Dr Benkaray started to crank her window up. “Goodbye, Mr Temple. No doubt we shall meet again some time.”
“Goodbye, Doctor.”
Temple stood, watching the car as Larry Cross forced his way into the road in front of an oncoming lorry.
“Having trouble with your car, Mr Temple?”
“What?” Temple reluctantly took his eyes from the receding car and turned towards Bill Fletcher. “Oh, no, I wanted to talk to you.’’
“Talk to me? What about?”
“About your mother.”
Bill’s face became serious. He stared at Temple, trying to read his expression, then glanced towards the road to make sure no other cars were pulling in.
“Okay — let’s go in the office.”
The friendly bell pinged as Bill led the way into the small office-cum-shop. Temple saw at once that there was no one behind the counter and the litter of papers, receipts, cheques and envelopes on it seemed to indicate that Bill was coping single-handed with the day’s business.
Mrs Fletcher was up in Town for the day, Bill explained, visiting Aunt Gladys. Seeing Temple’s disappointed expression, he asked: “Did you specially want to see her? Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s a rather personal matter,” Temple hedged. Then, realising that Bill really wanted to be helpful, he said: “I heard Dr Benkaray ask you to get your mother to ‘phone her. Are they close friends?”
“I suppose you could say that. Mother used to work up at her place, and when we moved down here the doctor became one of our best customers.’’
Temple noticed the reservation in the young man’s answer. He asked bluntly: “Do you like the doctor?”
“She’s been very good to Mother.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you.”
“I’d sooner keep my likes and dislikes to myself, if you don’t mind, Mr Temple.” Bill’s face had closed up and the helpful smile had gone.
“That’s sensible of you.” Temple kept his voice friendly. “It’s just that your mother did me a very great favour and I’d like to repay her.”
“My mother did you a favour?’’
“Yes. An attempt was made on my life, or rather on my wife’s — and your mother ‘phoned and tipped me off.”
Temple smiled. “Otherwise we might not be here today.”
“This is news to me,” said Bill, genuinely surprised. “Are you sure it was my mother who telephoned you?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Well, Mother wouldn’t expect any money, you know — even if she did do you a favour.” Bill spoke with a certain defensive aggressiveness.
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Temple told him. “I had a feeling she was in some kind of trouble and it occurred to me that I might be able to help her in some way. I’ve a certain amount of influence, you know.”
“Yes, I know, Mr Temple.” Bill was regretting his momentary sharpness and trying to make up for it. “I’ve heard a great deal about you and I’ve always thought … But how did you know my mother was in trouble?”
Bill did not seem to realise that he had made an important admission and Temple’s face did not betray the fact that his very tentative theory had been confirmed.
“Bill, why don’t you tell me about it? I give you my word I’ll treat the whole thing in confidence.”
He saw Bill hesitate, trying to make up his mind and then, to his frustration, a car pulled in at the pumps. He waited while the young man went out, served his customer, received payment and gave change. But when he came back Bill had made up his mind.
“Well, it’s like this, Mr Temple,” he said, as if there had been no interruption. “When I was a lad we used to live at Little Weston, about two miles away. Dad died when I was sixteen, and Mother went out to work. There wasn’t much money, but I got a job in the garage at Little Weston. When I was nineteen we came to live here. Mother got this job with Dr Benkaray and she managed to fix me up at Perrymount Engineering, helping to repair tractors and things. I always wanted a garage of my own, as long as I can remember, but there was never any money.’’
He paused as a van slowed on the road outside, its left-hand indicator blinking, but it passed the garage and turned up a lane beyond it.
“Well — we went on steadily enough, and then Mother started going to the doctor’s afternoons as well as mornings, sometimes evenings as well. Then, after about two years, she came home one night and said she’d finished at the doctor’s and was buying this garage which had just come on the market. She got it cheap enough, too, on account of putting down the ready.”
“D’you think your mother saved enough money to buy the garage?” As there were no chairs on the customers’ side of the office Temple had leant back with his elbows supported on the counter.
“No, she couldn’t have saved a quarter of it. I asked her where the rest came from but she’d never let on. Said she’d managed to raise a loan, and it was her business.” Bill shook his head. “But in spite of everything, Mr Temple, Mother isn’t happy. I’m sure she isn’t. Don’t ask me why, but she isn’t.”
“You said she’s in London at the moment?”
“Yes, she’s always popping up to Town these days to see her sister — that’s my Aunt Gladys. They’ve never been as friendly. In the old days Mother used to say they only met at weddings and funerals.”
“You sound a bit suspicious of your aunt?”
“Oh, no, it isn’t that, but after one of these trips I saw a theatre programme sticking out of Mother’s handbag. It was from the Theatre Royal at Brighton.”
“She could have gone to Brighton. Perhaps she took your aunt there.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me about it? At one time she used to tell me everything.”
“Well, if she isn’t seeing your aunt she’s obviously seeing someone on these trips of hers. You have no idea who it is?”
Bill stared out of the window, his brow puckered as he dug into his memory. “There was one chap — he came to the house late one night, about two months ago.”
