Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

He dived out through the door, hitting the grass with his shoulder and rolling over. As he went he heard Wyman cursing his sticking door. There came the sickening thud of metal on metal, the tinkling of glass, a hiss of steam, followed by a high-pitched scream of agony.

A passing taxi driver had seen the accident and had the good sense to drive straight to the nearest call-box and dial 999. A police car, ambulance and fire brigade van were there within minutes. While the ambulance men slid the truck driver into their vehicle and the firemen cut Wyman free of the tangled wreckage of the car, Temple gave the police a preliminary report of the incident.

‘We’ll want you to give us a written statement, sir,’ the patrolman said.

‘Yes, I know. But in the meantime I suggest you call Superintendent Raine at Scotland Yard. Tell him someone just damn nearly killed Tony Wyman and Paul Temple.’

Raine was at Paddington Hospital within ten minutes of Temple arriving there in the police car. Despite the fuss he had made, Tony Wyman was not seriously injured. He had escaped with a couple of broken fingers, some nasty cuts and a mass of bruises. According to the doctor who had attended him he would not be detained in hospital.

‘That must have been quite a spectacular little crash,’ Raine said.

‘It was – and a deliberate one too.’

‘A good thing you managed to get clear.’

‘I was dead lucky. What have they done with that truck driver?’

‘He’s at Paddington Green police station. Got away with a few bruises and a cut cheek. He was carrying his licence so we know who he is. A Scot, name of Ted Angus.’

‘Ted Angus?’

‘Do you know him?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’ve been on to Glasgow. They know him but have never been able to pin anything on him. He’s done all sorts of jobs. Barker in a fairground, Wall of Death rider. May have been mixed up in a couple of smash-and-grab jobs but always got clear. You know, I hardly think it was you he was after. It was Wyman’s car.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Are you going to charge him?’

‘We can only hold him for an hour or two but I intend to try and make him talk. You can come along if you feel up to it.’

‘Oh, I’m up to it. Just give me a moment to ’phone my wife.’

But even Raine’s and Temple’s questioning failed to extract any admission from the tough little Scot. His story was that the steering had broken and he was sticking to that, knowing full well the whole front of the truck was smashed.

‘What do you make of him?’ Temple asked, as the cell door was closed on Angus. He was still protesting vociferously at being ‘treated like a criminal’.

‘About as straight as the Tower of Pisa, but we’re still going to have to let him go.’

The Temples were just finishing tea when Charlie came in to announce that a Mrs Kelburn had called.

‘Show her in, Charlie. And take this tray away.’

‘Are you expecting Laura?’ Steve asked.

‘No, but I did ask her to find out where Julia bought her clothes.’

Laura Kelburn was still wearing the same dark suit, but she had added a pair of ear-rings and a gold neck-chain.

‘No, I won’t, thank you, Mr Temple,’ she said, in reply to the offer of a drink. ‘I’m in rather a hurry. I’m dining with some people in Hampstead. Mr Temple, I’ve made one or two enquiries about Julia’s clothes, and I’ve been through her wardrobe. There’s nothing with the name Margo on it, but I’ve discovered that most of her clothes – most of the respectable clothes, at any rate – were bought from a shop in Ogden Street called Daphne Drake Limited. You must have heard of it, Steve.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s a very good shop.’

‘Did Julia have many clothes?’ Temple asked.

‘Yes, she did, but she was a frightfully erratic sort of person. She’d probably wear nothing but jeans and a sweater for a month or so, and then suddenly buy herself half a dozen dresses and suits. There was no telling what she’d do. Unfortunately, it wasn’t only her clothes that she was erratic about.’

‘What do you mean?’

Laura Kelburn’s mouth twisted with distaste. ‘Well – she wasn’t exactly careful about her choice of friends, was she? Of course, the trouble was George wouldn’t take her in hand. He wouldn’t hear a word against her. Understandable, I suppose, but rather irritating at times.’

‘Did you try to take her in hand, Mrs Kelburn?’

‘No,’ she said, affronted by the question. ‘It wasn’t my job.’

‘But you were quite good friends?’

