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‘Thank you,’ said Temple, and drew the telephone towards him. The doctor poured himself a glass of water from the carafe on his desk and began to sip it slowly.
‘Sloan’s Garage?’ said Temple into the mouthpiece. ‘I am speaking for Doctor Kohima. Would it be convenient for him to pick up his car this evening?…yes, the Milford…oh…it was ready yesterday? I see. Could you tell me, by any chance, if the car was taken out last night?’ There was a pause while Temple listened to a lengthy explanation.
‘Have you any idea what time that was?’ he said presently. ‘Half past seven? Who brought it back? Oh, the chauffeur – at about a quarter to ten. Right—thank you very much.’
He slowly replaced the receiver and turned to the doctor.
‘Do I understand that the car was ready yesterday?’ asked Doctor Kohima.
‘That’s so. It was also taken out of the garage last night by your chauffeur. He had it between half past seven and a quarter to ten. And of course it was during that period that our little accident happened. So you see it was obviously—’
‘But I don’t understand—’ interrupted Doctor Kohima in a bewildered tone. ‘In fact, I’m afraid you’re going to get rather a surprise…’
But Temple did not seem in the least surprised. With the merest suggestion of a smile playing around his lips, he said: ‘I don’t think so, Doctor Kohima. You are simply going to tell me that you haven’t got a chauffeur!’
As Steve was not waiting with the car outside, Temple decided to walk back to the flat. As he strode along the wide pavements of Wigmore Street he turned over the mystery of Doctor Kohima’s car in his mind. The doctor’s surprise had seemed genuine enough, which was no more than one could expect, for one could hardly suspect an established psychiatrist of repute to be connected with an incident of this character. It was probably a sheer coincidence that his car had been chosen from the hundreds or more in the garage.
And yet there was Mrs. Trevelyan.
No doubt about it, this woman was in some way connected with Rex. There had been those clues on the dead bodies, and she herself had almost admitted as much. She was supposed to be going to tell him more tonight. In fact, she seemed terribly anxious to tell what she knew. Could it be a case of a guilty conscience? Mrs. Trevelyan might even be Rex herself, and tonight’s appointment some sort of trap. All the same, Temple meant to keep the appointment. He had found more than once that if one walked into a trap knowingly and kept one’s wits, the trapper was often himself caught. His mind went back to the elaborate and ingenious plans laid by the Marquis at the October Hotel…but they had culminated in an episode which had revealed the identity of The Marquis. There was such a thing as baiting the trap too generously.
Temple pondered upon these and other similar ideas as he came into Oxford Street and crossed it to turn down into Mayfair. Finding that he had left his latchkey in his other suit, Temple had to ring the bell to be admitted to the flat. He was beginning to wonder if Steve had returned when the door swung quickly open, and a bland yellow face smiled up into his.
‘Good afternoon. You are Mr. Temple, yes?’ said a cheerful voice which was of obvious Oriental origin.
‘Er – yes –’ murmured Temple, somewhat taken aback.
‘Welcome home, Mr. Temple,’ continued the little man, with a slight inclination of his head as he stepped aside for Temple to enter.
‘Thanks very much,’ was all Temple could manage by way of reply.
As the door closed, the man said, ‘I will take your hat and coat, thank you.’
‘Thank you,’ murmured Temple politely, secretly wondering what all this was about.
‘Not at all,’ smiled the other, quite unabashed. ‘It is a pleasure to serve you, sir.’
At that moment, to Temple’s great relief, Steve came out of the lounge.
‘Hello, Paul,’ she greeted him. Then turned to the little man. ‘Oh, Ricky – this is Mr. Temple.’
Ricky smiled even more widely than before.
‘I recognise him,’ he announced proudly. ‘We get on pretty well together – I hope.’
Even Steve seemed slightly at a loss.
‘Yes, well, that will be all now, thank you, Ricky,’ she said, and the little man bowed and went into the kitchen. In the lounge, Temple said, ‘Steve, where on earth did you pick him up?’
‘At the registry office. He was waiting for a job there – and I was looking for someone – and they hadn’t another soul on their books, so I thought, well, there’s no harm in giving him a trial.’
‘By Timothy, what next?’ exclaimed her husband. ‘Ever since Pryce left, there’s been one long succession—’
‘Paul, you don’t seem to have any idea just how difficult it is to get servants,’ said Steve, faintly exasperated.
‘Difficult!’ echoed Temple. ‘We’ve had three Czechs, a Viennese, a Hungarian, a Greek…and now, for Pete’s sake, a Chinese!’
‘Siamese, darling!’ she corrected him. ‘And, anyway, he’s got awfully good references. I was lucky to catch him before he registered, or he’d most certainly have been snapped up by some film star. As it was, I only got him through mentioning your name.’
‘My name?’
‘Yes, he’s quite an admirer of your books. He says he reads them to improve his English!’
Temple caught Steve’s eye and could not repress a smile.
‘Okay, we’ll give him a trial,’ he grinned. ‘But chop-suey for breakfast just once and he’ll need all those references!’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Steve quickly. ‘Sir Graham’s in the study.’
‘What does he want?’ asked Temple.
‘I’ve no idea, darling. He’s been talking most interestingly about the weather. Inspector Crane’s with him – you know – the sandy one with the unfortunate manner.’
‘Must be something in the wind,’ mused Temple, as they went along to the study.
Forbes and Crane were talking rapidly, but they stopped as soon as the door opened. Forbes looked as if he had not slept very well of late – the lines on the rugged face were more deeply marked than ever. But he smiled as Temple and Steve entered the room.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Sir Graham. Good afternoon, Inspector,’ said Temple, noting that Crane looked even more surly than usual.
