Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

‘Oh, my God!’

‘What’s happened?’

Temple looked round to find Raine at his shoulder. ‘The line’s gone dead.’

‘Replace the receiver, Mr Temple – in case she rings back.’

Temple realised that he was still trying to squeeze some response out of the telephone. With deliberate control he replaced it on the cradle.

Forbes had come to the doorway of the sitting-room to listen to Temple’s side of the brief conversation. ‘You said something about a man, Temple. Was there someone with Steve?’

‘Yes. I heard a voice just as I picked up the ’phone. It sounded as if someone was in the call-box with her and was forcing her to…’

The ’phone shrilled and Temple scooped it up with one quick movement.

‘Take it easy, Temple,’ Forbes cautioned.

Temple put a finger into his free ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Paul—’ Steve’s voice was a little stronger, but she was still tense.

‘Steve,’ Temple said, speaking slowly and deliberately but with all the urgency he could muster. ‘Where are you calling from?’

‘I don’t know the number.’

‘Darling,’ he told her very gently, ‘look at the dial.’

‘It’s a call-box.’

‘Well, where is it?’

‘Paul, I’m trying to concentrate,’ she was evidently dazed and confused, ‘but somehow I can’t—’

He asked: ‘Is there anyone with you?’

‘No. Not now, darling.’

‘Well,’ he tried again, still as if coaxing a frightened child, ‘where is the telephone box, Steve?’

‘It’s at Euston. Just inside the station.’ She was near to tears and her voice was beginning to break. ‘Please come and fetch me, darling. I’ll wait for you in the station near the bookstall.’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes!’ This time Temple rammed the receiver down on the cradle. His face was grey as he turned to Forbes and Raine. ‘She’s at Euston Station.’

‘Right! Come on, Temple!’ Forbes was already heading for the front door. Raine started to follow, but the older man put a finger to stop him and nodded at the telephone.

‘Get through to the Yard. Warn all cars in the area but tell them to stay clear of the station. Follow as soon as you can. We’ll see you at Euston.’

Knowing that Raine would have no problem with transport, Forbes commandeered the police car waiting down in Eaton Square. The superintendent had chosen as his personal driver a young constable who had passed out of the Police Driving School at Hendon with a Class A. Authorised to use the blue light and siren he made his tyres squeal as he careered round Belgrave Square. The carousel of traffic at Hyde Park Corner yielded to the white police Rover as it squirmed between taxis, buses and private cars. On the Hyde Park ring road they touched a hundred miles an hour and the houses along Park Lane flashed past in a blur. An obstinate Daimler limousine blocked them for a long ten seconds at Marble Arch and received a horn-blasting that sent him rabbiting on to the pavement. As the Rover sped along the Marylebone Road, Forbes and Temple were thrown from side to side when their driver swerved round the slow-moving vehicles, sometimes cutting boldly across to the wrong side of the road and forcing the oncoming traffic to give way to him.

A quarter of a mile from Euston Forbes called out: ‘Cut the siren now, Newton.’

Temple glanced at his watch. He had automatically checked the time of Steve’s call. It looked as if he was going to keep his promise of being at the station within ten minutes. As if in confirmation the clock of the church across the road began to chime the quarters. Raine’s driver braked and swung in through the entrance reserved for buses, slowing behind a Number 14 as it circled the memorial to London and North Eastern Railway personnel killed in the 1914–18 war. Temple, all his senses at full stretch, noted the four statuesque figures guarding it, heads bent over, hands folded on their reversed rifles – an attitude of permanent mourning.

‘Well done,’ Forbes told the driver, as he deposited them at the kerb. ‘Wait for us here.’

Outpacing the passengers who had alighted from the bus, Forbes and Temple hurried across the broad, almost deserted forecourt, past the statue of Robert Stephenson and through the glass doors into the main hall. Both men were wary and watchful. There seemed no good reason why Steve should be kidnapped and then released after only five hours without some sort of pay-off. She could still be in grave danger. At this time of night the bookshop at the east side of the main hall was closed and only a lone vendor of newspapers was doing business.

Temple shook his head. ‘She’s not here.’

The loudspeakers boomed out some announcement about a train shortly due to depart for Edinburgh. The panels on the indicator-board flapped as a new set of departure times was rung up. From one of the platforms a posse of travellers just in from the North spilled out, dazedly lugging suitcases.

