oOo

Beverly Kingston was a woman in her forties who, at first glance, could easily pass for a woman ten years younger. Up close however, the signs of approaching middle age were undeniable, despite the carefully applied make-up and perfectly coiffed hair styled after the latest fashion. She had once been very attractive, Paul was sure of that, and there was evidence that she had thought to conserve that beauty. However, Paul also noticed that the hard line of her mouth, which seemed incongruous with the rest of her person.

She received him in the study, a tastefully and expensively furnished room. Mahogany shelves stacked with books lined the walls and there were even more books piled on the desk and even the floor. Mr Kingston appeared to have been an avid reader. Paul now recalled that Kingston had not only produced a number of successful Broadway plays, but that he had also tried his hand at writing for the stage, albeit with less success

"It is very kind of you to come, especially on such short notice," Beverly Kingston was just saying. "I have to say I'm awfully sorry about what happened to Louise. It was of course a terrible shock for me. First Patrick's death and now this happening. Awful, just awful."

"Mrs Kingston, you mention on the telephone that you had something to show me," Paul interrupted before she could expound on the subject further.

"Yes, of course," she inclined her head in a somewhat bird-like fashion. "Mr Temple, I'm terribly worried."

Paul said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm worried about my safety. I think I might be next."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Paul asked. Somehow, he found it hard to believe that this woman was a friend of Steve's.

"As you may have heard my husband was killed a few weeks ago. He was knocked down while crossing the street late one evening. The police claim that they have the man responsible in custody,but to be honest, I don't believe they did a very good job investigating the case."

"Why so?"

"You see, I was looking through my Patrick's desk about a week after it happened and I found a bunch of letters. It seems like he had been getting threatening letters for months before he died."

"And you think they are connected to his death?" Something about this was bothering Paul. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something not quite right about Mrs Kingston.

"Wouldn't you?" Her tone sounded almost accusatory.

"Well, that depends," Paul answered non-comitally. "What exactly did the letters threaten?"

Mrs Kingston's eyes narrowed slightly, then she nodded. She opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope.

"Here, see for yourself," she handed him the envelope.

Paul accepted the envelope and looked it over. It was a generic, though good quality envelope, addressed to Mr Patrick Kingston. The postmark was dated eight weeks ago.

"This one arrived about a week before he died," Beverly said, having obviously noticed what he was looking at.

Paul removed a single sheet from the envelope. All it contained were a few lines of typewritten text.

You cannot get rid of me this easily. I warn you, do not try to trick me again. Unless you comply with my demands, you'll suffer the consequences.

Xavier

"Well, do you think the letter has something to do with Patrick's death?"

Paul ignored the question. "Do you have any idea who could have written this letter?" he asked instead.

"Of course not!" Mrs Kingston sounded positively scandalized. "I don't even know what this Xavier is talking about!"

Paul nodded. He had a shrewd suspicion that Beverly Kingston knew or at least suspected a great deal more than she was saying.

"You don't take this seriously, do you?" Beverly Kingston suddenly accused. "The police didn't either, you know. They think that they have their man and they are not interested in hearing about anything else," she complained.

"Usually the police don't make arrests without a good reason," Paul commented diplomatically.

"They did in this case. Arnold Westlake couldn't have possibly killed my husband," she protested, then broke off and added in a much softer tone: "I have heard about you, Mr Temple and I know you're good at figuring out the truth. I want you to find out who really killed my husband."

Paul was taken aback. He hadn't thought Beverly Kingston capable of truly caring about anyone, except herself. "I'm afraid, I'm not taking on any case at the moment," he answered, as politely as he could manage.

oOo

Paul barely made it back to the hotel on time by the time Detective Harrington arrived. By now, he was dead on his feet. The conversation with Mrs Kingston had been rather draining and he was starting to notice the lack of sleep and food that he'd been operating on. Paul met Harrington in the lobby and the two men settled down in a pair of armchairs.

"As I mentioned to you before, I contacted Scotland Yard to inquire about you and your wife. It seems that you have quite the knack for making enemies."

"Huh? You mean my helping out Scotland Yard on a few occasions?" Paul asked.

"On more than a few occasions, or at least that's what I heard," Harrington said lightly. "I know you have given me a list of all the people you know in New York City and we're

in the process of talking to the all, but do you think it is possible that your wife being shot was an act of revenge against you?"

