Paul Temple: East of Algiers

I went through into the little bathroom to arrange my washing and shaving things on the shelf.

‘You can’t expect me solemnly to ask the manager of a hotel to put a perfectly ordinary pair of spectacles in his safe. Everyone would think I was dotty. Besides, it would only attract attention.’

‘They can’t just be an ordinary pair of glasses,’ Steve objected. ‘They must have some special value for this David Foster person.’

‘I can’t see quite why. The French police are very thorough, and you can be sure they subjected the spectacles to an exhaustive scrutiny.’

I took the spectacles out of my pocket as I went back into the bedroom and placed them on the table in the middle of the room. Steve stood beside me and we both looked down at them. It was hard to imagine anything more homely and prosaic. They reminded me of one of the most kindly and gullible of my masters at school, and I associated them with a smell of pipe tobacco, leather bindings and the cosy sound of a motor-mower on a cricket pitch. Yet since they had come into my hands two girls had been brutally done to death, a crude attempt had been made to drown Steve and me, and a complete stranger had made me an offer of ten thousand pounds.

‘I just don’t understand your attitude, Paul.’ Steve’s tone showed that she had mis-read my thoughts. ‘You aren’t even prepared to take this seriously.’

I turned to her and put my hands on her shoulders.

‘I do take this seriously, Steve. I’m quite prepared to believe that there’s some sinister, perhaps deadly secret attached to them. But I gave my word to a girl who is now dead that I would deliver them. My object is to do so as quickly as possible and wash my hands of the whole business. Then you and I can carry on with our holiday as planned.’

Steve did not respond to my smile. Her eyes were clouded and there were three little lines across her brow.

‘Suppose Constantin is right and you don’t succeed in finding David Foster. There may not be any such person.’

‘In that case I’ll take the glasses back to France and hand them over to the police. All the same I think David Foster exists – though he may well be known by another name. It’s even possible that we’ve met him already.’

‘You think he might be Tony Wyse? In that case why does he not ask you outright to hand over his property? But I don’t think that theory holds water. I can’t believe there’s much wrong with Mr. Wyse’s eyesight.’

It was significant of our feelings that when the telephone rang my first action was to tuck the glasses safely away in my breast pocket and arrange my handkerchief to cover them. Only when that was done to the satisfaction of both of us did I cross to the bedside table and lift the receiver.

‘Who is it?’

‘Is that Mr. Temple?’

‘Yes. Who’s that speaking?’

‘It’s David Foster here. I understand you have my spectacles. I thought I’d ring up and arrange to collect them from you.’

‘Oh, Mr. Foster?’ I echoed the name, looking at Steve as I did so. She immediately came and stood with her ear close to the other side of the receiver, straining to catch both sides of the conversation. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you till we reached Tunis.’

‘Oh. I see. Well I had to come over to Algiers for a few days on business. I had a cable from Judy and she told me you would be coming this way. I thought it would save you further trouble if I relieved you of the glasses right away.’

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