‘Is there another bookstall?’ Forbes was turning his head this way and that, searching for a slim woman in a blue suit. Charlie had told them what Steve was wearing when she’d set off for the airport.

‘There may be.’ Temple had started across the spacious hall, his eyes checking the entrances to the bars, restaurants, information desks. People were still crowding up and down the moving staircases leading to the Underground. Half a dozen skinheads were sitting disconsolately in front of the marble plaque commemorating the opening of the new station by Queen Elizabeth II on 14 October 1968. But no sign of Steve.

He stared at the flower-sellers packing up what was left of their stock. The bunches of spring daffodils reminded him vividly of her. So often he had bought her a huge bunch on his way home. Then suddenly, he knew what had happened.

‘Sir Graham, you wait here. It’s just a thought, but—’

Temple quickly located the sign pointing to the ladies cloakroom. Dazed and scared as she was, Steve would still have been thinking about her appearance. It would be just like her to believe she had time for a quick check-up in front of a mirror. He had entered the opening of the passageway that led to the toilets and was bracing himself to invade the women’s domain when he saw a figure in a blue suit coming out through the door. Three seconds later they were in each other’s arms.

‘Steve!’

‘Paul!’

She was almost sobbing with relief. He held her away from him for a moment.

‘Darling, you said by the bookstall.’

‘Yes, I know. But I knew my face looked awful and I never thought you’d get here so quickly.’

‘Well—’ Temple let out a long sigh. ‘Thank God we’ve found you.’

Forbes had come striding over from the flower stall. ‘Are you all right, Steve?’

‘Yes, Sir Graham.’ Steve managed a little smile. ‘I’m just – a little tired, that’s all.’

‘What happened?’ Temple asked. ‘How did you come to be here? Who was that man whose voice I heard?’

‘Paul, I’m confused…and frightened…I hardly know…’

‘Wait a moment, Temple,’ Forbes said in a low voice, his eyes on Steve’s trembling hands and nervously restless glance. ‘I think we’d better get her home and let a doctor see her before we start asking too many questions.’

‘You know, Temple, this really is an extraordinary affair.’ Sir Graham Forbes put the glass of whisky Temple had given him on the table beside his chair. ‘I’ve never come across a case quite like it before. No ransom – no mysterious notes – no threats – no blackmail. Nothing.’

‘And no motive either, sir,’ added Raine, who had opted for a glass of lager, ‘so far as we can see.’

The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece of the Temples’ sitting-room had moved round to twenty past eleven. More soberly than on the outward journey Raine’s driver had brought Steve, Forbes and Temple back to Eaton Square. Temple had been lucky to find the partner of their own doctor at home and he had come round at once. The three men were having a drink while they waited for him to pronounce her fit for questioning.

‘They must have had a motive!’ Temple exclaimed. He was pacing restlessly up and down the room. ‘Whoever they are, they must have had a reason for picking Steve up like that!’

‘I agree, Temple. But what was the reason? After all, it isn’t as if you’re mixed up in a case at the moment, or even helping us over…’

Forbes was interrupted by the door opening. Dr McCarthy put his head round it. ‘May I come in?’

He was a small, competent but slightly self-effacing man with a balding head and prominent ears. He wore rimless glasses and carried the regulation leather bag.

‘Yes, of course, Doctor. What’s the verdict?’

‘Nothing to worry about – nothing at all.’ The doctor ventured a little further into the room. ‘But there’s no doubt Mrs Temple has had quite a shock, and, in my opinion, she’s either been drugged or even possibly hypnotised.’

‘Hypnotised!’ Temple echoed incredulously.

‘However, the main thing is, there’s nothing for you to worry about, Mr Temple. What your wife needs now is rest, and plenty of it! I’ve given her a sedative; she’ll probably sleep most of tomorrow morning.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

‘I’ll look in during the afternoon, or give you a ring tomorrow evening.’

‘Thank you,’ Temple said again, and moved towards the door to see him out.

But Dr McCarthy had picked up the purposeful and expectant atmosphere in the room. He peered sternly at Raine through his small lenses. ‘And, Superintendent…’

‘Yes, Doctor?’

‘My patient can’t answer any questions – not at the moment, at any rate.’

Raine nodded, accepting the ban with resignation. ‘Very well, Doctor.’

