Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

  “Yes, I did. But it’s the last trip I’m making without you, Steve.”

  “You can say that again!” She laughed and slid luxuriously back under the bedclothes. There was more colour in her cheeks than the night before but she had dark shadows under her eyes.

  ‘’How do you feel?’’

  “I’m perfectly all right now. There’s no need to look so anxious.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. She put out a hand to grasp his. “Do you feel well enough to talk?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What happened yesterday, Steve?”

  “Well, now — let me think …” Her eyes clouded as she stared at the half-drawn curtains. “I’m not sure where to begin …”

  “Suppose we begin at the very beginning. You set out to meet me at the airport, just as you planned …”

  “Yes, that’s right. I arrived there with plenty of time to spare, and parked the car. A man in uniform, one of the airport officials, came up to me. He checked the number of my car, and asked if I was Mrs Temple. He told me your plane had arrived ahead of schedule and you were waiting for me in the Concorde Lounge.”

  “Would you recognise this man again?”

  “I doubt it.” She shook her head. “He asked me to follow him to another car just outside the car park. I thought he was taking me to another building some distance away. In the back of the car was a woman wearing air hostess’s uniform. I sat beside her and the man climbed into the driving seat and we drove off. We’d been going for about a minute when the woman suddenly pushed a pad over my face and I felt a jab in my right arm. I’m afraid I don’t remember anything else — about the journey, I mean. When I came to I was in a darkened room. I felt absolutely awful. Everything was going round and I wanted to be sick. After a while a man came into the room and gave me a drink. I don’t know what it was, but it certainly made me feel better.”

  “Was this man the phoney airport official?”

  “I couldn’t see him very well, but I don’t think he was. For one thing, his voice sounded different.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said there was nothing to worry about — that I wasn’t in any danger and later on they’d be releasing me.”

  “Did you ask why they’d kidnapped you?”

  “Yes, and he said: ‘We did it as a warning, and to prove that it was possible, Mrs Temple.’ “

  She felt his grip on her hand tighten, saw the line of his mouth harden.

  “Go on, Steve.”

  “Well, I was left alone for ages after that. It must have been two or three hours later before another man came into the room. I think this was the man at the airport; he was about the same height and he sounded rather like him.”

  “But you’re not sure?” he said sharply.

  “No, Paul, I can’t be a hundred per cent sure. Anyway, this man also assured me that there was nothing to worry about and that they were going to send me home. About half an hour later they drove me down to Euston and allowed me to make the telephone call.”

  “But didn’t they give you any idea what this was all about — why they’d abducted you?”

  “Not the slightest. Don’t you know, Paul?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I’m not investigating a case at the moment. I’m not mixed up in anything — you know that, Steve.”

  “If only I could remember more details … What the people looked like …”

  “Don’t worry about it, darling.” He released her hand and stood up. “You’re all right, that’s the main thing.”

  “Yes, well — you must have been pretty worried.”

  “Oh, not really, darling.” He kept his expression dead-pan. “I just went berserk.”

  Steve laughed, watching him affectionately as he moved towards the hanging cupboard that filled one whole wall.

  “By the way, I put your new coat in the wardrobe.”

  “My coat?”

  “Yes. We found it in the back of the car when we collected it from the airport.”

  “But I didn’t take a coat with me,” Steve said, puzzled.

  “Yes, you did, darling. Here it is.” Temple slid the white door back on its runners, reached inside and took out an overcoat on a hanger.

  He held the coat up for her to see. It was in classic style, of fawn cashmere, with a tie-belt and sleeves trimmed with leather buttons. What surprised him was the weight of the material.

  “That’s not my coat!” Steve exclaimed.

  “But it is, Steve! It was in the back of your —”

  “I don’t care where it was! It’s not my coat!”

  Temple found it hard to understand why she was so vehement in repudiating this fashionable garment.

  “Are you sure, dear?”

  “I’m positive!” More quietly she asked: “Is there anything in the pockets?”

  He carefully checked both pockets. “No, nothing.”

  Steve pointed a finger towards the top of the coat. “There should be a maker’s name on the back of the collar somewhere.”

  “Yes, I’m just looking for it.” Temple took the coat off the hanger and looked inside the collar. “Ah, here we are!”

  He turned the label towards the light to read the name. “Margo …”

  Superintendent Raine took his mackintosh off and handed it to Charlie, who hung it up in the little cloakroom. Through the closed door of the sitting-room he could hear someone playing the piano — one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. Despite his air of businesslike efficiency Raine was a sensitive man and a lover of music. From the style of the playing he was able to recognise a woman’s touch.

  The music stopped when Charlie knocked on the door and went in to announce the visitor. A moment later Temple himself appeared.

  “Hello, Superintendent!” he welcomed Raine warmly. “Come along in!”

  The Temples’ coffee cups had been put back on the silver tray and a brandy glass was on the table beside Paul’s chair. The book he had been reading had been placed on the arm, with the cover uppermost. It was the novel that had recently won the Booker McConnell prize.

  Steve had come out from behind the baby grand piano.

