Paul Temple Intervenes. Francis Durbridge
Ross, in puzzled tones.
‘Why has Temple come back, anyway?’ Street wanted to know. ‘D’you think the Home Secretary has cabled him?’
Any further speculations were cut short by the ringing of the telephone. After a brief conversation, consisting mainly on his part of a series of ejaculations, Forbes swung round in his chair and declared: ‘They’ve identified the girl.’
‘Good work,’ approved Street. ‘Who is she, sir?’
‘Her name,’ said the Chief Commissioner deliberately, ‘was Cartwright. Rita Cartwright.’
WHEN Steve heard Temple direct the taxi-driver to the nearest airport, she could not repress a start of surprise.
‘I had no idea we were going to fly back,’ she said, as they settled inside the taxi. ‘When did you decide that, Paul?’
‘As soon as I received that second message,’ he replied, calmly. ‘A criminal who is sufficiently on the inside to know that the Home Office had cabled me, and furthermore who has a copy of the secret code, is a man who is going to take some catching. So it seems to me that there’s no time to be lost.’
At the aerodrome, they were fortunate enough to secure the last two available seats in a plane which was due to start for New York in just under an hour. When they had partaken of a light meal in the aeroplane, Temple settled down to compose a message to the Home Office, then decided to defer sending it as his code book was not easily accessible. Eventually, he telephoned London just after they landed, and was agreeably surprised to learn that if he applied to the commanding officer of a certain military aerodrome, there would be transport facilities supplied for himself and Steve in the next Liberator to be ferried over.
They found themselves in London four days later.
Pryce welcomed them as inscrutably as ever. Temple had telephoned him from the aerodrome. They were busily unpacking one or two essentials when the man-servant remarked: ‘I forgot to mention, sir, that there’s a young lady who’s rung up several times. A most persistent young person by the name of Cartwright.’
Steve and Temple looked at each other in perplexity and shook their heads almost simultaneously.
‘I can’t think who it would be,’ said Temple.
‘Oh, she said you wouldn’t know her, sir, but apparently she knows you. And she said it was most urgent that you should get into touch with her as soon as you returned. I made a note of the telephone number on the pad.’
When Temple telephoned Euston 6347 half-an-hour later, a charming feminine voice answered him.
‘Thank goodness you’re back, Mr. Temple. How soon could I see you? It really is most urgent!’
‘Where d’you suggest as a rendezvous?’ asked Temple.
The girl hesitated for a moment.
‘Do you happen to know a public house off Holborn called The Last Man?’ she asked. ‘They have a quiet little room at the back. If you could meet me there in half-an-hour, it would be on my way to rather an important appointment I must keep at eight o’clock.’
‘I know the place quite well,’ Temple assured her, for he was pretty well acquainted with every detail of the district. ‘I’ll be there in half-an-hour from now.’
When Temple arrived, The Last Man was almost empty. Rita Cartwright was sitting alone in the little room at the back of the saloon bar. Temple was rather taken aback at her extreme youth; judging by the voice on the telephone he had expected someone a great deal older. The girl only seemed to be about twenty: though she was by no means becomingly dressed in a dark mackintosh and a worn green beret. Temple noted that she was drinking neat rum.
‘Trying to summon up some Dutch courage,’ she explained with a wry smile, after she had introduced herself. ‘I’ve a ticklish job this evening – I’ve an idea I may have taken on more than I can tackle.’ As she spoke the girl shrugged her shoulders and smiled disarmingly.
‘Well, I’d better begin at the beginning and tell you I’m a private detective of sorts, and my big job at the moment is investigating the murder of Lady Alice Mapleton. I don’t mind admitting that this is my first murder case! And it’s certainly some case, Mr. Temple,’ she added, with a smile.
‘Wasn’t that one of The Marquis murders?’ asked Temple.
The girl nodded. ‘The first. As far as I know, the police are still completely in the dark about it, and if I pull this off it’ll be a feather in my cap.’
Temple could not repress a slight smile at her youthful enthusiasm.
‘You’ll pardon my making such a trite observation,’ he said, pleasantly, ‘but you’re extremely young to be tampering with dangerous criminals.’
She took a gulp at her rum.
‘Young I may be – I’m twenty-four to be exact – but I seem to have hit upon clues that so far have evaded the police. But I haven’t kept to my story. I’d been established in my present job just under a year when Lady Alice Mapleton was murdered. I had just recovered a diamond bracelet for the Honourable May Bennerton – rather a tricky job which pleased her a lot. Well, she paid my fee, and I’d almost forgotten the case when she arrived at the office one day with a very superior Society person whom she introduced as the Duchess of Mapleton, the mother of Lady Alice Mapleton. The Honourable May introduced us and then discreetly left us together.’
‘Very gratifying,’ smiled Temple, offering her a cigarette and lighting it for her. ‘And then I presume the Duchess placed her cards on the table?’
Rita Cartwright nodded.
‘Like all members of ancient families, she was scared stiff of scandal. But she told me everything she knew: beginning with the fact that Lady Alice was a cocaine addict.’
Temple whistled, thoughtfully.
‘That would explain quite a number of things,’ he murmured.
‘It was obvious that the Duchess was devoted to Alice – she was her only child,’ continued Rita. ‘And she wasn’t at all satisfied by the results the police were getting. But she was afraid to help Scotland Yard by telling them everything she knew because of the unpleasant publicity which might be involved. Her idea then was that with all the extra help she could give me, I could possibly track down the murderer without the full story becoming public. She seemed quite positive that the murderer had some connection with the dope business, and on the face of it I was inclined to agree with her.’
‘The theory certainly has possibilities,’ Temple agreed.
‘And I’ve explored them thoroughly. The Duchess left me a valuable piece of evidence in the shape of Lady Alice’s diary. On the last page there was a pencilled note: Limehouse 7068 – ask for Sammy!’
Temple smiled. ‘So you got in touch with my old friend, Sammy Wren,’ he said. The girl laughed.
‘Right first time. I asked him if he could get me some of the dope, and he fell for it. I went along to an address in Bombay Road and collected the stuff. I’ve been there several times since, and it’s put me in touch with quite a number of the gang. However, up till now, they’ve always been subordinates, referring to the head man in awed whispers. I could never get the merest inkling about him, until this week I decided to force their hand.’
‘You appear to be a very daring young woman,’ said Temple, admiringly. ‘Exactly how did you force their hand?’ Rita stubbed out her cigarette.
‘I