“Can you tell me anything about him?”
“Mother and he had a row. She thought I was asleep in bed, but when I heard voices I went to the top of the stairs. They were standing in the hall arguing with each other. I’d never seen the man before but I think he was an American …”
“Did you see him — clearly enough to recognise him again?”
“I think so. Yes, I’m sure I would.”
Temple was already pulling the envelope from his pocket. “Then take a look at these photographs.”
Bill took the photographs and quickly looked through them. He needed only a brief glance. “Yes, that’s him! That’s the chap all right. But how on earth did you get these photographs?”
“Don’t worry about the photographs, Bill.” Temple put out his hand for the photographs and put them back in the envelope. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Well, they had a row, a first-class one. So far as I could tell they appeared to be arguing about a coat and the Pier at Brighton.”
“The Pier at Brighton?” said Temple, puzzled. Then suddenly, “They must have meant the Pier Hotel.”
Mrs Fletcher had been holding a coat, Bill remembered, and was obviously trying to get Langdon to take it from her. Listening to the low-voiced conversation he had been convinced that she had undertaken to deliver the coat to some person in Brighton called Margo and had decided that she was going to have nothing to do with it, the job could be done by Julia, she said. Langdon had blustered, threatened that she would be in trouble with Dr Benkaray if she refused.
“He threatened her with Dr Benkaray?”
“Yes, Mr Temple. But Mother wasn’t scared by that. She was very defiant. And she said a funny thing. She told this chap — Langdon you said his name was? — ‘You can say two words to Dr Benkaray, just two words. Edgar Northampton.’ “
“Edgar Northampton?” Temple repeated, memorising the name. “How did Langdo
n react?”
“He didn’t seem to know the name, but somehow Mother had the upper hand on him after that and he took the coat.’’
“Do you know anyone called Northampton?”
“The only person of that name I know is the manager of the London and Southern Bank in Tenterhurst where we have our account, but I don’t know his Christian name.”
A car had pulled in at the pumps. The driver was obviously a regular, for he waved at Bill and began to serve himself.
“What happened then?” Temple protested.
“The man left and I went back to bed. And I don’t mind telling you I lay awake for two or three hours, trying to figure things out. And I’m no clearer about it now than I was then.”
Bill was relieved now that he had told his story and some of the strain had gone out of his face. He was watching the man operating the pump.
“Did you tell your mother what you’d heard?”
“No, I never mentioned it.”
“Did it occur to you that the Julia they were talking about was Julia Kelburn?”
“That’s the girl that was murdered? No, I never thought of that.”
“She was a patient of Dr Benkaray’s. So it’s quite possible that your mother knew her.”
“Mr Temple, you don’t think my mother had anything to do with the murder?”
“I don’t think your mother committed the murder, Bill, if that’s what you mean,” Temple said quickly. “But it’s my guess — she knows who did.’’
“Oh, no!” Bill breathed, his distress obvious. “If my mother’s got into trouble, Mr Temple, it’s because of me. She always wanted me to have a good start in life — to have a garage of my own. Even when I was a kid she …”
“Don’t worry, Bill,” Temple reassured him. “We’ll sort this out. Now tell me, you’re quite sure you heard the name Margo mentioned?”
The man at the pump had filled his tank and was replacing the filler cap. Bill was torn between going out to take his money and finishing his conversation.
“Yes, I’m positive. You believe me, don’t you, Mr Temple?” Bill, his hand on the door, looked back appealingly at Temple.
“Yes, I believe you. Now listen, Bill.” Temple moved after Bill as the door opened and the bell pinged. “Try not to worry too much about this, but keep your eyes and ears open. I’ll be in touch with you.’’
Temple found Steve sitting in the Rover, still staring dutifully at the blank wall ahead.
“Well!” she said, as he opened the door on the driver’s side. “I thought you’d walked out of my life.”
“Sorry, darling. I got caught up.”
Steve had not even looked round at him. “Is it all right for me to turn my head now? My neck’s frozen solid.”
“Oh, Steve! Dr Benkaray and Cross drove away a quarter of an hour ago!”
Steve made a great play of relaxing her shoulders and seeing if she could still swivel her head on her neck. “Well, I wish someone had told me — you look very thoughtful, Paul. Has something happened?”
“I’ve had quite a talk with young Fletcher.” Temple reversed away from the wall, then spun the wheel to drive across the forecourt on to the road. Bill Fletcher, counting the notes his customer had handed him, gave a wave. “That lad’s an innocent, hard-working young man, but I’m afraid his mother’s kept him in the dark about a lot of things. That’s what’s worrying him at the moment.”
Steve fastened her seat belt as Temple waited for a gap in the line of cars streaming through Westerton towards the coastal towns.
“He told me Langdon was down here a little while ago. He tried to persuade Mrs Fletcher to take a coat to someone in Brighton — someone called Margo.”
‘’Margo?’’ Steve echoed.
“Yes, but oddly enough that doesn’t interest me as much as the Brighton angle. Remember Tony Wyman told me that he met Julia Kelburn’s friend Fiona at Brighton.”
