“You haven’t wasted any time, Wally.”
“No,” Wally agreed modestly. “However, there was no point in delaying. Mealtimes are often the most favourable for my work. When people are at dinner they and their servants are usually fully occupied.”
“Charlie,” Temple told his own mystified servant, “bring in the coffee as soon as it’s ready. You’ll join us in some coffee, Wally?”
“Delighted, Mr Temple. Can’t think of anything I’d like better — except perhaps a whisky and soda.’’
“Yes, of course. Bring in the decanter, Charlie.”
“Yes, sir.” Charlie dragged his eyes from Wally and went off to obey the order.
“Well, how did it go?”
“I had to open a safe, Mr Temple. Very neat little job it was too, concealed in an alcove just behind the fireplace. Took a bit of finding.”
“Was it much trouble to open?”
“Tiresome, you know,” Wally’s gesture was deprecating, ‘’ a little tiresome.’’
“And what was inside?”
“Loads of stuff. My goodness, yes. Had a bit of a job sorting out what I’d come for. Lucky you gave me a good description.” Wally put a hand in his jacket pocket. “There we are — that’s the bracelet, isn’t it, Mr Temple?”
“Yes,” said Temple, taking it. “That’s the one.”
Steve took a step forward. “But that’s my bracelet, Paul!”
“Yes, I know, darling.”
“But how on earth …”
“I left your bracelet with a man called Oscar. He thought it was stolen property. He’s a go-between, works for The Fence.”
“Then how did Mr Stone get hold of it?”
“He’s just told you, he stole it — from a house in London. The Fence’s house.”
Steve turned to Wally and nodded slowly with comprehension. Wally smiled modestly.
“I see,” she said. “That sort of cat.”
Mrs Fletcher did not get much sleep that night. It had been nearly midnight when Mrs Temple delivered her at the hospital. A compassionate Matron had allowed her to see Bill for a few minutes. He was still on the danger list, but conscious. Though unable to talk, he opened his eyes and saw who it was. He managed a faint smile and then relaxed into a deep sleep. Mrs Fletcher was given a bed in a room that was available for such emergencies and managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep. In the morning the nurses told her that they were very pleased with Bill and now believed that he would pull through. Her arrival had been the turning-point. He was still in a deep natural sleep and they advised her not to disturb him until ‘Doctor’ had paid his visit.
Mrs Fletcher was not an ungrateful woman and she did not forget the promise she had made to Steve. There was a pay ‘phone on the ground floor of the hospital and as soon as she’d had some breakfast she went into it and dialled a number.
As she had expected it was Larry Cross who answered, ill- tempered as always.
“Mr Cross, this is Mrs Fletcher.”
“Fletcher? I thought you’d gone abroad!”
“I — I changed my mind.”
“Well, if you take my tip you’ll change it again and get the blazes out of here!”
“I want to see Dr Benkaray …”
“What do you want to see her for?”
Mrs Fletcher had always been bullied by Cross and up till now had knuckled under. But the thought of Bill lying injured on the floor above gave her courage. “I’ll tell that to the doctor.”
“She’s extremely busy this morning, she can’t see anybody.”
“I’ve got to see her, I tell you. It’s important.”
The urgency of her voice got through to Cross. “What’s this all about, Fletcher?”
“It’s about some letters I have, and some tape recordings. Dr Benkaray knows all about them. They’re in a deed box at the bank. Tell the doctor if she’ll meet me I’m now prepared to do a deal.”
Cross did not reply for a long time and Mrs Fletcher had to put another coin in the slot.
“All right. Come to the house this morning — about eleven o’ clock .I’ll tell the doctor to expect you.’’
“No, I can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s broad daylight.”
“It was broad daylight when Ted Angus turned up, wasn’t it? I’m at the hospital at Westerton, I think you know why. I’ll meet you both in the visitors’ car park outside the hospital in about an hour. We can talk in your car.’’
