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‘I popped into Mrs Moffat’s,’ put in Temple suddenly becoming aware of the conversation once more. ‘Just as I was on the verge of leaving, in barged the young fellow I was telling you about – David Lindsay. He was obviously excited and rather worried about something. To cut a long story short, he asked me if I was coming into Inverdale, and whether I’d deliver a letter for him to a Mr John Richmond, who happened to be staying at the “Royal Gate”. Naturally, I agreed to do so. On the way here, however, two men stopped us—’
Sir Graham looked up sharply. ‘Can you describe them?’
‘There was a man who called himself Doctor Laurence van Draper, and another, rather military-looking chap, who said that he was Major Lindsay, father of the young man who gave me the letter. They told us a rather one-sided story about the young fellow being a bit mental, and more or less demanded the letter. They were quite nice about it, but obviously meant business.’
‘What happened?’ demanded Forbes eagerly.
‘Well, Paul happened to buy a packet of postcards, which Mrs Moffat fortunately popped into an envelope,’ smiled Steve.
‘You don’t mean you gave them the postcards?’ asked Forbes, jumping up.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Temple replied evenly.
‘Well, I’m damned!’ Forbes sank back and slapped his thigh in approval. Temple wandered off to the window again.
‘Now listen, Temple. This is most important. I want you to describe that young man as closely as possible.’
Temple swung round.
‘You mean Lindsay? Oh, he was about five feet ten – dark – good-looking—’
‘Rather like Frank Lawton, the film actor,’ supplied Steve.
‘My God, it’s Hammond all right!’ ejaculated Forbes, thumping his fist on the table. ‘Now, of course, I understand.’
Temple had crossed to a chair and picked up the jacket he had been wearing earlier in the day. As he dived into an inside pocket, a look of concern spread over his features.
‘Darling, what is it?’ asked Steve.
‘The letter…’ gasped Temple.
Forbes went across to him quickly. ‘Temple, you don’t mean to say—’
‘It’s gone,’ announced Temple quietly.
‘Gone!’ echoed Steve. ‘But, Paul, it couldn’t possibly—’
‘You didn’t make a mistake about those postcards, Temple?’ suggested Sir Graham.
‘No. I had the letter when I arrived here. I’m absolutely certain of that. When I was unpacking, I changed into this old sports coat and left the other on the chair.’
‘That letter’s important, Temple,’ said Sir Graham in some anxiety. ‘It’s desperately important, and we’ve got to get it back.’
Temple’s brain was working quickly.
‘Those men – van Draper and the fellow who called himself Major Lindsay – they must have contacted someone here at the “Royal Gate”…’
Forbes nodded thoughtfully.
‘Who did you see when you arrived?’ he asked.
‘A porter helped us with the luggage, then Weston and his wife brought us upstairs.’
Temple carefully examined the contents of every pocket without result.
‘Paul, there’s Doctor Steiner,’ Steve suddenly reminded him. ‘He came in here after Weston and—’
‘By Timothy, yes! And he stood over by that chair for quite a while. But how could he possibly know—’
‘Steiner?’ put in Forbes. ‘Who exactly is Doctor Steiner?’
‘He’s a Professor of Philosophy at Philadelphia University,’ said Temple. ‘We met him on the Golden Clipper, coming over here.’
‘What’s he doing in Scotland?’
‘He’s on holiday. As soon as he spotted our names in the register he came up here.’ Temple paused and puckered his brow.
‘By Timothy! I’m a prize jackass if you like!’ he ejaculated.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Steve.
‘Steve, don’t you remember? I didn’t sign a register. The book was full. Weston made me sign on a sheet of notepaper. He put the paper in a drawer, so I don’t see how Steiner could possibly have—’
‘Then he knew you were coming here,’ cried Forbes. ‘He was waiting for you – waiting for the letter!’
‘Just a minute. Not so fast, Sir Graham,’ softly interposed Temple.
‘Why should Doctor Steiner, a respectable university professor, want that letter?’ asked Steve.
‘I presume you have only his word for his identity,’ said Forbes. ‘What’s his nationality?’
‘Oh, obviously Austrian, I should say. Most probably Viennese,’ said Temple.
‘Well, it seems a remarkable coincidence that he should be staying here the very night that Noel Hammond—’
‘Who is Noel Hammond?’ demanded Temple. ‘And who’s this man Draper? And who the devil is—’
‘I can’t tell you now, Temple,’ snapped Forbes. ‘Come to my room after dinner—no, I’ll come down here. It will be safer. We must get that letter back – no matter what happens we must get that letter!’
He regarded them both with a grim smile. ‘I think you will be interested to know why I came to Scotland instead of going to the South of France.’
He turned to the door. ‘I’ll see you both here, in about an hour.’
‘Yes, all right,’ agreed Temple.
After Forbes had departed, Temple carefully folded his coat and placed it in a drawer. Neither spoke for a minute or two, then Steve suggested they should go down to dinner. Her husband was busy unlocking a suitcase, and did not appear to be listening.