  “Good evening, Mrs Temple.” Raine gave her a courtly bow. “You look better than you did a week ago.”

  “Yes,” Steve smiled. “I’m fine now, thank you very much.”

  “I just happened to be passing and I thought I’d drop in and have a word with you.’’

  “Glad to see you.” Temple indicated a chair. “Sit down. Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’m afraid my day’s work is not done yet.” Raine sat down, as usual leaning slightly forward. “Well, we don’t seem to have got very far during the past week. We’ve made enquiries about the coat, but we’ve drawn a blank. We’ve failed to find the owner, or even the shop where it was bought.”

  “What about the makers?”

  “We can’t even locate the makers. According to all accounts, there isn’t a coat firm called Margo — not in this country, at any rate.”

  “I see.” Steve and Paul exchanged a glance. “Did you check with the airport people?”

  “Yes, and we’ve had no luck there either, I’m afraid. I suppose you haven’t had any bright ideas, Mr Temple?”

  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t, except that … Well, I think the people who kidnapped Steve were labouring under the delusion that I was just about to investigate a case of some kind.”

  “And you think the Mrs Temple incident was a warning to keep out?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, that’s a possible explanation, I suppose,” Raine conceded dubiously. “But what’s the case?”

  “You tell me.” Temple tapped his pipe out and reached for the tobacco jar. “I never interfere in anything without an invitation. What’s your biggest headache at the moment?”

  “Oh, our biggest headache is The Fence — trying to find out who the devil he is. But we’ve had that headache for so
me time now. I doubt whether we’ll ever solve it.”

  Steve had gone back to the piano stool and was leafing through some sheet music, obviously intending not to intrude on the conversation; but she was drawn into it in spite of herself.

  “What do you mean — The Fence?”

  “Well, you know what a fence is, Mrs Temple?” Raine had to shift his position to face her.

  “Yes — a man who receives stolen property.”

  “That’s right. Well, during the past twelve months there’s been several robberies. I mean, really big stuff. The two jewellers in Leicester Square … the fur warehouse in Bond Street …”

  “Lord Renton’s place in Eaton Square,” Temple put in, as Raine hesitated.

  “Yes, that’s right. Well, it’s our opinion that these particular jobs were all done …”

  “… by the same gang!” Steve supplied, determined not to be outdone.

  Raine laughed good-humouredly. “No, Mrs Temple. Nothing quite as simple as that. We think — in fact, we know that the various jobs have been done by different people. We feel pretty confident, however, that the stolen property was, in every’case, handled by the same person.”

  “The Fence?”

  “Yes, Mrs Temple. So far we’ve failed to find out who this fence is — or where he operates from. But sooner or later we’ve got to find him, because, at the moment, he’s indirectly responsible for a great many of the robberies in this country.”

  “Then I can see why you’ve got to find him,” Temple remarked drily.

  “Still, we’ve no reason for thinking — no proof, as it were that Mrs Temple’s experience had anything to do with The Fence.”

  “No, Superintendent,” Temple said thoughtfully. “No proof.”

  There was a short silence, but Raine made no move to go. “There was one thing I wanted to ask you. The day Mrs Temple disappeared you said something about a note — a telephone message — which was on the pad by the side of the bed.”

  “Yes, of course!” Temple struck his brow with the flat of his hand. “I forgot all about that! There was a note, Steve. It said: ‘Tell P. about L.’ “

  “Oh, that was Laura Stafford,” Steve said dismissively. “She telephoned one morning and said she wanted to see you seemed awfully disappointed when I said you were in New York.”

  “Who’s Laura Stafford?” Temple enquired.

  “She’s a journalist — or rather she was several years ago.” Steve forsook the piano stool and moved over to the sofa. “We used to see quite a bit of each other when I worked in Fleet Street. Then she left and married a man called Kelburn.”

  “Kelburn?” Temple echoed, with surprise. “George Kelburn?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Very wealthy. North country. She’s his second wife.”

  “That’s right.” Steve leaned back and crossed her legs. Raine bent his head and dutifully studied his fingernails. “Anyway, when I said you were in New York she said she’d get in touch with you later. I thought nothing of it at the time, but a couple of days later I bumped into Laura in Freeman and Bentley’s and naturally, I mentioned the telephone call, and to my amazement she said she hadn’t ‘phoned.”

  Raine looked up sharply. “She said she hadn’t?”

  “That’s right, Superintendent. She said she certainly had no wish to consult Paul about anything.” Steve turned to Temple, whose expression showed his scepticism. “Darling, why were you surprised when I mentioned the name Kelburn?”

  “Well, coming over on the ‘plane a man called Langdon introduced himself to me. He works for George Kelburn. Apparently Kelburn’s having trouble with his daughter and he’s asked Langdon to try and sort it out.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of Miss Kelburn,’’ Raine said meaningfully.”Julia, by name.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Always in the newspapers. She must be quite a handful, that young lady. I don’t envy Mr Langdon his assignment.” He put his hands on his knees to push himself upright. “Well, I’ll be making a move. Glad you’re feeling better, Mrs Temple.”