She hung up before he could object. She stayed where she was till her trembling had subsided, then pushed the door open to escape from the booth.
In fact, it was an hour and twenty minutes before she went out to the visitors’ car park. Matron had asked her to come and see the doctor who was in charge of Bill’s case and they had stayed talking at his bedside for some time.
She saw with some satisfaction that they were still there waiting for her in Dr Benkaray’s Peugeot. She had no alternative but to sit in the front seat beside Dr Benkaray with Larry Cross in the seat behind her. It was hard to break out of the old submissive mood but she had drawn confidence from the thought that they were both here at her command.
When Dr Benkaray heard about the letters and tape recordings she tried her usual tactics.
“Now, pull yourself together, Mrs Fletcher, and let’s try to be sensible.”
“If I’d really known what was going on, Dr Benkaray, I’d never have let you talk me into it. For weeks and weeks I’ve been trying to get away.”
“You’re too involved, Mrs Fletcher. You’ve got to take your chance with the rest of us. You didn’t object to the money.”
“I would have if I’d known what it was all about!”
“Don’t be a hypocrite — you knew, all right!”
She could smell Larry Cross’s breath. He was leaning forward, his face right behind her.
“I kept telling you that Bill knew nothing about all this — yet you ran him down like that, in cold blood!”
“I assure you we know nothing about that accident, nothing whatever,” Dr Benkaray said. “Now what’s all this about letters and tape recordings? You mentioned this to me once before. What are they, exactly?”
“You know what they are! They’re photostat copies of letters you received and tape recordings of telephone conversations. I took them while I was working for you.”
“Why, you interfering …” Larry exploded. She felt her seat shake as he thumped the headrest with his fist.
“Shut up, Larry!” Dr Benkaray snapped.
“When I found out what was going on I had to protect myself. Especially after Ted Angus was murdered. I — I always had a soft spot for Ted.’’
“And what exactly did you plan to do with these letters?”
“I was going to hand them over to the police, if there was ever any attempt on my life — or Bill’s.”
“I assure you no one is going to make any attempt on your life.”
“The trouble is I can’t believe you any more. Look what happened to my son.”
“Mrs Fletcher, will you please listen to me!” Dr Benkaray was obviously losing patience. “You must realise that you can’t leave that box at the bank without taking some precautions. What’s to prevent your son opening it at any time? Don’t you see, it would get a lot of people into serious trouble — yourself included. If you value your son’s life you’d better hand the contents of that deed box over straight away.”
Instead of intimidating Mrs Fletcher, the threat against Bill emboldened her. “I’m prepared to hand it over — but only to The Fence in person.”
“But you don’t know The Fence, you’ve never met him. So why should …”
“I know that, but I’m not prepared to hand it over to anyone else — and I’m only prepared to hand it over to him on one condition. He’s got to give an assurance — a definite assurance — that he’ll leave Bill alone in the future.”
“I think he’ll agree to that, Mrs Fletcher,�
� said Dr Benkaray, apparently prepared to accept these terms. “Get the box from the bank today — and take it to your garage. You’ll have a visitor this evening — at eleven o’clock.”
“I hope I did the right thing, Mr Temple.”
“You certainly did, Mrs Fletcher, and I’m very grateful to you.”
“Well, I felt it was the least I could do. I do apologise for my behaviour to Mrs Temple last night. When I think that if it wasn’t for her —”
Temple and Steve had reached Westerton at midday and driven straight to the hospital. They had found Mrs Fletcher enjoying the morning sunshine in a garden at the back of the building. It was under the windows of the ward where Bill’s bed was screened off and the Ward Sister had promised to call her if he woke and asked for her. Having enquired first about her son, they had to listen to a long report on his condition and exactly what the doctor had said before she got round to her conversation with Larry Cross and Dr Benkaray. She had a remarkably good memory and was able to give it to them verbatim, with plenty of ‘says she’ and ‘says I’.
“You’ve been very frank about the whole affair,” Temple congratulated her. “But now, I’m afraid I’ve got to ask you to do something else.’’