‘So hold your horses until tomorrow.’ McCarthy turned to Temple, who was standing waiting by the door. ‘And that goes for you too, Mr Temple.’

When Steve woke she did not immediately open her eyes, afraid that she might see again the walls of the small room where she had been held prisoner. But the sound of music was reassuring and she dared to raise her eyelids. With relief she saw that she was in her own bedroom. Though it was darkened she could identify the familiar objects of everyday life.

‘Paul…What are you doing sitting over there?’

‘I’m listening to the radio and watching you, darling.’

‘Well, what time is it?’

‘What time do you think?’ Temple asked, smiling.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Steve sat up in bed, stretched her arms and yawned. ‘The sun’s shining so it must be morning.’

‘It’s a quarter past five.’

‘A quarter past five? In the afternoon?’

‘Yes, darling. You’ve had quite a nice little nap.’

‘How long have I actually been…?’

‘Since eleven o’clock last night.’ Temple put the paper down and came over to the bed. ‘The doctor gave you a sedative.’

‘Good heavens! You shouldn’t have let me sleep like this! Oh, Paul – you look wonderful! How lovely to see you again!’ She reached out towards him as he bent down to kiss her. ‘Did you have a nice trip?’

‘Yes, I did. But it’s the last trip I’m making without you, Steve.’

‘You can say that again!’ She laughed and slid luxuriously back under the bedclothes. There was more colour in her cheeks than the night before but she had dark shadows under her eyes.

‘How do you feel?’

‘I’m perfectly all right now. There’s no need to look so anxious.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed. She put out a hand to grasp his. ‘Do you feel well enough to talk?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘What happened yesterday, Steve?’

‘Well, now – let me think…’ Her eyes clouded as she stared at the half-drawn curtains. ‘I’m not sure where to begin…’

‘Suppose we begin at the very beginning. You set out to meet me at the airport, just as you planned…’

‘Yes, that’s right. I arrived there with plenty of time to spare, and parked the car. A man in uniform, one of the airport officials, came up to me. He checked the number of my car, and asked if I was Mrs Temple. He told me your plane had arrived ahead of schedule and you were waiting for me in the Concorde Lounge.’

‘Would you recognise this man again?’

‘I doubt it.’ She shook her head. ‘He asked me to follow him to another car just outside the car park. I thought he was taking me to another building some distance away. In the back of the car was a woman wearing air hostess’s uniform. I sat beside her and the man climbed into the driving seat and we drove off. We’d been going for about a minute when the woman suddenly pushed a pad over my face and I felt a jab in my right arm. I’m afraid I don’t remember anything else – about the journey, I mean. When I came to I was in a darkened room. I felt absolutely awful. Everything was going round and I wanted to be sick. After a while a man came into the room and gave me a drink. I don’t know what it was, but it certainly made me feel better.’

‘Was this man the phoney airport official?’

‘I couldn’t see him very well, but I don’t think he was. For one thing, his voice sounded different.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said there was nothing to worry about – that I wasn’t in any danger and later on they’d be releasing me.’

‘Did you ask why they’d kidnapped you?’

‘Yes, and he said: “We did it as a warning, and to prove that it was possible, Mrs Temple.” ’

She felt his grip on her hand tighten, saw the line of his mouth harden.

‘Go on, Steve.’

‘Well, I was left alone for ages after that. It must have been two or three hours later before another man came into the room. I think this was the man at the airport; he was about the same height and he sounded rather like him.’

‘But you’re not sure?’ he said sharply.

‘No, Paul, I can’t be a hundred per cent sure. Anyway, this man also assured me that there was nothing to worry about and that they were going to send me home. About half an hour later they drove me down to Euston and allowed me to make the telephone call.’

‘But didn’t they give you any idea what this was all about – why they’d abducted you?’

‘Not the slightest. Don’t you know, Paul?’

‘I haven’t a clue. I’m not investigating a case at the moment. I’m not mixed up in anything – you know that, Steve.’

‘If only I could remember more details…What the people looked like…’

‘Don’t worry about it, darling.’ He released her hand and stood up. ‘You’re all right, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, well – you must have been pretty worried.’

‘Oh, not really, darling.’ He kept his expression dead-pan. ‘I just went berserk.’

Steve laughed, watching him affectionately as he moved towards the hanging cupboard that filled one whole wall.

