Paul Temple and the Madison Case

by Francis Durbridge

  “How long have you been here, Mrs Greene?”

  “Well, off and on, I suppose I’ve been here all my life. You see, the house belonged to my father - Lord Dalesdon. He died in 1983. After he died I shut the house up for a short time and went abroad. As a matter of fact I was in Naples when I met Hubert.”

  “When was that?”

  “That was just over two years ago.”

  “This house wasn’t always called ‘Brown Acres’, was it?”

  “No, good gracious, no! It’s really Dalesdon Hall. It’s been Dalesdon Hall for generations. For some obscure reason my husband suddenly took it into his head to change the name to ‘Brown Acres’ …” A wistful smile shadowed her face. “I’ve never discovered why.”

  “Mrs Greene …” Temple began. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot, you don’t like to be called that.”

  She had been about to leave them but now turned back. Steve sensed that despite her position as mistress of a fine house she felt a need to talk, to make new friends. “What were you going to say?”

  “I was going to ask you a question – rather a personal question, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s all right, Mr Temple. Please go on.”

  “Was Archie Brooks a friend of yours?”

  “Archie Brooks?” Eileen was not practised at concealing her feelings. It was obvious the name had registered with her.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of anyone called Archie Brooks.” She spoke rapidly and a shade too emphatically.

  “His friends called him Chunky. He had a flat in Whitedown Gardens.”

  “What do you mean, he had a flat in Whitedown Gardens?”

  Temple ignored Steve’s pleading look. She had guessed what he was going to do.

  “Brooks is dead. He was murdered.”

  Eileen’s hand flew to her throat. “No … No! I don’t believe it.” Her cry echoed down the passage. “You’re not serious …” she gasped, holding on to the door for support. “I don’t believe it. You’re lying! You’re deliberately lying because you want to find out…”

  Temple went past her to close the door. “I’m deliberately telling you the truth, Mrs Greene, because I want to find out how well you knew Archie Brooks!”

  Eileen sat down on the nearest chair, a small Victorian nursing chair.

  “When was he murdered?” she whispered.

  Steve had moved to the window, turning her back as if to distance herself from the scene.

  “Tuesday night. The evening before you telephoned him at his flat.”

  “It was you who answered!” Her eyes widened as she stared up at Temple. “That wasn’t Chunky at all.” Her voice hardened. “You tricked me, pretending to be him. Didn’t you?”

  “I can’t claim credit for that. It was a man called James, Chief Inspector James.”

  “I told him about the meeting, didn’t I? I told him that…” She stood up, suddenly tensing. “Were you at the flat when I telephoned?”

  “Yes, I heard the whole conversation. It was me that suggested the impersonation.”

  “You might have spared me that! You might have had the decency to …” she twisted round to appeal to Steve, but Steve’s back was still turned. “Who killed him? Who murdered Chunky?”

  “I don’t know, but with your help I’m going to find out. Why did you tell Brooks about the meeting?”

  “I had to tell him because…”

  “Because what?”

  “I’m not going to say any more. I’m not talking.” Eileen had regained control of herself. The set of her mouth was obstinate. “Please don’t ask me any more questions.”

  But Temple wanted to follow up his advantage. “Now listen. How was Brooks mixed up in this business? Where was this meeting supposed to take place?”

  “I don’t know. Really, I don’t know. Now please leave me alone. Don’t ask me any more questions.”

  “Don’t you see, I’ve got to ask you these questions? I’ve got to know what’s behind all this. Now tell me the truth, what did Chunky Brooks want you to find out?”

  “I had to tell him - I made a promise that once I knew when … when … Oh, please leave me alone, Mr Temple.” She reached for the back of the chair again and sat down, fighting back her sobs. “I can’t talk now, I’m too upset. I was awfully fond of Chunky, he …”

  “Paul, can’t you see she’s …” Steve intervened at last, unable to bear Eileen’s distress any longer.

  “Was Brooks a close friend?” Temple ignored his wife but his voice was more gentle.

  “Yes, we’d known … each other ever since we were children.” She choked on a sob. Temple handed her the clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. “He was always very kind to me.”

  “Eileen, I want you to have a look at this.”

  Temple dipped into the ticket pocket of his jacket and brought out the 1952 penny which Forbes had returned to him that morning.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a penny. My wife found it the night Archie was murdered. Have you ever seen a penny like this on a keyring or a watch-chain or perhaps even on a bracelet?”

  She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and tried to focus on the coin Temple was holding in front of her.

  “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure.”

  Steve had come over to the side of Eileen’s chair. She gave Temple a reproachful look.

  “Are you feeling better now?”

  “Yes, I’m all right,” said Eileen softly.

  “Don’t you realise that I’m only trying to help you?” Temple was exasperated by the collusion of the two women. “Sooner or later, whether you like it or not, you’re going to tell me all you know about this business. Why don’t you tell me now?”

  “Mr Temple, listen!” In one of her abrupt changes of mood Eileen was suddenly eager and friendly. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll come to your room tonight – late tonight when the others are in bed.”

