Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple and the Front Page Men

FRANCIS DURBRIDGE

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by

LONG 1939

Copyright © Francis Durbridge 1939

All rights reserved

Francis Durbridge has asserted his right under the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Cover image © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008125585

Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9780008125592

Version: 2015-06-01

Contents

Cover

Title Page FRANCIS DURBRIDGE

Copyright An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by LONG 1939 Copyright © Francis Durbridge 1939 All rights reserved Francis Durbridge has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015 Cover image © Shutterstock.com A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008125585 Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9780008125592 Version: 2015-06-01

CHAPTER I: Chief Inspector Charles Cavendish Mackenzie Reed

CHAPTER II: Mr. Andrew Brightman

CHAPTER III: Sir Norman Blakeley

CHAPTER IV: Mr. and Mrs. Paul Temple

CHAPTER V: Mr. J.P. Goldie

CHAPTER VI: Rev. Charles Hargreaves

CHAPTER VII: A Message for Paul Temple

CHAPTER VIII: The Front Page Men

CHAPTER IX: News of Steve

CHAPTER X: Story of a Rendezvous

CHAPTER XI: Paul Temple in Regent Street

CHAPTER XII: The Medusa Club

CHAPTER XIII: The Falkirk Diamond

CHAPTER XIV: At Bramley Lodge

CHAPTER XV: Mr. Tony Rivoli Visits Scotland Yard

CHAPTER XVI: Paul Temple Receives a Warning

CHAPTER XVII: The First Circle

CHAPTER XVIII: ‘Taxi, Sir!’

CHAPTER XIX: Mr. Goldie’s Mistake

CHAPTER XX: Concerning Lucky Gibson

CHAPTER XXI: In Which Hunter Receives a Surprise

CHAPTER XXII: Concerning Lina Fresnay and Herr Von Zelton

CHAPTER XXIII: Andrea Fortune Writes a Letter

CHAPTER XXIV: Murder on the Six-Ten

CHAPTER XXV: Visitors at Eastwood Mansions

CHAPTER XXVI: Concerning a Flat in Bloomsbury

CHAPTER XXVII: The Flat Above

CHAPTER XXVIII: Mr. Brightman Is Worried

CHAPTER XXIX: Wrenson’s Report

CHAPTER XXX: The Flying Squad

CHAPTER XXXI: News of Hargreaves, Gilbert Wrenson, and Mr. J. P. Goldie

CHAPTER XXXII: The Autumn Hotel

CHAPTER XXXIII: A Surprise for Gilbert Wrenson

CHAPTER XXXIV: In Which Paul Temple Eats Far Too Many Muffins

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Chief Inspector Charles Cavendish Mackenzie Reed would certainly have delighted the heart of that famous Hollywood producer who, in a moment of sheer inspiration, insisted that all Scotland Yard detectives should have genuine Scottish accents.

Though Mac tried hard to conceal his dialect, he was never entirely successful. Unlike many of his fellow countrymen, he wanted to forget that he was once P.C. Reed from a tiny Scottish border town, who had won his way further and further South by sheer pertinacity, climbing a rung in the promotion ladder with every move.

It was his relentless perseverance which had brought him into the public eye as the man who had run down The Blade Kid, perpetrator of a long series of razor-slashing crimes in the Derby area. Reed worked on his pet principle that every criminal makes a slip at some time or other, and that it was merely a matter of waiting for it. In this particular case, he took the very obvious procedure of making a methodical daily round of all the shops that stocked cut-throat razors.

His colleagues had thought it a great joke at the time, but Charles Cavendish Mackenzie Reed merely set his stubborn jaw and went on with his business.

And then suddenly, on a peaceful morning towards the end of May, The Blade Kid did buy a new set of razors and this dour, sandy-haired Scot came to town. He was not altogether happy at Scotland Yard, for there were far too many public school and university men at the Yard for his liking. Their assured manners and open vowels made him more conscious than ever of his homely Scottish accent, but he would never have dreamed of betraying this suggestion of an inferiority complex.

Nevertheless the Chief Commissioner had come to rely upon Mac, particularly in cases which called for unfailing patience and ceaseless attention to detail.

At this particular moment, however, Mac was none too pleased at the way the Chief was treating him. Sir Graham Forbes had carelessly informed him that another of these ex-public schoolboys was to join him on his latest case. Mac chose to construe this as a reflection on his capabilities, but he had not dared to say so.

Inspector Hunter stood before him now in his little private office, which was kept in scrupulous order. Hunter was a personable young man in the middle twenties, who had a wide and peculiar knowledge of the London underworld. He always gave the impression that he did not take life very seriously, and rarely wore uniform if he could avoid it.

‘The Chief says ye’re to come in with us on this Blakeley case,’ began Mac in dubious tones. He had heard that Hunter was brilliant, but erratic.

‘Why, I’ll be glad to, Mac. I’ve always wanted to study your methods,’ Hunter assured him fervently. Fortunately, Mac had very little sense of humour, and did not detect the merest twinkle that flitted over Hunter’s smooth features.

‘It’s a most peculiar case,’ continued Mac, disregarding the flattery, ‘and ye’ll have to be patient, I warn ye. I’ve got Marshall, Rigby and Nelson checking up every clue, but so far—’