Paul Temple and the Kelby Affair. Francis Durbridge

white sheet.

      ‘Did you know that Mr Kelby was coming to see you on Monday afternoon?’

      ‘That stuck-up secretary of his telephoned; it was like announcing a royal visit. But Kelby didn’t turn up.’

      ‘Were you at home Monday afternoon and evening?’

      ‘Yes,’ Mortimer said angrily. ‘And I didn’t see anybody putting him in the rain butt. I would have sent them both packing if I had!’

      ‘What time do your men go home?’

      ‘At this time of the year about six o’clock. Now do you mind if I get some work done? I’ve a livelihood to earn.’

      Ted Mortimer strode away to the house. Paul smiled to himself and went across to join Charlie Vosper. The ambulance was just departing, and Charlie was watching it go as he lit his pipe.

      ‘Well?’ asked Paul.

      The inspector growled and carried on lighting his pipe. ‘He’s been in that water some time. Probably since Monday.’

      ‘Was he drowned?’ Paul asked.

      ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’ He threw a match into the ground level of the barn and watched to see whether it carried on burning. ‘From the look of him I’d say that his neck was broken, but there’s bound to have been a struggle. I’d like to know which happened first.’

      Paul nodded. ‘It would make quite a difference.’

      ‘If he died of a broken neck he could have been killed elsewhere and then brought here later. That would be easier.’