Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

  “What is it, Paul?”

  “Some sort of power-house. Let’s take a look at it.”

  “Be careful.”

  As they approached, the humming noise became identifiable as a small motor. There were no windows and the low door was firmly padlocked. Temple inspected the padlock, which had been recently oiled.

  “It’s a power-house.’’

  “But what’s it for?”

  “Must be to supply electricity to the house.’’

  “But there were no lights.”

  “Perhaps the main switch had been turned off.” Temple dismissed the problem for the moment. “Come on, Steve. It’s more important for us to get help for Wyman.’’

  The gates were only fifty yards further on. The glow of the fire was reflected earthwards by the low clouds and it shed an amber-coloured artificial moonlight on the trees and the stone archway. Not till they were quite close, however, could Steve see the dark wrought-iron tracery that filled the gap between the columns.

  “Paul, the gates. They’ve been closed!”

  They had indeed been closed and moreover fastened with a chain and heavy padlock.

  Temple concealed his sense of danger. He did not need to look at Steve to know that she was frightened. The whole series of events made it evident that they had been drawn into some sort of a trap: the silent derelict house, the cries of the bound and gagged Tony Wyman, the fire, the immobilised car and now the locked gates.

  “There must be some other way out,” he said, with more assurance than he felt. He went to examine the fence on the left-hand side of the gates. It was of metal mesh and about seven feet high. By comparison with everything else at Breakwater House it was in new condition.

  “What’s on the other side, Steve?”

  “A high wire fence,” she called back a moment later.

  “I suppose I could try and climb over —” Temple stood back, measuring the height with his eye.

  “No, Paul! Please don’t try. Let’s walk round and see if there’s another way out.”

  They were just starting to walk along the inside of the fence towards Seadale when the tops of the trees above them were swept by a pale light. Steve clutched Temple’s arm, but he gripped her hand reassuringly.

  “It’s a car coming. Someone must have seen the fire. We’ll wait by the gates.”

  The car approached at speed and they could hear the underside of the chassis scraping on the road as it wallowed over the potholes. It drew up at the gates, its headlights shining through the ironwork on to the faces of Temple and Steve. The car doors opened but, dazzled by the glare, Temple could not see who had got out till two men walked forward, their bodies silhouetted but their faces indistinguishable.

  “Hello, Temple!” Temple recognised the voice as Mike Langdon’s. “I’m sorry we’re late.”

  “Why, hello, Langdon,” he said, with surprise.

  “George Kelburn’s there, too,” Steve murmured. She had recognised George Kelburn by his ample figure, confident walk and the slightly aggressive set of his head. He came forward now into the full light of the headlamps.

  “Good evening, Temple. I’m sorry we’re late but we had a devil of a job finding this place. Why on earth did you ask us to meet you here?”

  “I asked you to meet me here?” Temple repeated in astonishment.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “What do you mean — when?” Kelburn demanded impatiently. “You sent me a note just as I was finishing dinner.”

  Langdon, realising that the lights were dazzling the Temples, had gone back to the car. He switched the headlights off, but left the sidelights burning.

  “And the note said …?’

  “The note asked me to meet you here — tonight.” Kelburn was obviously excessively irritated. “It said you had some information for me about my wife — although why in heaven’s name you should ask me to meet you at a God-forsaken place like this, I can’t imagine!”

  “Kelburn — I didn’t send that note — I didn’t ask you to meet me here …”

  “You didn’t? Then who on earth did?”

  “Say, wait a minute!” Langdon exclaimed. “What’s going on up the avenue there? Is it a fire, Temple?”

  “Yes,” Steve said, “and Tony Wyman’s very badly hurt — he needs a doctor. It’s urgent.”

  “Tony Wyman! Is he here?” Kelburn’s suspicious mind was already jumping to conclusions. “Is that what you were going to tell me, Temple? That you’d discovered that Tony Wyman and my wife were having …”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you anything!” Temple did not conceal his exasperation. “I’ve already told you, I didn’t send that note …”

  “Well, somebody did!”

