Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple Intervenes

‘He’s an Egyptologist named Reybourn, Sir Felix Reybourn.’

When Temple came into the bright lights of the Regency lounge twenty minutes later, Roger Storey at once noticed the cut on his cheek, and insisted on fixing on it a scrap of adhesive plaster, which he extracted from his wallet. As Steve sipped her brandy and ginger ale, she reflected thankfully that her husband’s cut cheek was the only outward sign of the accident as far as they were concerned.

When the glasses were half-empty and the flow of small-talk seemed to be slackening, Temple turned to Roger Storey.

‘I should be very interested to hear why you’ve been looking for me this evening,’ he murmured.

Storey took a gulp at his brandy.

‘Well, I’m dashed if I know quite where to begin,’ he confessed.

Temple gave him a searching glance.

‘Supposing you take your time,’ he suggested, ‘and begin at the beginning.’

Storey frowned thoughtfully as if deciding how to approach his subject. Finally, he turned to Steve.

‘I think you knew Alice Mapleton, Mrs. Temple.’

Steve thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, the name comes back to me. We were at school together, but she was junior to me, and I never saw very much of her. And now I think of it, we met again at a party about two years ago. She was a willowy brunette – quite attractive.’

‘And Lady Alice Mapleton was, of course, the first girl to be murdered by The Marquis,’ put in Temple.

Storey nodded, hesitated for a moment, then said: ‘Yes, her body was found on the bank of a stream about four miles from Richmond. She had been strangled.’

Steve shuddered.

‘I understand Lady Alice was a friend of yours,’ said Temple, quietly. The young man pushed the rather becoming lock of wavy hair from his forehead.

‘We were engaged,’ he replied simply, making a patent effort to conceal his emotion by lighting a cigarette. After a moment, he inhaled a large quantity of smoke, then slowly expelled it.

‘That was just over four months ago,’ he informed them. ‘Four months. It seems like four years whenever I think about it.’ He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously.

There was silence for some seconds, then Temple asked: ‘Was your fiancée worried at all?’

Storey shrugged impatiently. ‘Haven’t you read those awful reports of the inquest? God! It was on every front page!’ He seemed to recoil at the recollection.

‘We’ve only just returned from America,’ Steve reminded him, gently. He apologised, and continued: ‘Yes, Alice was worried. There’s no doubt about that. She was terribly worried. Though I admit that she was always a moody sort of girl, and we frequently had the most awful rows. Being engaged isn’t all honey, I can tell you.’

Steve smiled at the boyish confession.

‘Yes, we had our quarrels,’ he continued, ‘but we never stopped being in love with each other for a single minute. The night before it happened, we had one of our worst stack-ups. I can’t even remember what it was about, but poor Alice had been irritable and difficult to get on with that day. I realise now why she was like that.’

‘Please go on,’ said Temple.

Roger Storey stubbed out his cigarette with long, nervous fingers.

‘It was blackmail!’ he muttered in a tense voice.

Steve looked horrified and checked an exclamation.

‘You mean The Marquis?’ suggested Temple.

‘Yes.’

Storey’s eyes assumed a distant expression, and his lips narrowed into a thin line. With jerky movements he lighted another cigarette, then continued:

‘He’s a cunning sort of devil you know, Temple. He puts the pressure on his victims until they can stand it no longer, and then …’ his mouth twitched nervously as he seemed to visualise the consequences.

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