“You think Margo and this Fiona Scott might be one and the same person?”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
To Steve’s surprise, Temple pulled and turned not towards The Red Hart but towards the town of Tenterhurst.
“Paul! Aren’t you going the wrong way? The pub’s at the other end of the village.”
“We’ll skip The Red Hart, darling. I want to go down to Brighton.”
Steve, accustomed to Paul’s sudden changes of plan, took the announcement calmly.
“Have you any idea how long we’ll stay there?”
“Oh, two or three days, probably.”
“But we haven’t brought any things with us. What are we going to do?”
“We’ll stop in Tenterhurst and telephone Charlie. And I want to cash a cheque. We should just make it if we hurry.”
Steve glanced at her watch. It was already twenty past three.
Temple, keeping an eye on his mirrors, used the full power of the 3.5 litre engine to cover the five miles in as many minutes. It was three twenty-seven when he pulled up opposite the London and Southern Bank in the main street of Tenterhurst.
“Steve, there’s a telephone kiosk across the road. You telephone Charlie while I go in to the bank.”
“Where shall I tell him we’re staying?”
“What’s that hotel on the front we liked the look of last year? The Pier, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The Pier. Paul, you realise you’re parked on a double yellow line?”
“That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”
Temple had seen one of the clerks at the bank’s door, one half of which was closed already. He was glancing at his watch, preparatory to closing the other half on the dot of three thirty. Temple gave him a smile as he squeezed past.
The young clerk behind the first window thought he had finished business for the day and was counting his cash. He wiped the frown of annoyance from his face when he looked up and saw Temple’s authoritative face.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon. I’d like to cash a cheque, please.”
“Certainly, sir. You have a bank card?”
“I have, but I’m going to need more than fifty pounds.”
“How much were you wanting, sir?” the clerk said doubtfully.
“Five hundred.”
“Well, I don’t know — I think you’d better speak to the manager, sir.”
“With pleasure,” Temple said, smiling.
“What is the name, please?”
“Temple. Paul Temple.”
The front door had been closed and the last of the customers were being let out one by one. Temple did not have to wait long before a door at the end of the bank opened and a middle- aged man wearing steel-rimmed spectacles came half out. He was stout and chubby-cheeked and no more than five foot four in height.
“Would you care to come into my office, Mr Temple?”
“Certainly.”
As he went towards the manager’s door, Temple heard some customer who had arrived late banging angrily on the outer door. As one of the customers was let out he heard the clerk protesting that it was already past closing time. Then the manager closed the door behind him and the sound of the altercation was cut off.
At the manager’s bidding Temple took the chair opposite his desk. The manager sat down in his own chair and placed his folded arms on the blotter. Like many men of small stature he became more confident when ensconced behind a desk.
“Now, I understand you’d like us to cash a cheque for five hundred pounds. You understand I shall need to telephone your own bank for clearance, and will have to charge you for the call. You have your cheque book with you?”
“Of course. I understand.” Temple was reaching into his pocket for his cheque book. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Mr—It’s Mr Northampton, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
Temple took the plunge. “Edgar Northampton?”
The manager smiled, pleased that his name was known to such a distinguished person.
His work as chairman of the local committee that was agitating for a by-pass had been reported in some of the national dailies and he assumed that was where Temple had seen it.
“Yes,” he said modestly. “That is my name.”
5: Breakwater House
The telephone call went through smoothly and after talking to Temple’s London bank Edgar Northampton was even more effusive than before. Temple, who had only asked for such a large sum in order to be sure of seeing the manager, wrote out a cheque and asked for the money in fifty-pound notes.
“I’m very much obliged to you, Mr Northampton,” he said, when a clerk had brought ten crisp new notes in from the main bank and he had stowed them away in an inside pocket.
“Not at all, Mr Temple. Glad to be of help. Do you come down here often?”
“We sometimes stay at The Red Hart.”
“Oh, yes. The landlord is a customer of mine. Most of the Westerton business people have their accounts here.”
“Then perhaps you know Mrs Fletcher and her son. They keep the garage and filling station there.”
“Fletcher? Let me think now … A tall, fair-haired woman?”
“No, she’s just average height, turning grey.”
“Ah, yes! I remember. We met at a garden fete about eight months ago. When she discovered I was a bank manager she was rather anxious to get my advice. Yes, of course, I remember the lady. How stupid of me!”
“I expect people are always after free advice, Mr Northampton?”
“Yes, they are.” The manager stood up. “Still, advice costs nothing, as they say.”
As Temple left the office there was only one customer left in the main hall. He had his back turned as he stuffed the money he had collected into a small leather wallet with a wrist strap. Temple guessed that he was the customer who had so insistently demanded entry just as the bank was closing, but he did not pay him much attention. He was approaching the door, where the same clerk was waiting to let him out, when he heard his name called.
“Hello, Mr Temple. So we meet again.”
He turned round, recognising the voice as that of Larry Cross. The man had the look of someone who has managed to beat the system and secure special treatment for himself.
Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery Page 10
