Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

  “Ah, yes … Breakwater House.” The vicar peered into the car, trying to see how many passengers there were, but Temple’s voice had reassured him. “Now let me see … It’s a little off the beaten track. Yes, I think it would be a better idea if you turned round …”

  “You mean, go back?”

  “That’s right. You must keep a careful look out for a turning on the left — rather a narrow track. “

  “Can you give me any idea how far back it is?”

  “I should say nearly a mile.” The vicar used his free hand to illustrate his instructions. “It’s just past a large, old-fashioned barn.”

  “Yes, I remember passing it now. Breakwater House is actually down that track?”

  “Yes, indeed. The gates are about a quarter of a mile —”

  “Do you know the people who live there?”

  “No. It’s outside my parish. But I do know there’s rather a delightful arch at the entrance to the drive, with a stone dolphin on top.”

  “A dolphin?” Steve stared at the clergyman. “Did you say a dolphin?”

  The vicar stooped, trying to see her face. “Yes. Do look out for it, a beautiful piece of work, although I suppose it’s rather on the dark side tonight, unfortunately.”

  “I’m much obliged,” said Temple.

  “Not at all, not at all. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding it.” The vicar started to push his bike past the Rover. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Temple called after him, “and thank you.”

  They had to go on half a mile before Temple found a place to turn the car. He had to reverse several times and he did not want to ask Steve to get out to guide him. She had been very silent since the parson had mentioned the dolphin.

  As they bumped back down the lane she said: “Paul, you heard what he —”

  “Yes, I heard. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care.”

  They came to the barn and the narrow track on the left without catching up with the vicar, whose bike was as fast as a car on this surface. The barn was thatched but the straw had rotted and was sagging in several places. Temple was reassured when he saw tyre marks on the track, but it was so narrow that the brambles in the hedge clawed at the car. The vicar’s quarter of a mile seemed much longer but at last the headlights picked up a massive stone gateway surrounded by an arch. Its pallid shape loomed up incongruously in the lights. Heavy wrought-iron gates stood open and beyond them stretched the black tunnel of a tree-lined avenue.

  Temple stopped short of the gates and felt in the glove pocket for the torch. Lowering the window he leaned out and directed the beam at the archway. Placed centrally at the top was a large and beautifully carved stone dolphin, a shark-like fin protruding from its back.

  Steve shivered. “Close the window, Paul. I’m cold.”

  Temple extinguished the torch and closed the window. In bottom gear he eased through the gateway. Ahead the trees stretched upwards into darkness like the columns of a cathedral.

  “Slowly, Paul,” Steve cautioned nervously.

  “I can’t go much slower than this, darling.”

  The car was lurching and wallowing on the appalling surface and Temple was beginning to wonder what possessed Fiona Scott’s friends to live in such a God-forsaken place — if indeed they did live here. Suddenly he slammed the brakes on. The wheels locked and the car slid forward a few yards, slewing sideways.

  “Paul, what is it?”

  “Look.”

  Temple nodded at the darkness ahead. At first Steve could see nothing. Then she thought her eyes were deceiving her for a shimmering strand of light was poised in the air just in front of the car.

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like wire. Lucky we did not hit it at speed or —”

  Temple climbed out of the car, taking the torch with him. She saw him inspect the two stout trees standing like sentinels on either side of the avenue. The gathering darkness, the silent wood, the surreptitious calls of night birds reminded her of that other evening when they had come upon the dying Ted Angus.

  When Temple came back he was shaking his head. “It’s no good. You’d need wire cutters. Someone’s made a good job of it.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Well,” Temple said unhappily, “we can’t take the car any further, so I suppose the only thing to do is turn back.’’

  She heard the disappointment in his voice and made an effort to overcome her apprehension. “Unless — we walk. That’s what you’d like to do, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but if you’re worried, Steve —”

  “No, I’m all right.” Steve opened her door. “Let’s see if we can find the house.’’

  Temple turned the lights off and withdrew the ignition key, but in such an isolated spot there seemed no point in locking the doors.

  “Are you sure you feel like doing this?” he said, as he joined Steve.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Give me your arm, darling.”

  They had gone a hundred yards further up the dark avenue, using the jagged strip of pale sky above them as a guide, when Steve said: “If I’d known we were coming on a ramble I’d have worn some sensible shoes.’’

  “I didn’t know you had any.”

  She shook his arm. “You know perfectly well what I mean.” They both laughed and then Steve stopped and froze. “Paul, listen! What’s that noise?”

  From somewhere ahead came a low regular swishing sound, followed by a long, drawn-out rattle, rather as if some monstrous animal was writhing in its death-throes.

  “It’s the sea,” Paul said, after a moment. “We must be quite near it.”

  “Of course.” Steve breathed again. “That must be why it’s called Breakwater House.”

  Temple was saving his torch battery and they came on the house unexpectedly. All of a sudden it was there in front of them, its blank unlit windows staring at them from twenty yards away. Steve was holding tight to Temple’s arm as he shone the beam through the ground-floor windows. The place was derelict, no furniture, no carpets, paper peeling from the walls.

  “There’s no one living here.”

