Send for Paul Temple Again!
Actress Norma Rice is found dead on a train, and the letters REX are scrawled in red chalk on her compartment window. It is the third death to occur in a mysterious string of murders and Scotland Yard are compelled to send once again for Paul Temple.Temple, now acting as an investigator as well as a mystery novelist, is joined by his wife Steve as they are embroiled in this latest mystery. As they convene to discuss the case with the Yard's Sir Graham Forbes at a nightclub, they witness one of the performers die in the middle of her act before they have a chance to speak to her. Can Steve and Paul unmask 'Rex' before they strike again?
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FRANCIS DURBRIDGE
Send for Paul Temple Again!
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by
LONG 1948
Copyright © Francis Durbridge 1948
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 © HarperCollinsPublishers 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 authorâs 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: 978-0-00-812564-6
Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 978-0-00-812565-3
Version: 2015-06-04
Contents
CHAPTER I: Death at the Brains Trust
CHAPTER II: Paul Temple Takes Over
CHAPTER III: Steve Finds a Treasure
CHAPTER V: Concerning Doctor Kohima
CHAPTER VII: Cyanide Is no Tonic!
CHAPTER VIII: Carl Lathom Is Perturbed
CHAPTER X: Ordeal for Mrs. Trevelyan
CHAPTER XI: Doctor Kohima Intervenes
CHAPTER XIII: Mr. Lathom Receives a Visitor
CHAPTER XIV: No Picnic at Claywood Mill
CHAPTER XV: Forbes to the Rescue
ARTHUR MONTAGUE WEBB had occupied the position of ticket inspector for over fifteen years. It was a position of which he was more than a little conscious, as those unfortunate passengers who tried travelling âfirstâ on a third-class ticket had reason to aware. Even during the war years, when he fought his way endlessly down jammed corridors, his attitude seldom relaxed. Very occasionally, he might install a harmless old lady in a first-class compartment, with an apologetic and slightly anxious glance at the other occupants.
Mr. Webbâs raucous, âTickets, please!â echoed down the corridors of the ManchesterâEuston express one rough night in the late autumn. He paused to pull up a window in the corridor which was admitting a half-gale, then opened the door of a compartment which had a single occupant who was stretched full length along the seat. The occupant of the carriage was rather a dark young man of about twenty-seven, with unruly black hair and glistening white teeth, which he exposed in a pleasant smile. He seemed in no way upset at the inspectorâs intrusion.
âSorry to wake you, sir,â said Mr. Webb mechanically. It was his inevitable formula on night trains.
âThatâs all right,â yawned the young man, fumbling in his pocket for his ticket. âLordy, I was hard on!â
Mr. Webbâs ears, attuned to dialects from every corner of the country, immediately registered the young man as being of Welsh origin.
âWhat time is it now?â asked the passenger, inserting a finger and thumb in his upper waistcoat pocket.
âItâs half past ten, sir,â announced Webb, producing a large silver watch, and glancing at it for corroboration.
The Welshman yawned again.
âAbout another hour before we get into Euston?â he queried.
Webb nodded, and waited while the young man found his ticket.
âNot many people travelling tonight,â said the young man, his Welsh accent as pronounced as ever.
âHavenât had it as quiet as this for months,â the inspector informed him, clipping the ticket and handing it back. âThank you, sir. Good night.â
The young man nodded and composed himself to sleep again as the door of the compartment slid softly to, and Mr. Webb went on his way.
Webb muttered a soft imprecation to himself as he came out into the corridor again, for the window he had closed had slid down, and once more he got the full force of the biting wind. He snatched at the strap, pulled up the window and passed on to the next compartment. There was no light in this compartment and the blinds were drawn, but in the faint glow reflected from the corridor Webb could discern the figure of a woman slumped in the far corner with her back to the engine.
âTicket, please, miss!â called the inspector. At that moment the express began to rattle noisily over a viaduct, and she gave no sign of having heard him. Webb repeated his request and advanced a step into the compartment.