‘Is anything the matter, Steve?’ he said suddenly.
‘No – nothing,’ she replied with a tiny gulp, but he could see that her eyes were slightly misty.
‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’ he challenged her, taking hold of her shoulders and looking at her closely. ‘You’re upset about this business.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Steve at length.
‘Why?’
She sighed.
‘Well, so many things have started like this, haven’t they? The Front Page Men, that awful business with the Knave of Diamonds, and—’
Temple gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Darling, if you want to leave here first thing in the morning – we leave. And nothing on earth will stop us.’
‘You’re very sweet,’ whispered Steve gently, rubbing her cheek against his rough tweed coat. Somewhere below a gong boomed insistently. Temple smiled.
‘I rather fancy that’s for our benefit,’ he said.
2
An hour later two men knocked cautiously at the door of Mrs Moffat’s shop. They seemed reluctant to be seen, but they need not have feared, for practically every person in that tiny hamlet was in bed, though it was little after nine. There was a sound of bolts being withdrawn, and Mrs Moffat eventually peered through the few inches between door and lintel. When she recognised them she opened the door swiftly, and they went inside.
‘What happened?’ she demanded quickly, setting the flickering candle on the counter and facing them.
‘We missed him,’ growled van Draper.
Mrs Moffat eyed them suspiciously.
‘It’s no good hiding things, Draper,’ said Guest. ‘She’ll have to know sooner or later.’
‘Something went wrong?’ speculated Mrs Moffat, leaning an elbow on the counter.
Guest nodded. ‘We stopped the car and dished out a cock and bull story about Lindsay being out of his mind. They seemed to swallow it all right, but…’
He took the packet of postcards from his pocket.
‘Instead of handing over the letter, he presented us with these damn things!’
Mrs Moffat recognised the envelope with a grim smile. Taking out the postcards, she carefully replaced them on the stand.
‘That was canny of ye both, I must say,’ was her only comment.
‘We can’t stand here all night,’ snorted van Draper impatiently. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
But Mrs Moffat did not offer to move.
‘Why are ye both so anxious to get that letter?’ she persisted. ‘What was in it?’
‘I’ve had my suspicions about Lindsay for a long time,’ said van Draper. ‘Tonight they were—’
‘My God!’ cried Mrs Moffat suddenly, her face grotesquely distorted by the guttering candlelight. ‘Ye don’t mean to say he’s—’
‘His name is Hammond – Noel Hammond,’ replied van Draper with savage deliberation. ‘He’s a British Agent. We ought to have checked up on him long ago, instead of accepting one person’s word.’
‘But Z.2 recommended him,’ insisted Mrs Moffat. ‘She swore he was safe.’
‘The little fool was taken in by him,’ said Guest contemptuously.
‘Z.2. That’s Iris Archer, isn’t it?’ queried van Draper thoughtfully. ‘She’s always liable to fall for that type. That’s her one weakness. We should have realised that.’
Mrs Moffat set her lips in a firm line of disapproval. ‘You have always said that Lindsay was a good man at his job,’ she reminded them.
‘Hardwick always said so,’ van Draper agreed. ‘Though just lately they don’t seem to have been hitting it off too well.’
‘Well, whatever happens, we’ve got to get Lindsay,’ declared Guest in ruthless tones.
‘That’s imperative,’ said van Draper.
‘Why is it so imperative?’ Mrs Moffat wanted to know.
‘Why?’ spluttered van Draper impatiently. ‘Good God, woman, don’t you realise that Lindsay can blow up the whole bag of tricks? He’s been working with Hardwick on the screen…he knows about us – about Z.4—’
‘About Z.4?’ put in Mrs Moffat rapidly. ‘What exactly does he know about Z.4?’
‘He knows that Z.4 is behind Hardwick,’ said van Draper slowly. ‘Also that Z.4 is at the head of the greatest espionage organisation in Europe.’
‘But does he know who Z.4 is?’ pursued Mrs Moffat.
Guest shrugged his shoulders. ‘Do any of us?’
‘That’s not the point,’ van Draper cut in. ‘Lindsay or Hammond, whichever you like to call him, knows a great deal too much. There’s Hardwick to start with…’
‘And don’t you think the British Intelligence people know about Hardwick?’ suggested Mrs Moffat.
‘Of course they do,’ retorted van Draper. ‘But fortunately for us they don’t attach any importance to him – yet.’
‘And after receiving Hammond’s letter they might?’
‘Precisely.’
‘I wonder who this man…Richmond is?’ speculated Guest.
‘I don’t know – but if he’s got that letter we’ve got to get him before he leaves.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised if Lindsay hasn’t seen Richmond himself,’ theorised Mrs Moffat.
‘No,’ interrupted van Draper. ‘Lindsay would keep clear of the village. I’m sure of that. He’d reckon on us keeping an eye on the “Royal Gate” – that’s why he didn’t ask our friend for a lift.’
‘You know, I’ve got a hunch that Lindsay might return,’ said Guest thoughtfully.