  “But Paul, that fortune teller must have known we were coming here and what’s more that someone was going to try and stop us.”

  “Which is a very good reason for finding out what’s here. I wonder if there’s another way in.”

  The massive front door was immovable and so was a back door leading to what had been the servants’ quarters, but at the side of the house facing the sea was a set of french windows opening on to a moss-covered terrace. Temple’s torch showed that this must have been an imposing drawing-room with a fireplace in the Adam style.

  “That should not be too difficult to force,” he muttered, “if I can find some sort of lever.”

  Playing the torch on the ground, he began to prowl round the edge of the terrace. Steve waited by the french windows listening to the menacing sound of the sea.

  When Temple rejoined her, he was holding a yard-long metal bar which he had wrenched off an old iron fence. He inserted it between the glazed doors just above the handle and as he applied leverage the lock was torn out of the rotting wood. With Steve on his heels he stepped over the threshold, playing the torch ahead of him.

  The drawing-room contained nothing of interest, nor did the other rooms on the ground floor — a dining-room, a gun-room and, to judge from the bookshelves, what must have been a library. They were standing in the hall when they both heard it, a bumping noise from somewhere upstairs.

  “There’s someone up there,” Steve whispered.

  “Come on. Keep close to me.”

  Temple was glad he had some kind of weapon as they went up the broad, creaking staircase.

  “There’s a funny smell, Paul.” Steve was still talking in a whisper. “What is it?”

  “Smells like paraffin. There’s obviously no electricity here and I expect someone’s been using oil lamps.”

  They were ha
lf-way up when they heard the cry, the words muffled and hard to locate. “Help! Help! Up here. In the bedroom.”

  Temple took the remaining stairs two at a time and Steve stumbled after him, anxious to remain close to him in the dark house. She saw him enter a room the door of which gaped open. She ran after him. He was standing in the middle of the room, directing the torch beam into every corner.

  “What an enormous bedroom!” _

  “Yes, by Timothy! It’s as big as Hyde Park. That must be a dressing-room.’’

  He was heading for a door beside the window when Steve heard a thud behind her. She spun round and saw that the door had closed.

  “Paul —”

  He stopped in the doorway of the dressing-room and shone the torch in her direction. She saw her own enormous shadow grow smaller as she approached the door. She seized the handle but before she had time to twist it she heard the click of a key in the lock. When she wrenched at the door it would not budge. She stared at it, not wanting to face the torch. “We’ve been locked in.”

  6: The Late Tony Wyman

  “Did you see anything?”

  “No. I just heard the thud of the door closing and then the click of the lock. Paul, has someone been watching us all the time?”

  Temple did not reply. The answer to that question was obvious. He handed Steve the torch, with instructions to direct the beam at the door. He tried to force the metal bar between the door and the frame, but the crack was too narrow. He switched his attention to the side where the hinges were fixed and, sure enough, there were signs of rot in the frame on that side. Using the jagged end of the bar he began to gouge the mouldering wood out and had just made a hole big enough to insert the bar when Steve said: “Paul! I can smell burning. And there’s smoke coming under the door.’’

  “That smell of paraffin! I ought to have realised! Someone intended to burn the place down and we interrupted them.”

  They could now hear the crackling of flames beyond the door. Temple attacked the door with renewed fury.

  “What about the window? Can we get out that way?”

  “Not without breaking our legs. Besides, you heard that call for help.”

  Temple had at last got his bar between door and frame. As he pulled on it the hinge came loose with a splintering of wood. Crouching down he worked on the lower hinge and after a couple of minutes it too yielded. Smoke forced its way through the gap. Both of them began to cough.

  “We need something to cover our faces. Those curtains will do.”

  He wrenched a tattered lace curtain from one of the windows. By good fortune there was water in the cold tap of the washbasin. He tore the curtain into two strips and doused them in the basin. They tied the material over their faces as makeshift masks.

  “Keep behind me, Steve,” Temple said, as he grasped the hinge end of the door. “We’ll have to crawl. The smoke won’t be so thick near the floor.”

  At the first tug the door came free and crashed to the floor. Immediately smoke billowed in. Temple dropped to his hands and knees, his eyes already smarting. Ahead he could see the staircase blazing. The leaping flames were so bright that he had no need of the torch. Remembering the lay-out of the upper landing he turned left and, still crawling, moved along close to the wall. He glanced round once to make sure that Steve was behind him. The acrid smoke affected their eyes so much that seeing their way was as difficult as breathing. To his great relief Temple’s fingers found a door at the point where a corridor led off the landing. It was open, and as soon as Steve was through he slammed it shut. It would serve as a fire-break, isolating them temporarily from the inferno.

  Already the heat and smoke were less but Steve was coughing and wiping her eyes. As he helped her to her feet they heard the muffled cries for help.

  “Help! Please help me!”

  “It’s along this corridor somewhere,” Temple muttered. “These look like the old servants’ rooms.”

  Guided by the cries, they pushed further along the corridor, using the torch again now.

  “Where are you?” Temple shouted.

  “Here! Is that Temple? I’m in here.”

  Temple opened the second door on the left, shone the torch and stopped. Behind him Steve gasped. “Oh, my God!”

