Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

“He wanted to know what Bill knew about Dr Benkaray and your relationship with the doctor.’’

  “That’s no concern of your husband’s!”

  “I think it is. Look, Mrs Fletcher, I don’t know why you should feel particularly unfriendly towards my husband, wasn’t it you who warned us about the parcel from the dress shop?”

  “Yes, it was,” Mrs Fletcher admitted. Steve guessed that she would find it difficult to tell a lie. But the reminder of that telephone call unsettled her. “Look, Mrs Temple, I must go now. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “I’m flying to Australia in two or three days’ time.” Mrs Fletcher was moving towards the door. “So I don’t expect I shall see —”

  “Australia? Is your son going with you?”

  “No, I’m leaving him behind. I think he’ll stand a better chance on his own. The garage business is all in order and I’ve made it over to him.”

  “I see.”

  Mrs Fletcher turned and came back a few paces. She wagged a finger warningly at Steve.

  “But in case Dr Benkaray and her crowd ever try to drag my son into anything, I wanted Mr Temple to know that Bill isn’t that sort. He’s straight as an arrow is Bill.”

  “What exactly are you suggesting they might drag him into, Mrs Fletcher? It would be as well for my husband to know, if you want him to keep a friendly eye on your son.’’

  “They’re mixed up in all sorts of things, Mrs Temple,” said Mrs Fletcher, with another abrupt change of mood. “Stolen property, drugs … All I ever did was to pass on messages or deliver packages that looked innocent enough. But I was a fool — I ought to have realised that they couldn’t have paid that sort of money simply for running errands. I should have packed it in months ago.”

  “Have you ever met the person behind all this — the person they call Margo?”

  “Margo? The person who controls the outfit is The Fence, Mrs Temple. The name Margo is just for identification purposes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you any more information.”

  “No, wait a moment!” Steve had stayed where she was, in the middle of the room. It was difficult to leave when your hostess stands her ground and Mrs Fletcher paused on the threshold. “Tell me one thing, Mrs Fletcher, before you go. Do these people — the people you’ve been working for — know that you’re going away?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, supposing they find out and bring pressure to bear on your son?”

  “They won’t do that, Mrs Temple. You see, if they try to get Bill involved I should go straight to the police. I’ve told them that.”

  “Yes, but they could — well —”

  “I’ve warned them not to try anything with me, either. I’ve got certain documents and tape recordings in a very safe place. If anything should happen to me they’ll pass into the right hands. Bill will see to that all right.”

  When she had closed the door on Mrs Fletcher, who had barely been in the house five minutes, Steve stood in the hall, thinking. She was trying to remember exactly what Bill Fletcher had told Paul. She repeated the phrase aloud to see if it sounded right. “If Dr Benkaray gets difficult, just say two words to her: ‘Edgar Northampton’.”

  She snapped her fingers, determined to find out if her hunch was correct. Her watch told her that it was only three o’clock so the banks were still open. Her ‘phone call to the bank where she and Temple had their accounts was answered by a clerk. No, he said, the manager was not available, he was with a customer.

  “Tell him Mrs Temple will be coming in at — in half an hour,” Steve said firmly. “It’s vitally important that I see him! It’s a matter of life and death!”

  When Steve let herself into the flat about three hours later she was astonished to see Charlie and Temple rush out of the kitchen and drawing-room respectively. You’d have thought from their expressions that she’d just made a successful parachute landing after a ten-thousand-foot free-fall.

  “Steve! Where on earth have you been?”

  “Hello, Paul!” Steve greeted her husband casually. “Take my coat, Charlie, will you?”

  “Certainly, Mrs Temple,” said Charlie, darting forward.

  “Steve, what the devil did you mean by —”

  “You look worried, Paul. Is anything the matter?”

  “Of course I’m worried! Leaving mysterious messages and disappearing like that — ‘’

  “Come into the drawing-room, darling, and I’ll tell you all about it. But first will you mix me a dry martini? I’ve had quite a day.”