  “But how can you?” said Steve “Won’t your husband miss you?”

  “No. We have separate rooms. My room’s just along the corridor. I’ll come tonight, Mr Temple. I promise you.”

  “Can I depend on that?” Temple asked dubiously.

  “Yes. Yes, I promise!”

  “All right.”

  Steve, nearest the door, had heard the creak of floor boards in the corridor. “I think there’s someone coming, Paul!”

  Eileen hastily stood up and inspected herself in the tilting cheval mirror. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear, I look dreadful!”

  There came a single sharp knock on the door and at the same time it opened. Hubert Greene paused on the threshold, his alert eyes taking in the scene; Eileen with her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, Steve’s face still showing concern and Temple’s features expressionless.

  “What is it, Hubert?” Eileen asked with forced brightness.

  “Lunch is ready, my dear,” said Hubert, with a smile. He came into the room, took her hand and tenderly led her to the doorway. She went, as docile as a child. “Come down when you’re ready,” Hubert said over his shoulder to the Temples, and closed the door.

  “Did you pack those socks, darling - the ones I bought in New York?”

  “Yes, they’re in the top drawer.”

  “Thanks. I enjoyed our walk this afternoon, Steve. It was a relief to have some time on our own.”

  After tea the Temples had escaped from the house party and at Eileen’s suggestion had followed the path that circled the lake. It took them through the woods on the far side and back past the boat-house at the southern end of the half-mile stretch of water.

  “Yes, so did I.” Steve was inspecting herself in the cheval mirror. She had slipped into a plain chocolate velvet dress with long slim arms. It was hard to know what to wear in this house. Moira was quite capable of turning up to dinner in jeans. “Does this dress look all right?”


  “Yes, of course it looks all right. It ought to, judging by what you paid for it.”

  “Now don’t you start on that! Zip the back for me.”

  “What did Boyer have to say?” Temple asked, doing as he was told. “You seemed to be putting your heads together rather a lot.”

  “Oh, nothing. He told me he thought I’d make a very good dancer.”

  “By Timothy, the old technique! I wouldn’t trust that tailor’s dummy as far as I could throw him.”

  Steve inserted a stockinged foot into a shiny black court shoe. “Did you notice Moira Portland this morning when he said she was the world’s worst nagger? She looked furious.”

  “Moira Portland’s always looking furious. I’m inclined to agree with Greene about that young woman.”

  Steve sat down at the dressing table and started to brush her hair. “Paul, I don’t know whether you’ve realised it or not, but George Kelly’s avoiding us. He didn’t even have tea with us this afternoon”

  “He’s probably frightened that one of us might mention that telephone call.”

  “Yes. Why do you think he made it, darling? He must have known that sooner or later we’d ask him about it.”

  “He obviously made it because …” Temple broke off at the sound of a knock on the door. “Come in.”

  Hubert Greene opened the door. He had changed into a dark suit and was wearing a bow tie.

  “Excuse me …” He glanced apologetically at Steve, who did not turn round. “There’s a telephone call for you, Temple.”

  “For me? Who is it, do you know?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t ask. You can take it in my room if you like.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Temple reached for his coat. “Shan’t be a moment, darling.”

  Greene led him to a bedroom at the far end of the corridor. It was quite small and had the appearance of a bachelor’s den. Temple wondered why the Greenes did not sleep together.

  “Here we are. The ’phone’s by the bed.”

  Temple saw that the receiver was already off its cradle. “Oh, thanks.”

  “Can you find your way back all right?”

  “Yes, rather.”

  “When you and Mrs Temple are ready we’re having drinks in the drawing-room.”

  “Fine.”

  Greene went out and tactfully closed the door.

  Temple took his time about sitting on the bed and picking up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is that you, Temple?”

  “Oh, hello, Sir Graham!”

  “Sorry if I’ve interrupted your dinner.”

  “No, as a matter of fact we were just going down.”

  “You did say give me a ring, remember?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I think we’re making headway, Temple – at last.”

  “Oh, good. I thought you sounded optimistic. What’s happened?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Temple was being watched, but only by the faces in the photographs. There was one on the chest of drawers of Eileen in a swim suit beside a blue pool.

  “Is it all right - to talk, I mean?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Well, Temple, listen. We’ve discovered the identity of Dr Elzec and we know at least one of his contacts. We came across his photograph in a snapshot album - the one you and James found at Archie Brooks’.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “His real name is Wilderhof. He was mixed up in the Basle counterfeit racket in 1984.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “I’m quite sure.”

  “What are you going to do about it, Sir Graham?”

  “There’s no point in picking him up. In any case, we’ve nothing on him at the moment. You can’t arrest a man for paying five hundred pounds a week for a furnished flat.”

  “Are you watching him?”

  “Yes, there’s a man on the block night and day. You’ll probably spot him when you get back on Monday morning.”

  “You seem to have been pretty busy since I left town, Sir Graham.”

  “Yes. Get in touch with me as soon as you get back, Temple.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Forbes had hung up. Temple went on listening for a few seconds before he quietly replaced his own instrument.