  “Look, Mr Kelburn,” Steve said, a note of urgency in her voice. “Wyman’s very seriously hurt. He needs a doctor!”

  Langdon showed more concern for Tony Wyman than Kelburn. “Where is he, Mrs Temple?”

  “He’s up near the house. We had to leave him there.”

  “I’ll drive back into the village,” Langdon said, moving towards the car. “Will you stay here with Mr and Mrs Temple, sir?”

  “Yes, all right! But don’t be long, Langdon.”

  “And ‘phone the Fire Brigade …” Temple called after him.

  Langdon slammed the car door and started his engine. He had to reverse several times, but finally he straightened the car and drove off towards Seadale.

  “Can I join you, Temple, or is this gate locked?”

  “It’s locked.” Temple pointed to the padlock.

  “There must be a way through.” Kelburn was not the kind of man to be stopped by a mere padlock and chain. “Let’s take a look at the fence.’’

  “We’ve already looked at the fence,” Temple assured him, staying where he was as Kelburn moved along on the outside of the fence, peering at the ground. He had gone about twenty yards when he straightened up and called back:

  “Temple, come over here. It seems to be looser just along here. Maybe if you lifted the wire I could crawl through and join you.”

  “Yes, all right,” Temple said resignedly. There was no point in Kelburn trying to get in. It was just that the man could not bear to be frustrated by any obstacle and had to prove that he could overcome it.

  He was picking his way towards the spot where Kelburn was waiting impatiently when behind him Steve shouted. “Paul — wait!”

  “What is it, Steve?”

  “Look, Paul! Here, where I’m shining the torch …”

  Temple went back to where she was stooping over a small furry body, its head and one paw trapped in the mesh of the fence.

  “A dead squirrel. It’s been caught in the wire, by the look of things.”

  “Yes, but that wouldn’t have killed it! Look at its coat — it’s all scorched.”

  Temple, his mind racing, cast a glance back towards the power-house in the wood. “That means that the fence must be electrified! Don’t touch that fence, Kelburn!”

  “Don’t touch it, Mr Kelburn!” Steve echoed. “It’s electrified!”

  Kelburn withdrew his hand as swiftly as if he had actually received a shock. “Phew! That was a damned near thing, Temple. I was just going to lift it up …”

  “Paul, that’s what Wyman meant — he must have known Mr Kelburn was coming here. He told us to warn him.”

  “What do you mean, Mrs Temple?” Kelburn, shaken, had come close enough to hear what she said.

  “Tony Wyman told us to warn you about the fence,” Steve explained. “He said: Don’t let Kelburn touch it …”

  “Wyman said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how did Wyman know I was coming here? Did you tell him I was coming, Temple?”

  “I’ve told you.” Temple was really angry now, partly because Kelburn’s obstinacy had nearly killed him. “I didn’t know you were coming!’’

  “Yes, of course.” Kelburn was sobered by the anger in T
emple’s voice. “I wonder if it was Wyman that sent that note?”

  “If he sent the note, then obviously it was a trap to get you here.”

  “That’s what I mean!”

  “Then why did he warn you about the fence?”

  “The thing that puzzles me, Temple,” said Sir Graham Forbes, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the desk, “is why did Tony Wyman go to Breakwater House in the first place? It’s obvious he went there to meet someone, but who was it?”

  “I can’t answer that question, Sir Graham.”

  Temple and Raine were sitting in the armchairs facing Sir Graham. It was a little before midday on the following day. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and a squally wind was driving rain against the windows of the Scotland Yard building.

  “Could it have been you, Temple?” Raine suggested. He was in a prickly mood, slightly suspicious of Temple’s uncanny ability to steal a march on the CID. The Superintendent believed that crimes were solved by methodical and painstaking police methods and he could not help feeling a certain resentment at the way in which Forbes deferred to Paul Temple.