  “You’ve had —” Temple began, then thought better of it. He mixed Steve’s drink and freshened up his own Scotch and soda. “Now, Steve, what’s all this about? Where have you been?”

  Steve sat down, crossed her legs and sipped her drink gratefully. “You remember what Mrs Fletcher said to Mike Langdon: ‘If Dr Benkaray gets difficult just say two words to her — Edgar Northampton’ …”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ve discovered what she meant.”

  “What did she mean?”

  “Shall I start at the beginning?”

  “I don’t care where you start — providing you tell me what this is all about!”

  Temple listened carefully while she told him about Mrs Fletcher’s visit.

  “After she left I remembered what you’d told me about Edgar Northampton, and it suddenly dawned on me that the documents she’d referred to were probably in a deed box at his bank. So I telephoned Reggie Whiteside …”

  “At the bank?”

  “Yes. I asked if he could see me. He was in a meeting, but I said it was a matter of life and death, so —”

  “By Timothy, you really are the limit, Steve!” There was more admiration than rebuke in Temple’s comment.

  “Anyway, I saw Reggie and I asked him if he could find out whether a Mrs Fletcher had deposited a deed box at the bank in Tenterhurst.”

  Temple shook his head in amazement.

  “He telephoned Northampton and said an enquiry had come through about the garage in Westerton, and he wondered if the bank held the deeds. Northampton said they didn’t but that Mrs Fletcher had certainly deposited a deed box with them some little time ago.’’

  “I see.” Temple contemplated his wife thoughtfully. The anger which had been caused by his anxiety for her safety had evaporated. “But the banks close at half past three. What kept you so long?”

  “It was nearly half past four when I left Reggie. Then I went round by Curzon Street to check up on something Laura Kelbu rn told me.”

  “Laura? Has she been here, too?”

  Steve filled Temple in on Laura’s visit. “My impression was,” she finished, “that it was an excuse to find out if Tony Wyman had told us anything. Is there any news on him, by the way?”

  “Yes. He died this morning without regaining consciousness.”

  “Oh, no!” Steve was genuinely sad. “Poor Tony. He had such talent and I can’t understand how he got mixed up in all this.”

  “Drugs, almost certainly. But, to go back to Edgar Northampton, it’s your deduction that the deed box contains a great deal more than just the deeds of the garage?”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re right, Steve.” Temple slapped his knees and stood up. “I think you’re a hundred per cent right — but in future, young woman, please let me do the investigating around here!”

  Steve laughed. “All right, but thank you for the word ‘young’, anyway.”

  “I want you to do something for me, Steve.” Paul had gone to the writing bureau in the window embrasure and was rummaging about in it. “Where are the postcards, darling?”

  ‘‘On the left of the writing paper.’’

  “Ah, yes. Here we are. Steve, you were always pretty good at drawing. I want you to sketch a girl’s head on the back of this postcard. Here you ar
e, dear, use my pen.”

  Steve took the postcard, at a loss to understand what on earth he had in his mind. “A girl’s head?”

  “Yes, just a rough drawing, Steve, showing a girl’s head under a dryer at the hairdresser’s.”

  “You don’t want much!”

  “It doesn’t matter how rough it is,” Paul told her encouragingly. Temple knew that she would do a better drawing if he was not looking over her shoulder. He went out to the ‘cellar’ he kept in a cupboard near the kitchen, selected a bottle of good claret and drew the cork. During the half hour he had been waiting for Steve to come back he’d had time to think what life would be like without her. Even though she had been in no real danger her safe return was surely a matter for celebration. When he went back into the sitting-room Steve had finished her sketch. She held it up for him to inspect.

  “Will that do?”

  “Oh, that’s very good, Steve.” He gave a shout for Charlie, then leant over Steve’s chair. “Now write underneath: ‘So much for your friends. Still sweating my guts out. Sal.’ “

  “That’s a bit crude, isn’t it?”