“I’ll do anything — anything you ask, Mr Temple,” she told him, exchanging a woman’s glance with Steve.
“I’d like you to go through with this, Mrs Fletcher. I’d like you to get the deed box from the bank and take it to the garage. I’d like you to be there tonight — when The Fence arrives.”
Mrs Fletcher started to shake her head. She had screwed up the courage to face Dr Benkaray but the thought of meeting the anonymous and shadowy figure known as The Fence terrified her. Then the drone of an airliner climbing from Gatwick reminded her that but for the Temples, she would be nearly in Australia by now.
“All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Mrs Fletcher,” Temple said seriously. “Now this is what I want you to do. Listen carefully …”
Darkness had fallen at about a quarter to nine. By half past ten the unmarked police car was parked between the privet hedges of the drive to a house opposite Fletcher’s Garage. The occupants of the house had been asked to draw their curtains, leave the lights on and behave as if nothing was happening. Like Temple’s it was a Rover with the 3.5 litre engine, but this one had been boosted with a turbo charger to give it extra performance. In it were seated four men. Superintendent Raine was in the passenger seat beside his own driver, PC Newton. In the back sat Sir Graham Forbes and Temple.
As the operation to trap The Fence had been planned by Raine, with the co-operation of the Kent Constabulary, Temple had to accept the role of observer. Nevertheless he had taken the precaution of making a thorough reconnaissance of the garage that afternoon, noting all possible approaches and exits. Mrs Fletcher’s and Bill’s house was a detached building beside the garage, separated from it by an open passage. A door in the side of the house was opposite the side door of the garage. Behind both vehicles was a big yard, used for the breakdown lorry, a few second-hand cars for sale, and the cars of customers awaiting collection or repair. The repair shop extended into this yard from behind the showroom and was approached by a gate near the self-service area where Steve had waited so patiently. He knew that two other police cars were poised ready to close in on a radio signal from Raine and that four more would move into the area when it was confirmed that Mrs Fletcher’s ‘visitor’ had arrived.
At seven minutes to eleven one of those unexpected hitches occurred. A motorist, running out of petrol, pulled into the forecourt of the garage, ignoring the Closed sign, and the darkened office. As he got out it was obvious that he intended to knock up the garage owner.
‘‘Go and sort him out, Newton,’’ Raine told his driver.
With great presence of mind Newton took his emergency can of petrol out of the boot and sauntered across the road.
“In trouble?” they heard him call out.
The motorist stopped a few yards short of Mrs Fletcher’s porch and came back, a little unsteadily, to his car. After a brief conversation they saw Newton unscrew the filler cap and dump half a gallon of petrol into the tank. With profuse thanks to the uniformed Samaritan, the motorist drove away.
It was three minutes to eleven when Newton got back into the car. Raine exhaled his breath.
“That took ten years off my life,” he said.
“There’s a car coming down the High Street very slowly.” Forbes was craning his neck to see over the low hedge. “This could be our man.’’
There was no more conversation as they all watched the car slow down. The.driver doused his headlights as he turned in, using only sidelights as he drew up on the far side of the pumps. They saw the white lights at the rear come on as he engaged reverse. Then he reversed neatly between two cars, bearing FOR SALE notices, parked beside the self-service area. They saw him climb out, a shadowy outline, and walk quickly towards Mrs Fletcher’s front door. He was wearing a slouch hat and had his overcoat collar turned up. It was impossible to see his face. Once at the porch he turned round and Raine commanded: “Heads down!”
All four men dropped their heads so that the pale blobs of their faces would not be visible. When they looked up again the figure had vanished.
“Is he inside?”
“Must be,” Raine said. “She would have been waiting to open the door the moment he rang.”
Temple checked his watch. The luminous dial showed him that it was two minutes past eleven.
“How long are you going to give him?”
“Four minutes, five at the most,” Raine said, and picked up his mike.
