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‘Would you mind taking a seat, sir, and I’ll see if Miss Trent is in.’

The sentence had a slightly unpleasant ring in its familiarity. But then, reflected Paul Temple, with a smile, you can’t be too careful in a newspaper office. Reporters and the editorial staff often find it quite essential to their personal well-being to be out to certain callers. For exactly the same reason, the telephone operators had standing orders never to divulge to chance inquirers on the telephone the home address of certain members of the staff.

Temple sat down in the hard solitary chair the waiting-room possessed and waited for Steve Trent to come down. He looked at the clock. It was exactly three. Time was an important factor in his life, and he liked to keep his appointments to the minute if it was humanly possible. He had telephoned Sir Graham Forbes at the Yard and told him he hoped to be along with ‘a surprise visitor’ at about quarter-past three. That would just give him easy time to drive from The Evening Post offices along the Embankment to the police headquarters.

He had not long to wait in the little waiting-room. A page boy came downstairs closely followed by Steve Trent, ‘looking even more charming than ever,’ reflected Temple. She was wearing a business-like costume of black and white check tweed which looked smart, would stand up to office wear, and was far from being masculine. Steve was very fond of tweeds, and if possible even wore them in summer weather. ‘Only that appalling mess of a hat she’s wearing to spoil the effect,’ Paul Temple told himself. But then Paul Temple, like so many men, was just a little old-fashioned where female hats were concerned.

Her flashing smile of welcome showed the pleasure she felt at meeting Paul Temple again. She had another smile for the commissionaire as she went out, a habitual gesture which endeared her to that section of the staff—‘not stuck up like some of the others,’ the commissionaire commented.

Together they walked over to Paul Temple’s car which was waiting outside, and drove to Scotland Yard. Steve Trent had a host of questions to ask. Nevertheless, neither of them spoke during their short drive. Both seemed to give their thoughts to the coming interview.

At the Yard, they were quickly escorted to the Commissioner’s office on the first floor. Sir Graham Forbes had a warm, if somewhat embarrassed, greeting for Paul Temple.

‘I told you over the telephone that Miss Trent has a story to tell that will greatly interest you, Sir Graham,’ Temple began.

As soon as he heard that Steve was Superintendent Harvey’s sister, and that she knew a great deal about his work in South Africa, the Commissioner showed an interest he had certainly not felt on being told that a girl reporter from The Evening Post was being brought to see him. In fact, unknown to Paul Temple, Sir Graham had turned a delicate shade of puce when he had been told about her over the telephone.

Sir Graham now made sure his guests were comfortable, and ordered tea to be sent in to them. Then he opened a drawer in his capacious desk and produced a small box.

‘A cigarette, Miss Trent?’ he said, placing the box before her.

Steve noticed the cigarettes were a brown colour and she hesitated before accepting one.

‘They’re Russian,’ explained Sir Graham. ‘I’m sure you’ll like them.’

After Temple had offered her a light, Steve slowly commenced her story. She was slightly nervous at first, but gradually gained confidence.

‘It’s an interesting story, Miss Trent,’ said Sir Graham Forbes as she came to the end. ‘Er—very interesting. You say that from the very beginning your brother was under the impression that the brains behind these robberies was this man—er—Max Lorraine – the man who calls himself “The Knave of Diamonds”?’

‘Yes.’

Sir Graham turned to the novelist. ‘What do you think of all this, Temple?’

‘Well, Sir Graham,’ he replied, ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that we are up against a definite criminal organization whose activities are directed by a man who is, well to say the least of it, out of the ordinary run of criminals.’

‘Yes, I agree with you there,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean that we are up against this man Miss Trent talks about, the Knave of Diamonds.’

‘No, but nevertheless I think we are, Sir Graham,’ replied the novelist. ‘Harvey was no fool. Harvey was convinced in his own mind that we were up against the Knave – and he was murdered!’

‘What makes you so certain that Harvey was murdered?’