Laura pondered that for a moment. ‘Yes – we were, considering. But, the trouble really started when George got a bee in his bonnet about this Tony Wyman person and tried to lay the law down. It was too late – you just couldn’t do that sort of thing with Julia. Tell her she couldn’t have something, and she’d immediately want it.’

‘How is your husband, Laura?’ Steve enquired.

‘He’s still very upset, of course – it’s been a terrible shock for him, but the doctor’s given him some dope. He was lying down when I left. I suppose there’s no news, Mr Temple? The police have no idea who did it?’

‘No. At least, I certainly haven’t heard anything, Mrs Kelburn.’

Laura picked her crocodile handbag off the floor and stood up. ‘Well, I must be going.’

‘I’m very grateful to you for calling. You’ll let me know if you come across anything you think might be of any importance?’

‘Yes, of course. I certainly will, Mr Temple.’

‘I hope she enjoys her dinner,’ Temple remarked, when Steve came back from showing the visitor out.

‘You don’t like her, do you, Paul?’

‘No – but I’m glad she called. I wonder if this Daphne Drake place is worth investigating.’

‘Well, I can tell you one thing, the coat that was left in my car at the airport wasn’t bought from Daphne Drake’s.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The weight of the material. And it wasn’t their style. They have much more expensive stuff than that. They have some really lovely things.’ Steve put her head on one side and gave Paul a look. ‘You know, I think I ought to go along there tomorrow morning, and make a few enquiries.’

‘I know the sort of enquiries you’d make!’ Temple laughed. ‘Still, it’s not a bad idea.’

‘Thank you, darling.’

‘But, Steve—’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘One dress – one only, remember…’

Dr M. C. Benkaray was in the telephone book with an address in Wimpole Street.

‘I hope he doesn’t shut up shop at five o’clock.’

Steve broke off playing the piano while Temple dialled the number. ‘Why are you so anxious to talk to this Dr Benkaray, Paul?’

‘Tony Wyman told me that Julia Kelburn recently consulted a psychiatrist. I thought it might be a good idea to find out what her trouble was—’ Temple broke off and took his hand away from the mouthpiece as the ringing tone stopped.

‘Dr Benkaray’s practice.’

Temple hesitated, puzzled by the man’s accent. ‘May I speak to the doctor, please?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Temple. Paul Temple.’

‘Just hold on a minute, please.’

Watching him, Steve saw two lines appear between his brow, always a sign that he was adding two and two and making five. ‘What is it, Paul?’

‘I could swear that the man on the other end – Hello! Is that Dr Benkaray?’

‘No, this is Dr Benkaray’s secretary.’ The voice was masculine but more like that of a car salesman than a doctor’s secretary. ‘The doctor is out of town.’

‘My name is Temple. I’d like to make an appointment—’

‘Then I suggest you ’phone again towards the end of the month.’

‘But surely—’

‘Any time after the twenty-fifth. I shall be pleased to make an appointment for you then.’

‘But I’m afraid that’s too—’

‘Goodbye, Mr Temple.’

Slowly Temple put the receiver down.

‘Well, I’m damned! He cut me short and rang off. By Timothy, if that’s the secretary I wonder what the doctor’s like.’

‘Did you think you recognised the person who answered first?’

Temple nodded. ‘He sounded exactly like that truck driver who nearly wrote me off. Ted Angus.’

Steve was only forty minutes late for her rendezvous with Temple. They had arranged to meet in the cocktail bar of a small club near Ebury Street.

‘Hello, Steve! I thought you were never coming! Did you buy up the whole shop?’

‘No, darling, I didn’t.’

She sat down on the button-leather bench beside him. One of the club waiters, in a short green jacket, came over to the table.

‘Can I get you anything, madam?’

‘I’d like a dry sherry.’

Temple pointed to his own glass. ‘I’ll have the same again.’

‘Yes, sir. A Tio Pepe and a dry martini.’

‘Well, Steve?’ Temple knew from the way she kept glancing at him with a faint smile on her lips that she’d had a successful morning. He hoped the bill would not be too high.

‘I’ve got some news for you, Mr Temple!’

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