‘By the way, I put your new coat in the wardrobe.’

‘My coat?’

‘Yes. We found it in the back of the car when we collected it from the airport.’

‘But I didn’t take a coat with me,’ Steve said, puzzled.

‘Yes, you did, darling. Here it is.’ Temple slid the white door back on its runners, reached inside and took out an overcoat on a hanger.

He held the coat up for her to see. It was in classic style, of fawn cashmere, with a tie-belt and sleeves trimmed with leather buttons. What surprised him was the weight of the material.

‘That’s not my coat!’ Steve exclaimed.

‘But it is, Steve! It was in the back of your—’

‘I don’t care where it was! It’s not my coat!’

Temple found it hard to understand why she was so vehement in repudiating this fashionable garment.

‘Are you sure, dear?’

‘I’m positive!’ More quietly she asked: ‘Is there anything in the pockets?’

He carefully checked both pockets. ‘No, nothing.’

Steve pointed a finger towards the top of the coat. ‘There should be a maker’s name on the back of the collar somewhere.’

‘Yes, I’m just looking for it.’ Temple took the coat off the hanger and looked inside the collar. ‘Ah, here we are!’

He turned the label towards the light to read the name. ‘Margo…’

Superintendent Raine took his mackintosh off and handed it to Charlie, who hung it up in the little cloakroom. Through the closed door of the sitting-room he could hear someone playing the piano – one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. Despite his air of businesslike efficiency Raine was a sensitive man and a lover of music. From the style of the playing he was able to recognise a woman’s touch.

The music stopped when Charlie knocked on the door and went in to announce the visitor. A moment later Temple himself appeared.

‘Hello, Superintendent!’ he welcomed Raine warmly. ‘Come along in!’

The Temples’ coffee cups had been put back on the silver tray and a brandy glass was on the table beside Paul’s chair. The book he had been reading had been placed on the arm, with the cover uppermost. It was the novel that had recently won the Booker McConnell prize.

Steve had come out from behind the baby grand piano.

‘Good evening, Mrs Temple.’ Raine gave her a courtly bow. ‘You look better than you did a week ago.’

‘Yes,’ Steve smiled. ‘I’m fine now, thank you very much.’

‘I just happened to be passing and I thought I’d drop in and have a word with you.’

‘Glad to see you.’ Temple indicated a chair. ‘Sit down. Can I get you a drink?’

‘No, thank you. I’m afraid my day’s work is not done yet.’ Raine sat down, as usual leaning slightly forward. ‘Well, we don’t seem to have got very far during the past week. We’ve made enquiries about the coat, but we’ve drawn a blank. We’ve failed to find the owner, or even the shop where it was bought.’

‘What about the makers?’

‘We can’t even locate the makers. According to all accounts, there isn’t a coat firm called Margo – not in this country, at any rate.’

‘I see.’ Steve and Paul exchanged a glance. ‘Did you check with the airport people?’

‘Yes, and we’ve had no luck there either, I’m afraid. I suppose you haven’t had any bright ideas, Mr Temple?’

‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t, except that…Well, I think the people who kidnapped Steve were labouring under the delusion that I was just about to investigate a case of some kind.’

‘And you think the Mrs Temple incident was a warning to keep out?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Well, that’s a possible explanation, I suppose,’ Raine conceded dubiously. ‘But what’s the case?’

‘You tell me.’ Temple tapped his pipe out and reached for the tobacco jar. ‘I never interfere in anything without an invitation. What’s your biggest headache at the moment?’

‘Oh, our biggest headache is The Fence – trying to find out who the devil he is. But we’ve had that headache for some time now. I doubt whether we’ll ever solve it.’

Steve had gone back to the piano stool and was leafing through some sheet music, obviously intending not to intrude on the conversation; but she was drawn into it in spite of herself.

‘What do you mean – The Fence?’

‘Well, you know what a fence is, Mrs Temple?’ Raine had to shift his position to face her.

‘Yes – a man who receives stolen property.’

‘That’s right. Well, during the past twelve months there’s been several robberies. I mean, really big stuff. The two jewellers in Leicester Square…the fur warehouse in Bond Street…’

‘Lord Renton’s place in Eaton Square,’ Temple put in, as Raine hesitated.