  “Midge isn’t exactly the sophisticated type,” Paul murmured.

  “Who?”

  ‘‘Never mind. Just write what I told you.’’

  Before she had finished writing the message, Charlie had appeared in answer to Temple’s summons.

  “Hang on a minute, Charlie, I want you to post something for me. It’s all right, Steve, I’ll print the address.”

  As he took the postcard over to the writing bureau the telephone started to ring.

  “I’ll take it, Paul,” Steve said.

  He nodded, concentrating on printing the address in crude capitals, not listening to Steve’s end of the conversation. When it was finished to his satisfaction he handed it to the patiently waiting Charlie.

  “Right, Charlie. Now, go down to Camden Town —”

  “Camden Town?” Charlie repeated, unable to believe his ears.

  “Yes. Camden Town. And post this in the first letter box you see.”

  “What about your dinner, Mr Temple?”

  “Put it in the hostess trolley and we’ll help ourselves.”

  “Okay, Mr Temple.”

  Not at all happy with the assignment Charlie glanced at Steve, but she was holding the telephone away from her ear, a hand over the mouthpiece. Charlie turned and slowly went out.

  “It’s George Kelburn, Paul. He wants us to go over and have a drink this evening. He’s very affable and friendly all of a sudden. What shall I say?”

  “Kelburn?”

  “Yes. He says he’s particularly anxious to have a chat with you.”

  “Tell him we’d be delighted,” Temple said, making up his mind. “We’ll be there at — “He glanced at his watch. “About nine.”

  When Steve had relayed the message and replaced the receiver she looked up to see her husband staring into his empty glass as if he was wondering where the whisky had disappeared to.

  “What is it, Paul? Is anything wrong?”

  “I wonder why Kelburn wants to see us?”

  It was Mike Langdon who opened the door of the house, and he was evidently in high spirits.

  “Nice to see you, Temple. Glad you could both make it.”

  “I thought you’d be on your way back to New York by now.”

  “No, no, not yet.” Langdon was helping Steve off with her coat. “I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Any moment now, with a bit of luck.”

  “There’s been a change in the situation?” Temple guessed.

  “There certainly has!” said Langdon, grinning. “Kelburn’s had a change of heart. He’s decided he’s still very much in love with his wife and he’s made it up with her.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Within the last twenty-four hours. Don’t ask me to explain it, it’s a mystery to me. Right now you wouldn’t think they’d ever seriously considered leaving each other for a weekend, let alone parting for good. Still, I’m all for it! It’s a wonderful idea — especially if it gets me back to New York!”

  Laura had appeared through a door on the ground floor. She had changed for dinner and was wearing a black dress with a string of pearls encircling her throat. Like Langdon she was full of the joys of spring.

  “Hello, Steve! How lovely to see you, my dear!” Impulsively she went to Steve and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Good evening, Laura,” Steve murmured, surprised at the change in her manner.

  “Hello, Mr Temple. How sweet of you to come!” She turned to Langdon. “Is George in the drawing-room?”

  “I think so, Laura.”

  “Come along, then. Let’s go in.” Leading the way she opened the drawing-room door, calling out: “George, our guests have arrived.”

  George Kelburn was putting down the evening paper and getting up from his chair as Steve came in. He was wearing a velvet smoking-jacket and a black bow tie. His manner, like Laura’s, was festive and genial.

  “Ah, good evening, Mrs Temple! How very nice to see you! Temple, my dear fellow, how are you?” To reinforce his welcome Kelburn shook hands warmly with both of them. “So glad you could make it at such short notice. Mike, will you see to the drinks?”

  While the obedient Langdon was ascertaining what the visitors would like to drink, Kelburn assigned them to the chairs where he wanted them to sit. Even in his own drawing- room he needed to feel that he was totally in control of the situation. Laura herself was directed to the chair beside Temple with a commanding little wave of the hand. But he himself remained standing.

  “Temple, I owe you an apology,” he announced with a smile.