  The only piece of furniture in the room was an upright ladder-backed chair. A man had been tied to it with his arms pinioned behind it and his ankles lashed to the cross-bar so that his feet were off the floor. In his struggles he had capsized the chair so that he lay at an excruciating angle, adding to his own torment. A crude gag had been inexpertly fastened into his mouth but he had managed to force it out enough to shout through the cloth.

  “Temple. Thank God you’ve come! Let me loose! This cord is cutting like hell.”

  “It’s Tony Wyman! Tony, how on earth did you get here?”

  Wyman’s answer was a gasp of agony. To judge from the state of his face he had suffered the same treatment as Ted Angus and there was no knowing what injuries were concealed by his clothing.

  With Steve’s help Temple righted the chair. As he did so Wyman screamed and his head fell downwards. The pain had made him momentarily lose consciousness. Temple removed the gag, made sure his breathing was clear and then, as Steve held the torch, set to work on the viciously tight knots. Before he had finished Wyman was groaning again.

  “Temple, don’t let them —”

  “It’s all right, Tony. We’ll soon have you out of here.”

  Freed from the cords Wyman was collapsing in the chair. Temple stooped and scooped him up in a fireman’s lift, his right arm round the back of Wyman’s knees and the man’s head dangling down his back. He heard Wyman groan but there was no alternative to this summary treatment. With the door at the end of the corridor blistering with the heat, they were all three in danger of being asphyxiated.

  Temple was gambling on there being a service staircase leading down to the back door. With Steve going in front to light the way he carried his burden to the end of the passage. As he had expected, a narrow flight of stairs led down to the kitchen passage, at the end of which was the back door.

  The smoke was less here, but he knew from the limp feel of Wyman’s body that he had passed out again. Once they had reached ground level Steve ran ahead. She drew back the two heavy bolts at the top and bottom of the door and turned the huge key. As she opened it a blast of fresh sea air blew in.

  Strong as he was Temple’s legs were beginning to buckle as he brought Wyman to a garden seat about a hundred yards from the house. He gently laid his burden down on it and straightened up, gasping for breath. He felt Steve’s hand grip his. They stood there, gazing back at the blazing house. As they watched there was a rumble and beyond the cracked windows the glow of flames intensified. The main staircase had collapsed.

  “They double-crossed me —” Behind them Wyman had recovered consciousness again.”They said they were going to —”

  “He’s in a bad way, Paul. That’s a very serious head wound and he may have internal injuries as well.”

  “Yes. We’ve got to get help. I don’t want to move him any more.”

  “Temple —” Wyman whispered.

  Temple stooped to hear what he was trying to say. The roar of the fire drowned all the sounds of the night.

  “What is it, Tony?”

  “I’ve got to tell you —”

  “Go on.”

  “About Kelburn —”

  “Yes?”

  “You know Kelburn?”

  “George Kelburn. Yes. What about him?”

  “Kelburn — the fence — don’t let him get near — don’t let him touch —”

  “What do you mean, Tony? What are you trying to say?”

  “He’s passed out again, Paul. It’s no good. He’ll die if he doesn’t get attention soon! You go back to the car and I’ll stay with him!”

  But Temple would not agree to that. He had no intention of leaving Steve beside that roaring inferno with God knows who
lurking in the shadows. In any case, there was nothing she could do for Wyman.

  They made him as comfortable as they could with Temple’s jacket under his head and Steve’s coat over him and left him with the glow of the burning house playing on his bloodied face.

  The tree-lined avenue was so brightly lit by the burning house behind them that they did not need to use the torch till they had reached the first bend.

  “We’ll have to watch out for that wire, Steve. Better keep behind me.”

  “That fire — it seemed to blaze up so quickly.”

  “That was because of the paraffin. You saw how thick the smoke was.’’

  Steve was having difficulty in keeping up. Her high heels kept catching in the uneven surface. “Paul, Tony Wyman didn’t seem surprised that it was you. I almost felt he was expecting you to turn up. What was he doing in that house?”

  “That’s the biggest mystery of all. But someone obviously resented him being there and gave the poor devil a heavy beating.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if there really is such a person as Fiona Scott.”

  “She was probably acting on instructions — ah, here’s the wire. Go round the outside of this tree.”

  The car was a haven and Steve was grateful to slip into the passenger’s seat and take off her shoes. Temple climbed in beside her and switched the lights on.

  “We’ll go back towards Seadale and see if we can find a call- box.” He twisted the ignition key and the starter motor turned over, but there was no spark from the engine. He gave the starter a long burst of ten seconds but the engine remained dead. His face grim, he reached down to the release catch, then took the torch and got out to open the bonnet. Steve saw him bend over the engine compartment. After a few seconds he straightened up and closed the bonnet.

  “Someone’s taken the rotor-arm out,” he told her. “The car’s useless.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. We’ll have to walk. Come on, it’s not all that far to the gate.”

  Wincing, Steve pushed her aching feet into her shoes again.

  They were half-way to the gates when Temple heard a low humming sound to the right of the avenue. The beam of the torch was strong enough to show up a small building half hidden by rhododendrons.