‘It was as obvious as daylight,’ Temple replied. ‘He was holding the revolver in his left hand, and the poor devil had been shot through the back of his head. It was on the left side of his head, and Harvey was left-handed all right, but I hardly think he was a contortionist into the bargain.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ agreed the Commissioner. ‘Harvey was murdered.’ He said it not merely in agreement and acceptance of Temple’s argument, but revealing what actually was thought at the Yard. ‘We spotted it immediately,’ he went on. ‘I was surprised the doctor didn’t.’

‘The police doctor was down with the flu,’ Temple informed him. ‘A Dr. Milton came along with the sergeant – he’s a retired medico who happens to be an acquaintance of mine.’ He paused, then added thoughtfully: ‘Still, I must admit I thought it was rather funny he never noticed it.’

They paused while the Commissioner poured out more tea for them. Then he turned to Steve.

‘Miss Trent, when was the last time you saw your brother?’

‘Shortly before he visited Mr. Temple,’ she replied.

‘Oh, I see. Did he seem cheerful and in normal health?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ answered Steve. ‘We never really saw a great deal of one another, you know, Sir Graham. My work kept me busy quite a lot, and he was always dashing out of town on some case or other.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I saw Merritt last night,’ said Temple suddenly, ‘and he told me about this business at Leamington. Did you hold the driver of the lorry?’

‘Yes,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘You were right about that, by the way. It was Skid Tyler.’

‘Have you questioned him?’

‘Not yet. Merritt’s bringing him here this afternoon. I’ve got a feeling that Tyler might talk.’

‘Yes, he might,’ replied Temple, inwardly marvelling at the amount of personal interest the Commissioner was taking in the case. He was certainly not underestimating its importance, and by undertaking work he normally had to leave entirely to the chiefs of the C.I.D., he showed the effect the robberies, as well as the Press agitation, had made on him.

‘I don’t expect he’ll know a great deal,’ the Commissioner continued; ‘he’s most probably one of the small fry. On the other hand, you never can tell.’

Paul Temple thought it was time he changed the subject. So far, the visit had been more or less confined to a discussion of Steve’s story. He had not yet been told why Chief Inspector Dale had telephoned to arrange an appointment.

‘Sir Graham—’ he started.

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you send for me this afternoon?’

The Commissioner coughed. He proceeded to look embarrassed, as embarrassed as he had been when they were originally ushered into his office.

‘Yes, I’ve—er—I’ve been waiting for you to ask that question,’ he said.

‘Well, Sir Graham?’

‘Ever since these robberies first started, there has been a definite campaign both in the newspapers, and amongst a certain section of the public, urging us to—er—to—’

‘To Send for Paul Temple?’ put in Steve.

‘Yes, Miss Trent. To—er—send for Paul Temple,’ the Commissioner agreed. ‘Well, I don’t mind telling you, Temple, the whole damned campaign got me rattled. I was convinced in my own mind that there was nothing you could possibly do in this matter. Now, however, I’m not so certain.’ He hesitated a moment before continuing.

‘You see, Temple, and I’m sure I can speak in confidence before Miss Trent, there are certain aspects of this business which are very confusing and which, instead of getting clearer, tend towards leading us further and further into a confusing mass of what seems to be on the surface melodramatic nonsense. But is it nonsense? That’s just the point. Now take all this business about “The Green Finger”.’

He paused and slowly lit another cigarette.

‘We know that “The Little General” used to be called “The Green Finger”. We know that the night watchman murmured “The Green Finger” before he died. But what does it mean? What is “The Green Finger”?

‘And then, secondly, there’s the matter of the district. That’s been puzzling me a lot lately. Why should this organization confine its activities entirely to the Midlands?’ Once again the Commissioner paused, as if endeavouring to underline the importance of his words.

‘And there’s yet another point,’ he continued, ‘and believe me, a very important one. How, in heaven’s name, are they getting the stuff out of the country – and they must be getting the stuff out of the country, because if it was still over here, you can take it from me, Temple, we’d have it back in twenty-four hours!’