  Back in the guest bedroom he found Steve dressed and ready, ear-rings and a necklace in place and a silk shawl over her arm in case it grew chillier.

  “Oh, I was just going to go down, darling. Are you ready?”

  “I’ll be ready when I put a tie on.”

  “Who was it on the ’phone?”

  “Sir Graham.”

  “Oh, did he want anything special?”

  “No, he – “ Temple chuckled as he knotted his tie, “just wanted a chat.”

  “What’s the joke?”

  “I’ve got a hunch we shall find somebody rather on edge this evening, Steve. It’ll be interesting to see who it is.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Before I left town I made arrangements for Sir Graham to ’phone and pretend that the Yard had discovered the real identity of Dr Elzec. I also told him to tell me that they’d discovered who his contact was.”

  “But what was the point of that? Why should he say those things if they weren’t true?”

  Temple was brushing the shoulders and lapels of his jacket. “I was pretty certain that any telephone conversation I had would be listened to.”

  “Do you think someone did listen to your conversation?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

  “Paul, you looked puzzled just now. Did Sir Graham say anything else?”

  “I’m surprised he told me that the Yard know Elzec’s real name is Wilderhof and that he was mixed up in the Basle currency racket in 1984. He probably knew as well as I did that the conversation was being listened to.”

  “He probably wants to use Elzec or Wilderhof or whatever his name is as a bait. If the people behind this affair think that Elzec’s been found out they’ll probably try to get rid of him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s when Sir Graham’ll step in.”

  “There might be something in that, Steve.” Temple agreed rather absent-mindedly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Come along, darling, let’s go down.”

  All but one of the house party had assembled in the drawing room when the Temples joined them. Hubert and Eileen Greene, Stella Portland, Chris Boyer and George Kelly had all changed into something different, though no one could be said to be in formal evening dress. The french windows had been closed and Hubert Greene was again busy at the drinks cabinet seeing that everyone had the drink they wanted.

  “Oh, dear, are we the last?” Steve apologised.

  “You’re not,” said Eileen. “Moira has not appeared yet.”

  While Hubert was pouring a dry Martini and a fino sherry for Temple and Steve the other two ladies were admiring the latter’s dress. Temple tried to engage Boyer in conversation but he was clearly concerned by the non-appearance of his fiancée.

  It was a good five minutes before she came in. She was wearing a short black dress with a diamond clip on each shoulder.

  “Come in, Moira,” Hubert greeted her, pleasantly enough. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Chris Boyer was less relaxed. “Where on earth have you been, Moira? You were ready ages ago.”

  “I’ve been for a walk,” she declared defiantly. “Is there any particular reason why I shouldn’t go for a walk before dinner?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Say, you look all steamed up about something,” said George Kelly with his usual lack of tact. “You need a drink.”

  “Excellent advice, Mr Kelly - if a slight understatement.” Moira was flushed, the pupils of her eyes seemed larger and her hands were clenching. “I need several drinks.”

  “What would you like, Moira?” Hubert spoke quietly, but he
was studying her carefully.

  “It’s all right, I’ll mix it.”

  “I’m mixing the drinks, Moira.” Hubert interrupted her firmly. “What would you like?”

  “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.”

  “Have you been drinking already?” Boyer said quickly.

  “What do you mean - already?” She swung round to face him, pouting. “I’ve had three very small pink gins, if that’s what you mean.”

  Stella gave a slightly forced laugh. “Where on earth did you have those?”

  “I drove down into the village.”

  “I thought you said you’d been for a walk?” Hubert pointed out. Moira had chosen a drink that needed a lot of preparation. He had poured the vodka and tomato juice and was hunting for the Worcester sauce and the Tabasco.

  “I drove down into the village, I got out of my car and I walked – on my own two legs - into a very large pub and ordered three very small pink gins.” Moira was becoming at the same time more defiant and more illogical as she faced each of her interlocutors in turn. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  “Yes,” said Temple crisply.

  “What?” Moira spun round to face this new threat.

  “Where’s my sherry?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Temple,” Hubert apologised. “I poured it out and left it on the trolley. Here we are.”

  As Hubert handed Temple his glass Moira demanded, “And what about my Bloody Mary, Hubert?”

  “Look here, Moira.” said Boyer, distressed and concerned, “I think you’ve had far too much already.”

  “Darling, I’m not interested in what you think. As a matter of fact, sweetie, I’m not at all sure that you can think.” Moira was speaking with a brittle, bright-eyed clarity, staring her fiancé in the face. “You’re a tall, upright, well creased slice of sartorial perfection, but when it comes to brains …”

  “Miss Portland, please.” Even the quiet Eileen was moved to protest.

  “No. No, please. I’m finding this very interesting,” said Boyer, his eyes hard. “This is a new side to my fiancée. It seems to me that I ought to get acquainted with it.”

  “Careful, Chris. Careful.” Moira mocked him. “Those are mighty big words.” She turned on Hubert. “Where’s my drink?”

  “Here we are.” Hubert handed her the half-pint glass.