Paul Temple: East of Algiers

‘That is right. Some friends of ours lent us their flat for several days.’

‘Were you visited there by a Miss Wincott?’

‘Yes,’ I said, surprised at the unexpected question. ‘Only very briefly. She came to deliver a package and was not in the flat for more than two minutes.’

To myself I was thinking that the instinctive antagonism I had felt towards Judy Wincott had been justified. She was bringing trouble.

‘Did you know Miss Wincott well? Please tell me what your relations with her were.’

‘My relations were very casual. I had only met her that day. She was rather kind to my wife in Paris yesterday morning, and she invited her to join us for an apéritif.’

‘That was last night?’

‘No. That was before lunch. It was then arranged that she would call on us at the flat about seven that evening—’

‘And she did so? Can you remember the exact time?’

‘Yes. I think I can. My wife and I got back at seven and she arrived about five minutes later.’

Mirabel made a quick note. I was becoming curious as to how Judy Wincott had aroused the interest of the police, but decided that it was better not to ask any questions just yet.

‘Did she give you any address?’ Mirabel continued.

‘She was staying at the Hotel Bedford, I believe – with her father.’

‘Her father?’

Mirabel had looked up in surprise.

‘He’s Benjamin Wincott, an antique dealer from New York. The American Embassy can tell you more about him than I can. According to Miss Wincott they were dining there last night.’

Mirabel gazed at me for a moment and a little smile touched the corner of his mouth.

‘You mentioned a package, Mr. Temple. Please tell me what this was.’

‘Oh, it was just a pair of spectacles she asked me to deliver to a friend of hers in Tunis.’

Mirabel’s eyebrows rose. I went on to give him a résumé of the tale Judy Wincott had told me.

When I had finished he said: ‘I should like to see these spectacles. Would you show them to me, please?’

‘Certainly. I have them here.’

I took the case from my breast pocket and handed it over to Mirabel. He extracted the spectacles and turned them over slowly in his long and sensitive fingers. He smoothed the sheet of Hotel Bedford notepaper on the table. I saw his brows furrow. He balanced the case in his hand as if assessing its weight.

‘I should like to take these to my headquarters and have them examined by an expert,’ he said. ‘You do not object?’

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘You will allow me to have them back? I feel under some obligation—’

‘I will give you a receipt,’ Mirabel said stiffly. ‘Unless there is any reason to the contrary these glasses will be returned to you in the morning.’

‘Thank you. May I ask—? Is Miss Wincott in some sort of trouble?’

Mirabel’s deep eyes focused on me again and his expression was whimsical.

‘I do not think you would say that she was in trouble. Her body was found by the concierge this afternoon in one of the rubbish bins behind your block of flats. She had been shot in the back. The police doctor’s estimate of the time of death coincides with your account of the time she left you.’

I didn’t say anything. I knew Mirabel was studying me as my thoughts flew back to Fouquet’s and the girl who had so exasperated me when she had sat beside me the day before. Murderers themselves usually make sense. It is the victims they choose that somehow startle and shock one. I could have imagined Judy Wincott being smacked by an exasperated suitor, being socially ostracized, even arrested for drunkenness – but not murdered.

‘You are surprised?’ Mirabel murmured.

‘What do you think? She left me at seven last night to join her father and dine at the American Embassy. Does it seem natural that her body should be found to-day in a refuse bin? Have you any ideas as to who did it, or why?’

Mirabel shook his head.

‘The assassin left no trace. It has taken us until now to find out who it was she was visiting last night and why.’

‘Surely her father notified the police when she failed to turn up last night? And I’m surprised her taxi-driver didn’t start looking for his fare!’

Again that little smile moved at the side of Mirabel’s mouth. I began to feel that I was the object of his amusement.

‘We have checked on all foreigners in Paris hotels at the moment. There is no Benjamin Wincott and he is certainly not known to the American Embassy.’

‘Have you tried the Bedford Hotel?’

‘We have checked at all the big hotels. No one of that name is registered at any recognized hotel.’

Steve and I talked for a long time after we had gone to bed. She was very distressed at the thought that within a few minutes of leaving us Judy Wincott had been attacked and killed.

‘One somehow feels that one should have been able to do something to avoid it, Paul. The motive must have been robbery, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe. Though I should have thought a thief would have been more likely to use a cosh or a razor.’

I felt Steve shiver.

‘I’m glad I have you beside me. There seems to be such a lot of crime on the Continent. First the business in the room next door and now the news of this murder.’

At last we put our light out and went to sleep.

Almost at once it seemed that Steve was gently shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, saw the pattern of light cast by the moonlight on the wall opposite our bed, and for a moment had to grope in my mind to realize where we were.

‘Paul, listen!’ Steve’s words came in an alarming stage whisper. ‘There’s something very funny happening in the next room.’

I sat up quickly in bed and listened. It was a curious slithering, bumping noise as if a man were half carrying, half dragging a heavy weight. Through the wall it seemed that I could hear his grunts and heavy breathing. Then there came an especially loud thud against the dividing wall, a series of thumps and the sound of a door closing.

‘It’s Sam Leyland’s room,’ Steve said. ‘I thought he had moved somewhere else.’

We sat there listening in the dark. The noise had stopped and there was an ominous silence on the other side of the wall.