope slipped and the crate crashed down immediately in front of him.’

Paul Temple muttered his interest. He waited for Steve to go on with what she had to say.

‘From the very first moment when Gerald was put in charge of this Midland case,’ she continued, ‘he had an uneasy feeling at the back of his mind that he was up against Max Lorraine. I saw him a few days before he came up to see you, and he told me then that he was almost certain that Max Lorraine, alias the Knave of Diamonds, was the real influence behind the robberies which he and Inspector Dale were investigating.’

Steve paused. Then added, softly: ‘I think he was a little worried – and rather frightened.’

For a long time Temple said nothing. He realized, only too well, the value of the story Steve Trent had poured out to him.

‘Had your brother discussed with Sir Graham, or any of his colleagues, his theory regarding this man Lorraine?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Miss Trent replied. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he knew only too well that they would never believe him.’

‘Never believe him?’ repeated Temple, puzzled.

‘The Knave is hardly the sort of person one can talk about – and sound convincing,’ she answered. ‘He’s like a character snatched from the most sensational thriller and inspired with a strange, satanic intellect.’ Steve Trent spoke in a slow monotone, as if reciting a well-learned lesson. She paused and looked up at Temple curiously.

‘You think that sounds silly, don’t you?’ she asked with a half-smile.

‘Well, er—’ Temple felt a little embarrassed to have his feelings so accurately analyzed, ‘it sounds a little unusual!’

At all cost Steve Trent wanted Paul Temple to believe in her. To have complete faith in her story.

‘Mr. Temple!’ she spoke with the deepest emotion in her voice. ‘Do you believe me? Do you believe my story about this man – Lorraine?’

Temple had been wavering. Now he made up his mind.

‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Yes, I believe you. But tell me, did your brother ever see him; did they ever meet?’

‘No!’ she replied. ‘No, not once. But he knew his methods – he knew everything about him – and he was afraid.’

Paul Temple at last put his pipe down; it had grown cold some time before. Now he plunged his hands into the pockets of his well-worn tweed jacket and finally brought out with some triumph a cherry-wood pipe. This he proceeded to fill with great deliberation. Filling a pipe was a very serious business with Paul Temple. If careful filling were going to provide him with a better smoke, then carefully filled it should be. He applied the Principle of the Conservation of Energy to himself very literally, and had no intentions of wasting energy that could be better devoted to other purposes. After a few seconds had elapsed he pressed the bell-push by the side of the mantelpiece.

Pryce’s face showed the surprise he felt when he came in. Fully convinced of some strange romance suddenly blossoming forth, his respect for the mental powers of the man he almost worshipped, decreased very violently. Although Miss Trent was very nearly thirty, Pryce numbered her with the bright young things, of whom he heartily disapproved.

As soon as Pryce had received his instructions, Temple came back to the subject.

‘That night your brother came to my house, he told me that he was firmly convinced that a well-directed criminal organization existed. But he didn’t mention anything about this man – Max Lorraine. Why not, I wonder?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Steve Trent. ‘He intended to, I’m sure of that. He wanted your help over this case. He had a very great admiration for you.’ Then she produced another surprise.

‘It was Gerald who persuaded me to start the “Send for Paul Temple” campaign in The Evening Post!’

The victim began to laugh. ‘By Timothy, you certainly started something.’ Then he again became very serious. ‘A little while ago, you said you chose the name of “Steve Trent” not only for professional reasons, but partly for another reason too. What did you mean by that?’

‘Gerald was terrified that Lorraine might find out that he had a sister,’ she replied quietly. ‘Even in Cape Town, Gerald made me live with relatives under an assumed name.’