Temple nodded. He appreciated only too well the significance of Sir Graham’s words.

‘The Press have been very irritating over this affair,’ continued the Commissioner, ‘and their attitude has, at all cost, to undergo a change. We need every possible assistance that the Press can offer. In fact, not only the Press, but—’ He did not complete the sentence, although it was quite obvious what he meant, instead he turned towards Steve Trent.

‘Miss Trent,’ he said, with a smile, ‘I see you are dying to print all this in your paper, quite exclusively. I think that would make what I believe you would call a nice “scoop”. Well, I give you full permission to do so. But I think it would be safer for yourself if you made no reference to your part in this affair.

‘Later this afternoon I am holding an informal sort of Press conference at which I shall be going over some of the ground we have covered during our chat.’

The Commissioner poured himself out some more tea, found it was nearly cold, and pressed the bell to order some fresh tea to be made.

‘Well, Sir Graham,’ Temple now replied, ‘I don’t profess to be able to work miracles. By profession, I’m a writer – but, well, I must confess I’m very intrigued by certain aspects of this affair.’

‘Then we can—’

‘You can count on me to give you every assistance in my power, Sir Graham. That I promise you.’

‘Thank you, Temple,’ replied the Commissioner. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

As he spoke the door opened, and Chief Inspector Dale walked in. As soon as he saw the visitors, he hesitated.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ he apologized. ‘I thought you—’

The Commissioner cut him short. ‘Come in, Dale. Come in. You know Paul Temple, I believe?’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he replied.

They shook hands and the Commissioner introduced him to Steve Trent.

‘I thought perhaps you’d like to know that Inspector Merritt has arrived, sir,’ Dale reported, ‘with that man—er—Tyler, Skid Tyler.’

‘Oh, yes. When I ring, show them in here,’ Sir Graham replied.

‘Very good, sir.’

The Commissioner was not quite certain that Skid Tyler should be brought in before Miss Trent, nor whether even Miss Trent would care to hear his story. But she was now closely involved in the whole business, he reflected, and she might as well see this through.

‘Would you like to stay while we question this man?’ he asked her, after Dale had departed.

Steve was a reporter. And as a reporter, she had had to deal with situations that were far more gruesome than this might be.

‘Yes, yes, I would rather!’ she replied eagerly.

‘Good. I should sit over there in the corner, Miss Trent. You’ll be out of the way there.’

Then he walked over to his desk and pressed one of the bell buttons. His personal attendant, Sergeant Leopold, opened the door.

‘You rang, sir?’

‘Yes. Tell Inspector Dale, Inspector Merritt, and that man— er—Skid Tyler, to come in here.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant departed.

Meanwhile the Commissioner rearranged the chairs and waited for the three men to come in.

Presently the door opened again, and Tyler appeared, followed by Merritt and Dale.

‘Sit down, Tyler,’ said the Commissioner. ‘No, over there,’ he added, pointing to a chair near the fireplace facing his own chair.

‘What is it you want?’ Tyler started protesting, before the others had even found time to sit down. ‘What the ’ell is the idea draggin’ me along ’ere – anybody would think I was a blarsted criminal!’

‘Be quiet!’ said Chief Inspector Dale sharply.

‘That’s all right, Dale,’ said Sir Graham. ‘Now listen, Tyler. We’re going to ask you a few questions, and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll tell us the truth.’ He looked round at the little gathering who were now waiting to hear what Tyler would have to say.

‘What were you doing in Evesham at the beginning of this week?’

Skid Tyler did not look even surprised. ‘Evesham?’ he retorted impudently. ‘Never been near the place!’

The Commissioner was not so easily put off. ‘My dear fellow, don’t for heaven’s sake adopt that attitude. Inspector Merritt saw you there, didn’t you, Merritt?’