"It's true that my actions have helped put some people in prison, but that was in England, not here."

"That's true. Still, I suppose it is possible that maybe a family member of someone you put away..."

"Everything is possible," Paul agreed tiredly.

"I don't suppose you're on a case now, Mr Temple?"

Paul shook his head. "I came here strictly for a lecture tour. I was asked to look into a matter yes, but I declined."

"It wouldn't happen to have been Mrs Kingston who tried to interest you in her husband's death?"

"As a matter of fact, it was."

"Yes, the lady isn't happy with how we've handled the case."

"Does she have any reason to be dissatisfied?" Paul asked.

For a moment, it looked like Harrington would take offense at the remark, but he replied quite civilly: "I don't think so. The case is quite clear, it was an accident, brought on by too much drink. Mr Kingston was crossing Broadway in early morning hours after attending the premiere of a play he produced. He was hit by a drunk driver coming from a party and died shortly after. The driver confessed. I really don't see what we could have done better."

"Any relationship between Beverly Kingston and Arnold Westlake?" Paul queried.

Harrington frowned. "Not that I know of. I wasn't on the original case, but I've been reading up on it. Any particular reason you would think so?"

"I was just wondering," Paul replied evasively. "By the way, I have been meaning to ask you, do you have any theories about what's behind all this? I mean the murder of the woman Winifred Morris and the attempt on my wife."

Harrington regarded Paul thoughtfully for a while, before he answered: "I don't supposed it can hurt telling you, Mr Temple. The thing is, as far as we have been able to find out, Winifred Morris was mixed up in something. What exactly we don't know, but we're working on it."

"I thought as much," Paul replied. "How do you think Steve figures into this?"

"She probably doesn't. Wrong place, wrong time, I'd say," Harrington ventured.

The detective's words echoed the words in the mysterious letter from 'Xavier'. They too had claimed that Steve was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time. And yet, there had been that phrase, 'she was the only one who did the right thing'. Whoever this Xavier person was, he or she appeared to know Steve.

"It may be an unorthodox question, but would you mind giving me the facts of the case, as they stand right now?"

Harrington shrugged. "Sir Graham Forbes vouched for you. He appears to think quite highly of you and he did mention how you helped Scotland Yard on several occasion with pretty tricky cases, so why not? Winifred Morris arrived in New York City a week ago on the liner Olympia from Cape Town. She checked into the Carlton Hotel. We found her diary in her hotel room. It contained only one appointment for the entire week leading up to her murder. It appears that on Tuesday night, she was scheduled to meet with a person whose initials are P.B.. We have no way of knowing whether or not she kept that appointment or who P.B. is for that matter. The only other item of interest in her possessions was a letter. It contained only the following text:

Don't think you can get away from me this easily.

It was signed 'Xavier'. I'm thinking she may have been running from someone who eventually caught up with her..."

"And killed her?" Paul asked.

"It's our best theory at the moment. I've sent a request for information to the South African authorities, but it will likely be some time before we get a response."

"You still haven't told me how she ended up in Beverly Kingston's flat'?" Paul reminded the detective.

"Oh yes, that's another rather confusing point in that affair. Mrs Kingston claims she has no idea who the dead woman was nor how she came to be murdered in her apartment.

"Wasn't the flat locked?" Paul inquired.

"She claims she locked it when she went to see a neighbor. According to her statement, it was still locked when she returned to find Miss Morris dead and your wife severely injured. It doesn't make any sense, and I'm pretty sure she is lying about something, but I'm not sure what."

"I suppose no one else has a key to her flat?"

"No one, except the maid, a certain Alice Conway. She was running errands in town for Mrs Kingston at the time of the murder and she still had her key when I questioned her. I think we can rule her out."

Before Paul could answer, a hotel porter came up to the two men. "Excuse me, are you Mr Paul Temple?"

"Yes, what is it?" Paul asked.

"You have a telephone call from Mercy Hospital."

It was the announcement Paul had both feared and hoped for. It was quite possible that Steve had died and the hospital was now calling to inform him. If he should have been here talking about what was by comparison unimportant minutia while his wife was dying, he would never forgive himself. He really should have stayed at the hospital, no matter what Dr. Daystrom said.