  “What do you mean by that, Superintendent?” Temple asked with a frown.

  Raine realised he had gone too far. “Well,” he hedged, “from what you’ve told us he seemed to be expecting you to turn up.”

  “Yes, I agree that he wasn’t in the least surprised to see me. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he went to the house to meet me.”

  “I’m not sure,” Raine persisted. “Perhaps Kelburn wasn’t the only person who received a note with your name on it.”

  Forbes was watching the exchange between the two men, aware of the tension that had built up between them.

  “That’s certainly a point, Raine,” he interposed tactfully. “Did you see the note, Temple?”

  “Yes. It was signed with my name, but it wasn’t my signature. In fact, it could have been written by either Kelburn or Langdon, just to explain their presence at the house. Incidentally, what was the latest report on Wyman?”

  “Not very healthy, I’m afraid,” Raine said. “Apparently he had a heart condition, even before —”

  “Not very surprising,” Forbes commented, “when you consider he’s had two attempts on his life in less than a week. Come in!”

  The last words were directed at the door, which opened to admit a young, fresh-faced man of about thirty-five. He had a trim, fit figure and a carefully clipped beard.

  “May I come in, Sir Graham?”

  “Come along in, Burton.” Forbes rose from his chair. “Good of you to come up. Temple, this is Detective-Inspector Burton, Brighton CID.”

  “Good morning, Inspector.” Temple too had stood up. He offered Burton his hand.

  “Mr Temple.” Burton’s hand-clasp was strong and his expression was deferential. “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.”

  He and Raine exchanged a brief nod of greeting. The Superintendent had not risen from his chair. He said: “Any news of Fiona Scott?”

  “No trace of her, Superintendent. She left her digs after getting Mr Temple’s ‘phone call last night. We’re still making enquiries.”

  Temple felt Raine’s eyes on him and knew that he was being blamed for the disappearance of this important informant.

  Burton handed Forbes the envelope he was carrying. “However, I thought this might interest you, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a report on the fingerprints we found at Breakwater House. One set has been identified as belonging to a man called Harris. Midge Harris. You remember Midge Harris, Superintendent? He was picked up “

  “Midge Harris?” Forbes had not opened the envelope. “Surely he’s in prison —”

  “That’s right, sir. We pulled him in about three weeks ago. He was mixed up in the Regent Street smash-and-grab.”

  “The loot’s still missing, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, Inspector,” Forbes confirmed. “Silver plate and jewellery, about a million pounds’ worth.”

  “But I remember Midge Harris,” Temple said. “Short, red-haired little chap. He was one of the small fry in the Safe Deposit affair. You say he was picked up about three weeks ago, Superintendent?”

  Forbes answered the question. “It was while you were in America, Temple. We have him sewn up this time. He was identified by four witnesses, including the jeweller.”

  Temple stared thoughtfully out of the window for a moment. “Obviously he must have been in Breakwater House some time ago. Sir Graham, do you think I could have a word with him?”

  “You’re wasting your time, Mr Temple,” Raine said at once. “Midge won’t talk, even if he knows anything. I had six hours with him the day he was arrested and he was as tight as a clam.”

  “All the same, I’d like —”

  Temple was interrupted by the shrilling of the telephone on the desk. With a look of apology Forbes went to pick it up. He spoke briefly, then held out the receiver to Burton. “It’s for you. Sergeant Wetherall.’’

  Burton took the ‘phone. “Hello, Sergeant.” He listened for a few seconds, nodding several times. “When did it happen? … I see … Well, you know what to do. The usual drill … I’ll see you this evening.”

  As he replaced the receiver his face did not change.

  “Bad news, I’m afraid, Sir Graham. Tony Wyman died this morning without regaining consciousness."

  At about the same time as Temple was hearing about Tony Wyman’s death Steve was hanging up some dresses in the wardrobe of her husband’s dressing-room. Charlie had gone out to do some shopping, so when she heard the doorbell ring she went to answer it herself.