‘That’s right,’ agreed the inspector. ‘Outside “The Little General” about three o’clock in the afternoon.’

‘What would I be doin’ outside a pub at three o’clock in the afternoon,’ said Skid sarcastically. ‘Now I ask you?’

Temple drew his chair forward. ‘Who said “The Little General” was a—public house?’ he asked.

‘Who said so?’ replied Skid, ‘why…why—’ Then suddenly he realized how neatly he had trapped himself. ‘What the ’ell is all this about anyway?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You’ve got nothing on me. You can’t—’ He paused, realizing that he was making a very bad matter a great deal worse.

‘Last week, my dear fellow,’ resumed Temple in very calm tones that only served to infuriate Skid and make him splutter with rage and indignation, ‘with the aid of a two-ton lorry, you accidentally smashed your way into a very select little dress shop. By a strange coincidence, the shop next door happened to be a jeweller’s. By an even stranger coincidence, it happened to be robbed at precisely the same moment that you decided to make a closer inspection of Madame Isabel’s really remarkable exhibition of spring underwear.’

‘What are you getting at?’ Skid shouted.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m getting at, Skid,’ Temple replied. ‘But first of all, tell me, are you fond of children?’

‘Children!’ repeated the bewildered Skid.

‘Ah, but then you must be,’ continued Temple; ‘I was forgetting.’

Skid felt he was being baited. Temple’s smooth words were beyond his comprehension. At last, he burst out. ‘What the ’ell ’as children got to do with all this?’

‘My dear Skid, you surprise me! Don’t you realize you’re holding the baby? And, by Timothy, what a baby!’

‘Holding the…’ Skid did not know what to make of this. An angry policeman he could cope with. But this smooth, calm, deliberate manner of Temple’s was something new to him. ‘Say, listen,’ he started, ‘if you’re trying to be funny, then—’

‘Trying to be funny?’ interrupted Temple. ‘My dear Skid, I’m an amateur humorist compared with the crowd you’ve been mixing with.’

‘What—do—you mean?’

‘What do I mean?’ Temple began to laugh. Even the three policemen looked at him with slight bewilderment.

‘Oh! Oh! Our old friend Skid drives the lorry! Our old friend Skid smashes into the dress shop! Our old friend Skid gets arrested! Our old friend Skid visits Scotland Yard! Our old…’

‘Shut up! Shut yer blarsted mouth!’

‘My dear Skid,’ said Temple quietly, ‘don’t be a damned fool! Why should you take the “rap”? Why should you—’

‘I’m not talking!’ Skid was almost hysterical. ‘I’m not a squealer! I—I know what’s good for me!’

More and more did Skid Tyler feel that he was being driven into a corner by his pitiless foe. More and more he realized that, all unwittingly, he had been giving away precious information, and that he had made it perfectly clear that he was closely involved in the Leamington jewel robbery.

‘You’ll talk,’ said Temple in a determined voice. ‘And you’ll talk fast. What were you doing at Evesham? What where you doing near “The Little General” inn?’

‘I tell you I’ve never been near the blarsted place!’

‘Skid, listen.… This isn’t a one-sided little affair like share- pushing. This is big stuff. This is Crime with a capital C. And you’re in it. In it up to the neck!’ Gradually Paul Temple’s voice had reached a climax. ‘Now talk!’ he said softly.

Skid looked up at his merciless antagonist, towering above him. The room was in absolute silence. All felt the tension in the air. Its utter heaviness. At any moment now might come the blinding flash and the deafening roar of thunder.

Skid looked from one face to the other. He saw no pity. Gradually he was yielding. Temple saw it.

So did Forbes, Dale, and Merritt. Still they said nothing.

Finally he broke down.

‘All right…all right—’ he moaned. ‘I’ll talk…but first I want…a drink. I’m …I’m all…all shot to pieces.’

It was true. Skid had turned a deathly pale. He was trembling violently from head to foot. With his final decision, it amounted almost to a mental breakdown. Skid was suddenly, utterly, exhausted.