"If you'll excuse me, Detective Harrington?" Paul moved to get up before the detective had answered.

"Of course, I should be getting back to the precinct anyways," Harrington answered and got up as well.

"Good-bye, Mr Temple."

"Good-bye, detective," Paul replied absent-mildly and followed the porter. "You can take the call here," the porter said, indicating a public phone box in a corner of the

lobby.

"Thank you," Paul replied. He had no sooner entered the phone booth when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver with a trembling hand.

"Paul Temple speaking."

"It's Dr. Daystrom here. Listen, Mr Temple, your wife just regained consciousness."

It was as if a weight was suddenly lifted from Paul's chest.

"I'll be there as soon as possible," Paul replied and hung up, not willing to waste another moment.

oOo

The cab ride seemed to take forever. Paul, normally not given to outward displays of emotion, was drumming his fingers anxiously on his thigh. His initial relief at the news that Steve had woken up, was now tempered by doubts. He had been so caught up in the excitement that he'd never even asked how Steve was doing. Sure it had to be a good sign that she had regained consciousness, but Paul couldn't shake the memory of the gloomy prognosis Dr. Daystrom had given. Only when the cab came to a sudden stop, Paul was shaken from his sombre musings and looked out of the window only to find that they had finally arrived in front of Mercy Hospital. He got out of the cab, paid the driver and hurried

towards the front entrance.

He quickly made his way towards the ward where he'd spent the night at Steve's side. He entered and stopped dead in his tracks. The bed previously occupied by Steve was now empty. A young nurse he had not seen before was in the process of stripping the linens. Was it possible that something had happened to Steve? Surely, Dr. Daystrom would have let him know if her condition was so unstable...

"Excuse me, do you know what happened to the patient who was here earlier?" Paul asked when he'd finally recovered his voice.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know. I only came on duty just now," the nurse explained shyly.

"All right, thank you, nurse," Paul replied and retreated from the ward, his mind spinning with the possibilities of what might have happened. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly bumped into Dr. Daystrom.

"Mr Temple, I didn't expect you here so soon!" Daystrom exclaimed, clearly surprised. "It's good that you are here though," he amended in a more serious tone.

"What happened to Steve? Where is she?" The words tumbled from Paul's mouth.

"We moved her to to a different ward," Daystrom was quick to reassure Paul.

"Can I see her?" was Paul's next question.

"Yes, but first I'd like to have a word with you. Let's go to my office."

The words eerily reminded Paul of the previous day when he'd followed Dr Daytrsom into his office only to learn that Steve had been shot. He wondered what piece of bad news the doctor was going to give him this time that he felt shouldn't be discussed in public.

Once in the office of the physician, Paul had barely taken a seat when he asked. "What's going on, doctor?"

"As I already informed you on the phone, your wife regained consciousness a short while ago. While that is certainly a very good sign in general, I have to admit that I am worried about her mental state."

"Her mental state?" Paul echoed, not having expected this at all.

"Yes, when she woke, she was extremely confused."

"Isn't that normal with a head injury?" Paul asked, feeling like he was grasping at straws.

"To some extent, certainly. But she even didn't appear to recognize her own name. She got very upset and we had to sedate her. She really shouldn't upset herself in her present condition."

Something about what Dr. Daystrom had just said rang a bell with Paul. "What exactly did she say?"

"Well, most of it didn't make any sense, but she did insist that her name was Louise Harvey."

Paul nodded. "I think I understand. You see, Louise Harvey is my wife's given name. She changed it before we met though, so I can't imagine why she would use it now."

"That explains a lot," the physician agreed. "It is just possible that your wife is suffering from a certain form of amnesia – memory loss. In that case, she may have forgotten everything that happened to her after a certain point. As far as she is concerned, her name may well still be Louise Harvey."

Paul was too shocked to reply. If Daystrom was right, then Steve or rather Louise wouldn't even remember meeting him or anything else that had happened during the last five years or so. He would be for all intents and purposes be a stranger to her.

"At any rate, we cannot be sure until she recovers from the sedative. With any luck, she'll be a bit more lucid next time round." Daystrom went on. "We'll know more then."

"Can I see her?" Paul asked.

"Of course. Go easy on her though when she wakes up."

"I will," Paul promised.

TBC