  “Why, Laura!”

  “Hello, Steve. May I come in?”

  Laura Kelburn was wearing a Burberry raincoat which was still gleaming wet after the recent shower. She’d put a headscarf over her hair.

  “Yes, of course.” Recovering from her surprise, Steve held the door back. “Do come in. Would you like to take your raincoat off?”

  Laura was grateful for the warm welcome. She took her Burberry off and watched Steve put it on a hanger.

  “I happened to be passing, and I thought perhaps I …” She stopped and then appeared to change her mind. “No, that’s not true. Steve, I want a word with your husband. I realise he probably hates being interrupted at work but…”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s out, Laura. He’s at Scotland Yard.”

  “Oh. What time will he be back, do you know?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. It may not be until this evening. But come into the sitting-room.”

  Laura was still nervous as she preceded Steve into the room. “You — you’ve been away, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, we went down to Brighton for a few days.”

  “Yes, I know. I telephoned. I — I left a message.”

  “We got the message, Laura — the same day. There was really nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh. Oh, good.” Laura’s anxious expression relaxed a little. At Steve’s invitation she sat down. It was evident that there was something she wanted to talk about.

  “I gather there’s some trouble between you and your husband?” Steve prompted helpfully.

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Laura laughed uneasily. “Things have been impossible just lately — quite impossible. He’s so jealous, it just isn’t true! Darling, may I have a cigarette?”

  “Yes, of course. There’s some on the table beside you. Help yourself.’’

  Laura took a cigarette from the silver box and lit it with the lighter standing beside it.

  “He’s always imagining I’m having an affair with some younger man,” she said from behind a cloud of smoke.

  Steve gazed back at her frankly. “Do you have affairs with younger men, Laura?”

  “Now, don’t be idiotic! What do you take me for? George gives me everything I want. Why should I stick my neck out like that?”

  “Well, we did see you
in a sports Alfa Romeo with Larry Cross one evening.’’

  “Larry Cross?” Laura repeated the name as if it was totally unknown to her.

  “Dr Benkaray’s secretary. Paul and I saw you a couple of nights ago. The two of you were in a red Alfa …”

  “A red … ?” Laura puckered up her brow and made a great effort to remember. “Yes, of course! I remember now! Oh, so his name’s Cross, is it? I didn’t know. I knew he was the doctor’s secretary, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have accepted a lift from him.”

  ‘’ He was just giving you a lift?’’

  “That’s right.” Laura was in her stride and more confident now. “I’d been to the cinema in Curzon Street and couldn’t get a taxi. Suddenly he popped up and offered me a lift. I was delighted.”

  “But you didn’t know who he was?” said Steve, still sceptical.

  “I’ve told you, I knew he was the doctor’s secretary but I didn’t know his name.”

  “How did you know he was Dr Benkaray’s secretary, then?”

  “Because I’ve been to see the doctor myself. This man — Larry Cross, did you say his name was? — makes the appointments.”

  “Why did you go and see Dr Benkaray, Laura?”

  “I say, what is this — an inquisition?” Laura laughed again, making a joke of it. “If you must know, I was nervy — on edge — couldn’t sleep. It’s really not surprising after all I’ve been through just lately.”

  “Did you know that Julia consulted Dr Benkaray?”

  “Yes.” Laura suddenly became serious. Her face sagged as she abandoned the attempt at levity. “And that’s how I came to go there myself. Julia raved about her.’’

  “What was she treating Julia for, do you know?”

  “Yes, I know, but I swore I wouldn’t …” Having taken no more than half a dozen puffs she stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray. “Well, I suppose now that Julia’s dead there’s no reason why you shouldn’t know. Julia was taking heroin. Dr Benkaray was trying to cure her of the habit.’’

  “I see. Laura, tell me, is it just since Julia died that things have become difficult between you and your husband?”