  Raine had been gone for an hour and Steve had announced her intention of going to bed early when the doorbell rang and they heard Charlie going to answer it. A few moments later his head came round the door.

  “What is it, Charlie?”

  “Are you in or out, Mr Temple?”

  “At a quick glance, I should say we’re in.”

  “Well, there’s a Mr Langdon would like to see you. Looks like a Yank to me.”

  “Yes — he is a Yank, as you so elegantly put it, Charlie. Show the gentleman in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Langdon?” Steve asked. “Is this the man you met on the ‘plane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ask him to call?”

  “Not in so many words, but I said if I could be of use any time I’d be pleased to see him.”

  Like Raine, Langdon refused the offer of a drink, but accepted a chair. Steve resigned herself to being a listener to another of Temple’s interviews. She always admired his capacity for making people feel that a visit from them was just what he had been hoping for and that he had all the time in the world to listen to their confidences.

  “I’ve already had more than my share of drink this evening,” Langdon said with a sigh. “Which isn’t surprising —

  considering.’’

  “Why, is the Kelburn business getting you down?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “You’ve seen Julia, I take it?”

  “Yes, half a dozen times. It’s hopeless — she has every intention of doing precisely what she wants.’’

  “And what about the young man she’s keen on — Tony Wyman?”

  “I went to see Wyman last night.” An expression of distaste crossed Langdon’s face. “At The Hide and Seek. He completely denied that he and Julia were engaged. He just laughed when I said that Kelburn would pay him twenty-five grand not to see her again. He became quite offensive. Said he wouldn’t marry the girl if she was the last piece on earth. So far as he was concerned Kelburn could keep his twenty-five grand and his daughter too!” Langdon sighed again.

  ‘’ What a charming young man!’’

  “You can say that again, Mrs Temple. I wasn’t exactly enthralled by Master Wyman!”

  “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  “I don’t know, Temple. He sounded convincing and yet it just doesn’t add up. Everyone I’ve spoken to swears he’s got his eye on her. Temple, I know this is a bit of a cheek, but do you think you could make one or two enquiries for me?”

  Steve shot Temple a warning look, but he seemed to be more interested in refilling his pipe.

  “All right, Langdon, we’ll get on the grapevine and see what we can do.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you,” Langdon said effusively. “I appreciate it, I really do.”

  “Then how about changing your mind and having a drink?”

  As Steve turned away to hide her exasperation at Temple’s excessive hospitality, Langdon put his head on one side. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  Temple raised his head from the pillow at the third ring of the telephone, but no sooner was he properly awake than it stopped.

  “Probably realised they were dialling the wrong number,” Steve said beside him. He could tell from her voice that she had been lying awake.

  “What time is it?”

  “Struck three a few minutes ago.”

  “Couldn’t you get to sleep?”

  “I keep thinking of Laura Kelburn. It must be awful having a daughter like Julia. Paul, do you think she was lying when she said she hadn’t telephoned me?”

  “I can’t see why she — “ Paul stopped as the ‘phone started ringing again.”Who could be telephoning us at this hour?”

  “Take your time, Paul. If they really want us they won’t ring off.”

  Temple waited for a little while before switching the li
ght on and picking up the ‘phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Is that Paul Temple?” A woman’s voice, speaking softly, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

  “Yes, speaking.”

  “This is Mrs Kelburn …” There was a crackling on the line and he could hardly catch the name.

  “Who?”

  “Mrs Kelburn … Laura Kelburn …”

  “Oh, good evening — er — good morning, Mrs Kelburn.”

  “Mr Temple, I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but — I’ve got to see you.” There was desperation in her voice as she added: “It really is important.”

  “Well — what is it you want to see me about?”

  “About — about Julia. My stepdaughter.”

  “What about Julia?” Temple asked, not trying very hard to conceal his impatience.

  “When can I see you, Mr Temple?” She was still speaking so softly that he could hardly hear her. “Will nine o’clock be all right? I’ve got your address so …”

  “Look, Mrs Kelburn, I’m quite prepared to see you, but first of all I must know what this is all about.’’

  “I’ve told you. It’s about my stepdaughter —Julia.”

  “Yes, I know, but what about Julia?”

  There was a long pause, but no indication that she had rung off. Temple wondered whether someone had taken the receiver from her. Then suddenly she said very quickly but quite distinctly: “She’s going to be murdered.’’

  There came a click and Temple was left listening to the dialling tone.

  “Hello, Steve!” Temple had finished his toast and marmalade and was pouring himself a second cup of coffee before his wife appeared for breakfast the next morning. “You’re nice and late this morning!”

  “Yes, I know,” Steve admitted wryly. “I didn’t get to sleep until five o’clock.”

  “It’s not surprising. We didn’t stop talking until half past four. I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  “No, I don’t want any coffee, dear. I’ll just have the orange juice. What time is it, anyway?”

  ‘‘Twenty past nine.’’

  “My word, we are late …”

  “Yes — and so’s your friend, Laura Kelburn. She said she’d be here by … “He was stopped by a long peal on the doorbell. “This will be her now.”