  “An apology?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I’ve wasted a lot of your valuable time — getting you involved in family affairs which don’t concern you. Naturally, I shall see that you’re not the loser financially, but that’s not the point.”

  “What is the point, Kelburn?” Temple responded with equal affability.

  Beaming at his wife, Kelburn said: “Laura and I have decided to forget the past and make a fresh start.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it.” Temple tried to show pleasurable surprise even though Langdon had already announced the good tidings.

  “I ought never to have doubted her in the first place, I know, but …” Kelburn was still gazing at Laura as if he had just discovered her.

  “Things haven’t been too easy for me just lately.” Kelburn squared his shoulders bravely. “What with Julia and …”

  “Darling, we understand,” Laura said.

  “Yes, I know you do, my dear — but I wanted Mr and Mrs Temple to realise that I — well — that I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Laura.”

  Having made his public declaration, Kelburn went over to his wife, bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

  “That’s very sweet of you, darling. Now you’ve said your little piece we’ll all drink to it.’’

  During this idyllic scene Langdon had been pouring out a Scotch and soda for Temple and Kelburn, a Grand Marnier for Steve and a brandy and ginger ale for Laura. He himself was having a Scotch on the rocks. There was a short pause while he handed the tray round. Both Temple and Steve were slightly embarrassed by the couple’s demonstrative declaration of affection.

  It was Langdon who broke the awkward silence. “Well, Laura — George — here’s to both of you. I can’t tell you how glad I am that everything’s straightened out.”

  “You’re just a line-shooter, Mike,” Laura laughed. “You just want to get back to little old New York, that’s all you want!”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Langdon asked, with mock surprise.

  “Why don’t you come along with us, Mike?” Kelburn suggested, with a straight face.

  “I thought you said this was going to be a second honeymoon, darling.”

  Kelburn laughed at Laura’s protest. “I’m only joking, Laura.”

  Temple tasted his whi
sky, and asked casually: “Are you going away, Mr Kelburn?”

  “Yes, we’re going on a cruise.” Kelburn at last sat down. He had reserved for himself the big armchair on whose arm the paper lay folded. “We fixed it up last night, didn’t we, Laura? We sail from Southampton at the end of the month.”

  “What’s the ship?” Temple asked, polite rather than curious.

  Kelburn raised his glass in a silent toast to Laura. “It’s an American ship, the Wisconsin. It goes to Jamaica and the Caribbean. We’ll be away about six months.”

  “How wonderful!” Steve gave Temple a meaningful glance. “I’ve always wanted to go to Jamaica.”

  “Does Sir Graham know about this trip?” Temple enquired.

  “No, I haven’t told him. We only knew ourselves last night.”

  “I think I’d have a word with him, Kelburn. The file on your daughter’s case is by no means closed. They may want to get in touch with you.”

  “But that’s the whole point of taking this cruise!” Laura chided Temple. “George wants to forget about the whole thing, he wants to get away from Sir Graham Forbes and Superintendent Raine and people like that.”

  Having made his point Temple did not labour the matter. The conversation drifted away to foreign travel, Temple’s recent tour of the United States and Laura’s preference for ocean cruises rather than air travel. At about ten thirty Temple caught Steve’s eye and she seized the next gap in the conversation to gather her handbag and stand up.

  On the drive home Temple was so silent that Steve asked: “Is anything wrong, darling?”

  “No. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

  “So was I. Have you ever seen such a change in people? Even Mike Langdon was good fun. And Laura — well, she was positively human, for once. I expect it’s the thought of going to Jamaica. Paul, do you think we might —”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Temple, in no mood to discuss Steve’s holiday plans. “You know, I find this sudden departure of everybody a little worrying, Steve. The Kelburns going to Jamaica, Langdon returning to New York, Mrs Fletcher off to Australia. I wonder if Dr Benkaray has any plans for going abroad?”

  “Good morning. Dr Benkaray’s surgery. Can I help you?”