oOo

Paul had been pacing up and down his hotel room for most of the morning, not knowing what to do next. The normally very self-possessed novelist was at his wits end. He would have headed over to the hospital immediately if he'd thought it would do any good, but no doubt Harrington and his men were doing all that could be done there.

Although there was no way he would have been able to foresee Steve being kidnapped despite police protection, Paul still blamed himself. She had needed him and he'd let her down. Once again he'd not been there when she had needed him. The chant of self-reproach went on and on in his head, interlaced with thoughts of worry, until he could stand it no longer. He had to do something, no matter what. If he stayed here at the hotel, he felt like he should go insane. In a fit of desperation, he picked up the phone and asked for a call to London to be put through.

"Sir Graham?" Paul asked once the connection had been established.

"Is that you, Temple?" the familiar voice queried.

"Yes, it's me, Sir Graham." Paul suddenly wasn't sure why he was calling his friend. There was nothing he could do from London that Temple couldn't do in New York.

"What's happened?" the commissioner asked when Paul didn't continue.

"Listen, I'm sorry to telephone you like that but Steve's been kidnapped and...and frankly, I'm at my wit's end." It took a lot for Paul Temple to confess that for once, he needed help, but the events of the past few days had pushed even him to his limit.

"Did you call in the police?"

"As a matter of fact, they called me to tell me that Steve had been taken from the hospital sometime last night. The detective on the case seemed like a reliable chap and I'm sure he's doing all he can, but...I wish there was something I could do," Paul confessed.

"I assume the kidnappers haven't made any demands?"

"No, not yet at least," Paul replied. "I wish I had a better idea what this was all about," he lamented.

"You're on a case at present?"

"Yes. You know me, Sir Graham, after I got that letter, I could hardly stay away from the affair. Maybe I should have though..." Paul was interrupted by Sir Graham.

"What letter? You didn't mention any letter." Paul realized that he hadn't mentioned the letter or Xavier to the other man until now.

"I received a letter, just after Steve was shot," Paul went on to recite the contents of the letter, which he'd memorized, over the phone.

There was a long pause after he'd finished. The silence went on for so long that Paul wondered if they'd been cut off. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Sir Graham's voice came over the line.

"Did you say that it was signed 'Xavier'?"

"Yes," Paul replied slowly. "Does the name convey something to you?"

"As a matter of fact, it does. I don't think I've ever mentioned the case to you, but a few month ago, we had a murder suicide. Most vexing affair. A woman, one Andrea Miller, shot and killed a man in crowded restaurant just before shooting herself."

"I seem to remember reading something about that in the papers at the time."

"You might well have. It was all over the news. But what the press didn't get a hold of was the fact that when the police searched Andrea Miller's flat, they found a number of blackmail letters. They were all signed with the name 'Xavier'."

"What was she being blackmailed about?" Paul asked, his curiosity piqued.

"We never found out. Either Xavier had communicated with her some other way, or she destroyed some of his letters, but I'm convinced that she committed the murder on the behest of this blackmailer. It's the only explanation that makes sense."

"Do you know if Andrea Miler ever lived in South Africa?" Paul asked. It was his theory all along that everyone concerned in thus business had at one time been to South Africa. If it should turn out that Andrea Miller had lived there as well...

"Yes, as a matter if fact, I remembered she lived there for several years. We had a devil of a time tracing her relatives." Forbes paused. "What are you thinking about Temple?" he then asked.

"I have a theory, that's all," the novelist replied evasively.

"I know better than to ask you what exactly your theory is," Sir Graham grumbled. "Just do me a favour and be careful."

"I intend to be," Paul replied. His mood was still dark and the worry for Steve was agonizing, but at least now he felt that he could do something. "Can I ask you another favour?"

"What is it?"

"I need to know more about what happened in South Africa. Do you still have the names I asked you to check up on the the last time we spoke?"

"Yes, I have the list right here."

"I need to know what everyone on that list was doing while they were in South Africa, who they were mixed up with and if anyone was ever investigated for any crime. Oh and add Andrea Miller and Louise Harvey to that list as well."

"Louise Harvey, but isn't that..?" Sir Graham sounded taken aback.

"Yes, that's Steve's given name," Paul confirmed in a somber voice. "I don't believe for a moment that she was mixed up in anything, but if we are to believe Xavier, something happened back then where 'she did the right thing' as he put it. I want to find out what that thing was exactly," Paul explained.

"And you think that finding out will get a closer to figuring out how took Steve?"

"I hope so," Paul said quietly. Without knowing what exactly the kidnappers' agenda was, it was difficult to tell how much time he had.

"In the meantime, I'm going to contact on old acquaintance of mine, Agent Gerald Tobin of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and ask him to have a look at the facts of the case. He's got plenty of experience with kidnappings and isn't averse to using unconventional methods. He's a rather strange fellow, but a first rate investigator."

