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Paul Temple and the Madison Case
Paul Temple and the Madison Case
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Paul Temple and the Madison Case

They settled into low armchairs facing the colourful gathering. At once a waiter in the ship’s grey and green livery materialised before them.

‘What can I get you, madam?’

‘What would you like, darling?’ Temple enquired. ‘Have a champagne cocktail.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ She looked at her husband doubtfully.

‘It’s a very good idea. Two champagne cocktails.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The waiter hurried towards the bar. Steve’s eyes were checking over the men in their black and white tuxedos.

‘I don’t see Mr Portland.’

‘No, he hasn’t arrived yet.’ Temple had hardly spoken when he saw George Kelly coming in with a woman. The secretary’s wiry body had been crammed uncomfortably into a black jacket and trousers. He and his companion were ill-matched. She was a good looking blonde in her forties, with a generous, full figure and slightly florid face. Her dress was obviously a model from a top designer. ‘But here’s his secretary!’

‘Who’s he with?’

‘I don’t know, unless it’s Mrs Portland.’

‘She’s not that young, surely.’

George Kelly quickly spotted Temple. He pushed his way through the tables, clearing a passage for Stella Portland.

‘Excuse me, Mr Temple. Have you seen Mr Portland?’

‘No.’ Temple had stood in expectation of being introduced to the lady. ‘We arranged to meet here at seven o’clock but I am afraid he hasn’t shown up yet.’

‘I’m beginning to feel very worried, George.’ said Stella, biting her lip.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Kelly reassured her. He added with his cracked laugh, ‘He’s probably found a quiet corner somewhere and fallen asleep.’

Stella shook her head. ‘That’s not like Sam. He doesn’t do that sort of thing.’ Then she turned her baby-blue eyes on Temple. ‘Are you Mr Temple?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Stella Portland,’ she said, holding out her hand.

‘I’m glad to meet you, Mrs Portland.’ Temple took the hand which was held for a moment in her warm grasp. ‘This is my wife …’

‘How do you do, Mrs Temple?’ Wisely, Steve did not stand up. ‘I hope you’re feeling better now, my husband told me that you were not too good this morning.’

‘I’m much better, thank you.’

‘Seasickness must be really dreadful,’ Stella said, with earnest sympathy. ‘I always feel frightfully sorry for anyone who suffers from it. Fortunately, I’m a very good sailor.’ She turned to the secretary who was staring at Steve with undisguised admiration. ‘George, I do wish you’d go and look for Sam. I’m really dreadfully worried.’

‘O.K.’ Kelly was reluctant to be banished from the party. ‘O.K., Stella!’

With unconcealed ill-humour the secretary departed, fidgeting his shoulders in his jacket.

‘I don’t know what’s happened to Sam.’ Stella was too worried to take one of the vacant chairs. ‘No one seems to have seen him since lunch time.’

‘Have you looked in the gymnasium?’ Temple too had remained standing.

‘My husband’s hardly the sort of man to spend an afternoon in the gymnasium.’

Her tone was sharp but Temple put it down to tension.

‘Well, what would you like to drink, Mrs Portland?’

‘May I have a scotch? On the rocks.’

‘Yes of course.’

Temple was trying to attract the attention of the waiter when one of the ship’s officers came into the bar. He had his cap under his arm and his sleeve was braided with gold. His eyes searched the assembly and quickly spotted Mrs Portland and Temple. Her back was turned and she did not see him approaching.

‘Paul!’ said Steve, sotto voce. ‘This must be the Captain and he’s coming to talk to us!’

‘That’s not the Captain, darling. It’s the Purser.’

‘Excuse me, sir.’ The Purser already knew Temple, as he had prevented a television crew from filming his arrival on the ship. He turned to Stella. His face was grave. ‘Mrs Portland?’

‘Yes.’ Stella had paled. She already sensed that something was wrong.

‘The ship’s doctor would like to see you in the Health Centre, Mrs Portland.’

‘To see me?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why should I—? What is it? What has happened?’

The Purser licked his lips. He did not want to come out with the news. Then, with unintentional abruptness he announced, ‘I’m afraid Mr Portland’s met with an accident, madam. One of the passengers found him in the swimming pool. The doctor seems to think it was a heart attack.’

Stella’s eyes glazed immediately. She looked round wildly as if searching. ‘Where is he? Where is Sam?’

‘Well—?’

Temple cut through the Purser’s indecision. It was better to have the truth out and be done with the agony. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Purser’s answer was almost a whisper but Stella heard it.

‘Oh, no!’ Her cry stopped all conversation in the bar. Every head turned towards the group by the window.

‘Watch out, Paul! She’s …’

Temple had forestalled Steve’s warning. He had seen Stella sway and caught her as her eyes rolled upwards and her knees buckled.