Sir Graham Forbes had got up. ‘All right, I’ll get you some brandy,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some in the cupboard.’ He walked over to the cupboard in the corner of the room near where Steve Trent was sitting.

‘Excuse me, Miss Trent,’ he said. She pushed her chair out of his way. Sir Graham opened the cupboard door and took out a bottle of brandy. As he proceeded to open it, Paul Temple said: ‘Skid, what is “The Green Finger”?’

‘It’s…the organization…that’s been responsible for the jewel robberies.’ Skid was now almost incoherent. ‘The chief of the gang is known as…as the Knave of Diamonds.’

Steve Trent looked up. ‘Max Lorraine!’ she said softly.

‘Have you ever met this person who—’

‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone! For God’s sake, leave me alone!’ Skid’s voice had reached a definite hysterical pitch. He leaped up and made for the door, as if in a despairing effort to flee from his persecutors. Firm hands pulled him back into the chair again.

Forbes walked up to him with a glass of brandy in his hand.

‘Here – drink this!’ he said, giving him the glass.

Skid Tyler seized the glass and gulped its contents down in one draught. The pallor left his cheeks. The strong spirit seemed to bring back life and strength to him. He settled back in his chair.

Paul Temple leaned forward and spoke gently, earnestly.

‘Now, Skid, listen,’ he said. ‘This is important. Have you ever—’

Skid’s face was undergoing curious changes, and Temple paused.

‘Have you ever—’

Temple stopped. Skid’s face had turned a deathly pale and he was sitting back in his chair as though utterly exhausted by long physical and mental effort.

‘Skid!’ The others crowded round Skid, staring at him in horror. Steve Trent had rushed up. She felt Skid Tyler’s forehead with her right hand.

‘Skid! SKID!’ shouted Temple.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked the Commissioner, with astonishment and horror in his voice.

‘Look at him!’ answered Temple. ‘Skid!’ he shouted again. ‘Skid! SKID!’

Forbes knelt down by his side. He put his arm round the ex-convict. Dale had taken his wrist and was feeling his pulse. Paul Temple himself had fallen on his knees in front of Skid Tyler’s chair. He was holding him by the knees and gazing up into his face.

It was an extraordinary scene.

‘What is it?’ asked Chief Inspector Dale. ‘He looks so—’ his voice tailed off into nothingness.

Suddenly Inspector Merritt spoke. ‘Pass me that glass, Sir Graham!’

The Commissioner looked curiously at him.

‘The glass, but…Good God!’ he suddenly ejaculated. ‘You don’t mean—’

He stopped as Temple rose to his feet. Dale released the man’s wrist; then he, too, stood up. The four men stood there in silence, amazement and horror on their faces.

‘He’s dead!’ Paul Temple made the announcement quietly. Again that heavy, lasting silence.

‘Dead!’ Steve repeated, in what was almost a cry of terror.

‘Yes, he’s dead all right,’ said Dale presently. ‘What’s in the glass, Merritt?’

Inspector Merritt had been standing a little away from the others, carefully examining the glass from which Skid Tyler had drunk.

‘Enough poison to kill a regiment,’ he announced sombrely.

‘But—but that’s impossible,’ the Commissioner stuttered. ‘Why it—it was a new bottle. I…I—’

Suddenly the door opened. Sergeant Leopold appeared.

‘A lady to see you, sir, by the name of—’

‘I can’t see anyone,’ interrupted Sir Graham irritably. ‘Tell her I’m out. Tell her to—’

‘Oh, just a minute, Sergeant,’ interposed Paul Temple smoothly. He, alone, seemed to have preserved his normal composure. A caller, and a woman at that, who had succeeded in getting herself announced to the Commissioner, interested him. Especially at this particular moment. ‘Who is the lady?’ he asked.

‘It’s a Miss Parchment, sir,’ said the sergeant quietly. ‘A Miss Amelia Victoria Parchment.’