Temple watched the sweep hand of his watch complete two circuits. To the west of the village a train rumbled past. A lad on a scooter buzzed down the village street, probably a customer from The Red Hart.
“I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to Mrs Fletcher,” Temple murmured to Forbes. “I’m relying on you to see that she’s let down lightly, Sir Graham.”
“Don’t worry, Temple. I’ll have a talk with the Public Prosecutor. I think Midge Harris deserves a break too.”
“Damn!” It was Raine. “He’s out already. He must have come out of the side door.”
“I think he’s spotted us,” Forbes said.
Temple could see the overcoated man now. He was standing just inside the passageway between the garage and the house. He was staring straight at the police car.
“Lights!” said Raine into his mike.
Instantly the forecourt, garage and house were floodlit as the two police cars, which had crept to within fifty yards of the garage from opposite directions, switched on their main beams.
The dark figure turned its head first to left, then to right. Temple could now see that he had a small deed box under one arm. The ‘visitor’ summed the situation up in one second. He turned his back and disappeared into the passageway.
“He’s making for the rear,” Raine said. “It’s all right. I’ve got two cars on the roads at the back. He won’t get —”
But Temple was already out of the car. As he raced across the road, silhouetted by the headlights, the two police cars were moving in. He headed, not for the passageway, but for the self-service area. His route took him past the ‘visitor’s’ car and then he was through the door that led into the yard at the back. In here it was pitch dark and he had been dazzled by the headlights. But the other man had the same disadvantage and he was also handicapped by not knowing the lie of the land as Temple did.
Still running, Temple weaved his way between the parked vehicles, making for the door that led to the fields, with the intention of cutting the man off. Then his quarry made a mistake. The smack of a bullet on the breakdown lorry behind Temple was accompanied by the report of a heavy automatic. He had missed and given his position away. Temple knew now that he was near the door to the fields. When he heard it creak on rusty hinges he gambled that his man
had gone through. Ten seconds later he was through himself, flattening his body against the wall on the other side. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness now and fifty yards ahead he saw the fugitive, running towards the dark line of a hedge.
‘’Temple!” he heard Forbes bellowing somewhere behind him. “Where are you?”
He did not answer, saving his breath for a sprint. The ‘visitor’ turned round as he heard Temple pounding behind him. He halted and squandered five seconds getting off a shot. The bullet whizzed wide of its target. Then he peeled off the overcoat, dropped the deed box and bolted like a terrified horse. But he had lost momentum. In twenty more paces Temple was up with him. He brought him down with a flying Rugby tackle.
Temple felt the man twist under him as he tried to get his gun hand free. The face was turned upwards, offering him a target he could not resist.
“That’s for Julia!” he grunted, as his fist connected with Langdon’s jaw. “And that’s for Tony —”
But Langdon had already slumped, his bloodied face kissing the grass. As Temple straightened up, he was lit by the lights of a car that came wallowing and bumping across the field.
“Temple, are you all right?”
It was Raine’s voice. Still seeing red, Temple heard the car skid to a halt just short of him. The door was flung open. “You know,” he gasped, “I’m getting a little old for this sort of thing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Raine commented drily. He turned Langdon’s head so that his face was illuminated by the headlights. “You’ve made a mess of Mr Langdon.”
Temple studied his handiwork with a mixture of pride and shame. “By Timothy! I have, haven’t I?”
The Wyoming, a sister ship of the Wisconsin, was due to sail from Southampton at midday. The Kelburns had one of the Verandah Cabins on A Deck. It was a self-contained luxury suite with its own bathroom, telephone, fridge and radio. Close-carpeted from wall to wall, its special feature was the verandah, sumptuously furnished as a sitting-room, and full- length picture windows giving a panoramic view of the sea. This accommodation had set George Kelburn back several thousand pounds for the trip to Jamaica, but it still did not satisfy Laura, who was grumpily hanging her dresses up in the fitted wardrobes.
Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery Page 19