"Thank you, Sir Graham." Paul's words were heartfelt. They bade each other good-bye after Sir Graham promised to inform Temple the moment he found out anything. Hanging up the receiver, Paul felt slightly more hopeful. Things were still bleak, but at least he'd been able to do something. That alone made him feel a bit better and marginally less useless. Still, it didn't change the fact that he had no practical way of getting Steve back. Sir Graham might or might not be able to discover something of use, but even if he did, it might be already to late for Steve. Even provided that whoever had kidnapped her didn't intend to harm her at this time, Steve was still in need of medical attention. Dr Daystrom repeatedly spoken of the dangers of an infection taking hold. What if it did? Paul shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. He couldn't afford to dwell on what-ifs right now. He needed every ounce of brains he had to figure this out.

oOo

Beverly Kingston was worried. She had the distinct feeling that her carefully laid plans were falling apart before her eyes. It had all started out so well. The alleged attempt on her life by poisoning had gone off without a hitch, if the papers were to be believed. As far as the papers were concerned, Beverly Kingston had been kidnapped by persons unknown, less than twenty-four hours after an unsuccessful attempt to kill her. Steve was mentioned as well, but most articles only briefly mentioned her disappearance from the hospital the same night in passing, focusing mainly on the fate of famous actress. All had seemed well just a few short hours ago.

And now? Now the nurse she'd hired to look after Louise kept telling her that the injured woman was running a fever and needed to go to a hospital, something that was quite impossible under the circumstances. The nurse had been carefully selected and very well paid, so Beverly doubted she would cause any trouble, but should Louise die, all her plans would be for naught. Patrick was no help, as usual, as he had made himself scarce hours ago, with a vague excuse that he had errands to run and had yet to return. Beverly had the distinct feeling that her husband was up to something she wasn't going to like. He had better realize that he couldn't afford to be seen or the whole charade would be blown out of the water so fast it would make their heads spin. Beverly lit a cigarette on the end of the previous one and took a deep drag from it. In that moment, the phone rang. Beverly sighed and stubbed out her just-lit cigarette before she went to answer the telephone.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, wondering who of the few people who had this number would telephone.

"It's Williams," a familiar voice said, sounding out of breath.

"What is it?" Beverly barked. Williams had the annoying habit of not coming to the point. Beverly didn't like that trait, especially in a man. But Williams had his more endearing qualities as well. He knew people, useful people.

"It's Patrick. He's dead!" Williams told her excitedly.

"Of course, he's dead," Beverly snapped, secretly wondering if Williams was drunk. It wouldn't be the first time. "Haven't you read the papers this past month?"

"I don't mean that. He's dead. I mean he's dead for real this time!"

"What happened?" Beverly asked.

"We were supposed to met at the usual place, but when I showed up, he was just lying there. He'd been shot, dead."

"But no one knew about the meeting place!" Beverly exclaimed.

"Yes, I know. Someone must have followed him there, it's the only way. I..."

But Beverly cut him off. "Did he tell you what he wanted to me you for?"

"No, he didn't. But I found a letter in his pocket, addressed to Mr Paul Temple."

"Well, what's in it?" Beverly demanded impatiently when Williams failed to continue his narrative.

There was a tearing sound, then Williams began reading the letter to her over the phone.

"Dear Mr Temple,

Your wife is safe for the moment and upon the payment of 5000 GBP she will be returned to you unharmed. Further instruction will follow.

A Friend.

P.S.: Do not speak to police."

"I don't believe it!" Beverly exclaimed, more to herself than to Williams.

"What do you think this mean?" Williams asked.

"What the devil do you think this means? He was planning on double-crossing me!" Beverly was furious. She would never have thought Patrick capable of coming up with a plan of his own. Despite his grand-standing demeanor and professional success, he wasn't actually very clever, at least not in her eyes.

"Listen," she said, turning her attention back to the telephone conversation. "You have to get rid of the body. He can't be found or it will be all over."

"How..."

"You'll think of something!" Beverly hung up. She started to pace the sitting room of the sprawling country mansion in agitation. Think, she told herself, she needed to think. If Williams managed to get rid of the body, there would be no need to alter their plans as far as Louise was concerned. Unless of course that nurse was right and she was developing an infection. In that case, she'd have to get rid of her. She had put a sufficient amount of money aside, enough to allow her to live the rest of her life comfortably somewhere in South America and Williams had the connections that would get here there. It wasn't what she wanted, not be a long stretch. She wanted her old life back, before this Xavier person had cast a shadow over it with his constant demands and threats. And she had planned it all so perfectly and she wouldn't even have to life a finger to get rid of Xavier. No, Paul Temple was going to do that for her. And with Louise on her side now, there was no way Temple could uncover the truth.

oOo

Louise could hardly believe her ears. It simply couldn't be...What she just heard through the door standing ajar was impossible. Maybe it was the fever messing with her head, she did feel awfully hot. Or maybe she had misunderstood, after all she had heard only half of a telephone conversation. She simply had to be mistaken or delirious, she tried telling herself, but in her gut, she couldn't help the feeling that the telephone conversation was important and that Beverly and Patrick were mixed up in something, something secret and probably criminal.

Possibly they were even responsible for kidnapping her from the hospital. Louise swallowed hard, trying to quell the incipient nausea. She didn't know whether it was from the migraine headache or the sudden and dreadful suspicion that had taken root in her mind, but she felt sick to her stomach.

For a moment, she thought about confronting Beverly with what she had heard, but she quickly buried that notion, realizing that she would never managed to get down the stairs and into the sitting room. She would be lucky if she managed to get back into bed without falling on her face. The only reason she had gotten up was because when she had woken, she had felt terribly thirsty, eve after consuming the remaining water from the carafe. Slowly, bracing herself with her hands on the wall, she began to long and arduous trek back to the bed. The effort took command of all her remaining energy and concentration, so that after a few steps, the overheard conversation had all but faded from her feverish mind.

TBC