‘Yes, that’s right. Well, it’s our opinion that these particular jobs were all done…’

‘…by the same gang!’ Steve supplied, determined not to be outdone.

Raine laughed good-humouredly. ‘No, Mrs Temple. Nothing quite as simple as that. We think – in fact, we know that the various jobs have been done by different people. We feel pretty confident, however, that the stolen property was, in every case, handled by the same person.’

‘The Fence?’

‘Yes, Mrs Temple. So far we’ve failed to find out who this fence is – or where he operates from. But sooner or later we’ve got to find him, because, at the moment, he’s indirectly responsible for a great many of the robberies in this country.’

‘Then I can see why you’ve got to find him,’ Temple remarked drily.

‘Still, we’ve no reason for thinking – no proof, as it were that Mrs Temple’s experience had anything to do with The Fence.’

‘No, Superintendent,’ Temple said thoughtfully. ‘No proof.’

There was a short silence, but Raine made no move to go. ‘There was one thing I wanted to ask you. The day Mrs Temple disappeared you said something about a note – a telephone message – which was on the pad by the side of the bed.’

‘Yes, of course!’ Temple struck his brow with the flat of his hand. ‘I forgot all about that! There was a note, Steve. It said: “Tell P. about L.”’

‘Oh, that was Laura Stafford,’ Steve said dismissively. ‘She telephoned one morning and said she wanted to see you. She seemed awfully disappointed when I said you were in New York.’

‘Who’s Laura Stafford?’ Temple enquired.

‘She’s a journalist – or rather she was several years ago.’ Steve forsook the piano stool and moved over to the sofa. ‘We used to see quite a bit of each other when I worked in Fleet Street. Then she left and married a man called Kelburn.’

‘Kelburn?’ Temple echoed, with surprise. ‘George Kelburn?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Very wealthy. North country. She’s his second wife.’

‘That’s right.’ Steve leaned back and crossed her legs. Raine bent his head and dutifully studied his fingernails. ‘Anyway, when I said you were in New York she said she’d get in touch with you later. I thought nothing of it at the time, but a couple of days later I bumped into Laura in Freeman and Bentley’s and naturally, I mentioned the telephone call, and to my amazement she said she hadn’t ’phoned.’

Raine looked up sharply. ‘She said she hadn’t?’

‘That’s right, Superintendent. She said she certainly had no wish to consult Paul about anything.’ Steve turned to Temple, whose expression showed his scepticism. ‘Darling, why were you surprised when I mentioned the name Kelburn?’

‘Well, coming over on the ’plane a man called Langdon introduced himself to me. He works for George Kelburn. Apparently Kelburn’s having trouble with his daughter and he’s asked Langdon to try and sort it out.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of Miss Kelburn,’ Raine said meaningfully. ‘Julia, by name.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Always in the newspapers. She must be quite a handful, that young lady. I don’t envy Mr Langdon his assignment.’ He put his hands on his knees to push himself upright. ‘Well, I’ll be making a move. Glad you’re feeling better, Mrs Temple.’

Raine had been gone for an hour and Steve had announced her intention of going to bed early when the doorbell rang and they heard Charlie going to answer it. A few moments later his head came round the door.

‘What is it, Charlie?’

‘Are you in or out, Mr Temple?’

‘At a quick glance, I should say we’re in.’

‘Well, there’s a Mr Langdon would like to see you. Looks like a Yank to me.’

‘Yes – he is a Yank, as you so elegantly put it, Charlie. Show the gentleman in.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Langdon?’ Steve asked. ‘Is this the man you met on the ’plane?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ask him to call?’

‘Not in so many words, but I said if I could be of use any time I’d be pleased to see him.’

Like Raine, Langdon refused the offer of a drink, but accepted a chair. Steve resigned herself to being a listener to another of Temple’s interviews. She always admired his capacity for making people feel that a visit from them was just what he had been hoping for and that he had all the time in the world to listen to their confidences.

‘I’ve already had more than my share of drink this evening,’ Langdon said with a sigh. ‘Which isn’t surprising – considering.’

‘Why, is the Kelburn business getting you down?’

‘It certainly is.’

‘You’ve seen Julia, I take it?’

‘Yes, half a dozen times. It’s hopeless – she has every intention of doing precisely what she wants.’

‘And what about the young man she’s keen on – Tony Wyman?’