Steve brought them a drink, and after a short interchange of noncommittal pleasantries, Temple lay back in his chair and asked:
‘Well, what goes on now? Any more developments, Sir Graham?’
Sir Graham took a deep breath.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘there’s always something moving on this case. That’s one thing to be thankful for, anyway.’
‘Then what is it this time?’
‘Well, it looks as if we might be on to something at last.’ Forbes paused for a moment, then said, ‘Temple, do you happen to have heard of a man called Hans Muller?’
‘Hans Muller,’ repeated Temple thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I know the gentleman. Big, fair man. Dutch extraction. Has he turned up again?’
‘What do you make of him?’ demanded Crane bluntly.
‘Oh, well,’ shrugged Temple, ‘the man’s a crook, of course but a fairly intelligent one. Why do you ask?’
‘We’ve received a letter from him – or, rather, the inspector has. Show it Mr. Temple, Inspector.’
Crane fumbled in an inside pocket and produced a thin blue envelope.
‘Here it is, sir,’ he replied.
‘Then are you a pen-friend of Muller’s?’ queried Temple in some surprise.
Crane shook his head.
‘I can’t think why he picked on me, sir. I’ve never actually been in contact with Muller, and I must say this rather surprised me.’
‘Do you mean the contents surprised you, or the fact that you received it?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, both, sir.’
Temple extracted a single sheet of notepaper and read:
Inspector Crane,
I am given to understand that you are personally in charge of the Rex case. I would respectfully suggest, therefore, that you meet me tonight, shortly before midnight, at Granger’s Wharf, Rotherhithe. I can enlighten you on the identity of Rex.
Sincerely yours,
Hans Muller.
Temple read it through again, then returned the note to its envelope, which he passed back to the inspector.
‘It seems genuine enough – though I get the impression that Muller seems to know you rather well,’ he commented.
Crane shook his head.
‘I’ve never set eyes on the fellow,’ he insisted. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’d never even heard of him till this morning.’
‘Then why should he write you a friendly sort of letter like that? It isn’t as if there were any reward offered for information about Rex,’ put in Steve.
‘I’ve never seen the man in my life,’ Crane reasserted stubbornly.
‘We don’t even know much about Muller at the Yard,’ said Forbes. ‘That’s why I wanted to have a word with you, Temple. We know that Muller is a Dutchman and that he came over here in 1934, but that’s about all.’
‘Very well,’ smiled Temple, ‘now let’s see what I can do.’ He went over to his desk, unlocked the bottom right-hand drawer and produced a thick, indexed ledger, with an attractive leather cover.
‘What’s that, Temple?’ asked Forbes, with interest.
‘Oh, just a sort of personal “Who’s Who” I’ve been keeping for years. I meet a lot of interesting people, and it seemed a good idea to keep a record of them. Useful when I’m stuck for a new character in one of my books.’
His long fingers flicked over the pages.
‘Ah, here we are…Muller, Hans. Born in Amsterdam, probably about 1898…suspected of receiving stolen diamonds…nothing proved…first-class linguist…Dutch, Flemish, Danish, French and English…’
He stopped, then said quietly, ‘I say, this is interesting. Apparently, Muller is very well off. In 1939 he inherited quite legitimately nearly a quarter of a million…’
Forbes whistled expressively.
‘Have you ever met the man?’ asked Crane.
‘Why, yes.’ Temple referred to the book again. ‘Paris in February 1938 and the Hague, January 1939 – that was before he came into the money. At that time, we suspected he might have had a hand in disposing of the Falkirk Diamond when it was smuggled out of this country.’
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ said Forbes, who had indeed been closely concerned with the case.
‘Well, if you know this man, Mr. Temple,’ interposed Crane, ‘it seems to me it might be a very good idea if you came along with us tonight.’
‘Yes, by all means,’ agreed Forbes. ‘We’ll pick you up at eleven, if that’s all right with you.’
‘No,’ replied Temple quickly. ‘I’m afraid I have an appointment at ten-thirty.’
‘An appointment, darling?’ queried Steve.
‘Yes,’ said Temple casually, ‘I’ll tell you about that later.’ He turned to the Assistant Commissioner. ‘Where are you starting from?’
‘We’re taking a police-launch from Westminster.’
‘That’ll suit me,’ nodded Temple. ‘I’ll see you there – at the Pier – about eleven-fifteen?’
‘No later.’
Temple nodded.
‘Right,’ agreed Forbes, slowly rising and putting down his empty glass. ‘See you at eleven-fifteen. Better wear a couple of overcoats – it’ll probably be damned cold on the river. Come on, Crane.’
They had not reached the door before it had already opened, and there was Ricky with their hats and coats.
‘Sir Graham and Inspector Crane are leaving, Ricky,’ Steve announced rather superfluously.
‘Okay, missie,’ smiled the little Siamese. ‘This way, please, Sir Graham…’
When they had gone and Ricky had carefully closed the door, Temple turned to Steve.
‘I say,’ he murmured, ‘he’ll have to stop this “okay, missie” business.’
Steve laughed.
‘Poor Ricky! You must admit, darling, he makes the place seem more colourful, somehow.’
‘If his cooking’s up to the same standard,’ grinned Temple, ‘we’re on velvet.’
‘What’s this appointment of yours tonight at ten-thirty?’ asked Steve, becoming serious at once.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I told you it was with an extremely attractive, sophisticated woman in the early thirties,’ smiled Temple.
‘I might.’