The tragedy cast its shadow over the rest of the voyage, though deaths on board luxury liners were not uncommon. The average age of the passengers was high and it was not unknown for invalids to go on cruises merely for the sake of the excellent medical attention that was available. But the doctors had been unable to do anything for Sam Portland. He was dead before they hauled him out of the swimming pool and though the most modern techniques of resuscitation had been applied all was to no avail.

Temple had gone up to the Health Centre and in view of his reputation was allowed to see the body. He could find no reason to query the doctor’s conviction that the portly American had suffered a heart attack. He had been unable to ascertain whether he had any previous history of heart trouble. Stella Portland was prostrate with shock and grief and she had been sedated by the doctor. Steve, who felt very close to the tragedy, had gone to the Portlands’ suite next day to see if she could be of any comfort, but George Kelly had told her that Stella was either unable or unwilling to see anyone.

The Temples had tried to make the best they could of the remaining three days of the crossing. Steve had got her sea legs well enough to become a regular visitor to the shopping arcade where such firms as Harrods, Cartier, Turnbull and Asser, Gucci had displays. Temple spent some of his time in the well-stocked library and in the business centre and kept himself fit in between times in the health spa. The sea behaved itself until the very last night, when a storm blew up. Steve was glad when they sailed into the tranquil waters of the Solent on a predictably overcast October afternoon.

George Kelly had spoken to Portland’s London office on the telephone and informed his representative there of the tragedy. Hubert Greene would be coming down to Southampton to collect Mrs Portland by car. Rather reluctantly Kelly had passed on Temple’s request that Portland’s London representative should see him as soon as he came aboard the ship.

They met by arrangement in the library, which was disused, apart from the librarian, who was checking returned books. Temple whiled away the time of waiting by reading Stalker.

‘Mr Temple?’

Greene had come into the library through the door behind him.

Temple put his book down and stood up to face him.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Hubert Greene. I understand you want to see me?’

Hubert Greene was obviously a man of strong personality. He wanted to dispel any possible impression that he was at Temple’s beck and call. His tone was faintly challenging. He was tall, even taller than Temple, and wore his clothes well.

‘Yes. Do sit down, Mr Greene.’

Greene chose a leather-upholstered, fairly upright arm chair. He crossed his legs, tweaked one trouser-leg and checked the alignment of his cuffs.

‘This is a most distressing business. I’ve just been on the ’phone to Moira …’

‘Have you seen Mrs Portland yet?’

‘No. I came up here as requested by you.’

‘Moira’s Portland’s daughter?’

‘Yes – by his first marriage of course. The poor girl is heartbroken.’

‘I rather expected Miss Portland to come on board with you.’

‘No, as a matter of fact she couldn’t leave town so I …’ Greene checked and shot Temple a wary look. ‘Do you know Moira?’

‘No, but her father spoke to me about her. I understand she works for you.’

‘Well, she’s attached to my office, yes.’ The corners of Greene’s mouth turned down and he tilted his head wryly. ‘Whether she does any work or not is open to question. Poor Sam! He thought the world of Moira.’ Greene’s expression suddenly changed. He uncrossed his legs and leant forward, quizzing Temple. ‘How did this business happen? You know, it seems perfectly extraordinary to me. Do you think he did have a heart attack, Mr Temple or …’

‘Or what?’

‘Or was it an accident?’

‘The doctor seems convinced it was a heart attack,’ Temple answered him blandly.

Greene stared at him for a second before shooting his next question.

‘How well did you know Sam?’

‘Not very well, I’m afraid. We met for the first – and the last time unfortunately – on Friday morning.’

‘Sam was a great guy,’ Greene said with warm enthusiasm ‘A real American. That’s the only way you can describe him.’

‘Was he an American?’

‘But of course!’ Greene exclaimed, surprised by the question.

‘I mean, was he born in America?’

‘Why yes, I’ve always thought so. I was always under the impression he was born in Chicago.’

‘I think perhaps I ought to tell you, Greene, before we go any further,’ Temple spoke slowly, emphasising his words, ‘Portland took me into his confidence. He told me why he was coming to England.’

Greene took that on board thoughtfully. ‘He did?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I hope you won’t say anything about it, Temple. Now that the old boy’s dead, I don’t see any reason why we should go ahead. After all, it puts rather a different complexion on it. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, but if you’ve no objection, I’d like you to do me a favour.’

‘By all means. What is it?’

‘I want you to introduce me to Mr Madison.’

‘Mr Madison?’ Greene repeated the name as if it meant nothing to him.

‘Yes,’ said Temple, watching him.

‘Who’s Mr Madison?’

‘Why, he’s the private inquiry agent, the man you …’ Temple broke off. In a few seconds this affair had taken a whole new twist. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never heard of Madison?’

‘Of course I haven’t heard of him,’ Greene said with exasperation. ‘Who is he?’

‘Two weeks ago you telexed Portland with the news that a private detective called Madison had discovered information concerning his identity.’

Greene shook his head, more bewildered than ever. ‘Whose identity? Portland’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look here, I don’t want to be rude, Temple, but have you been drinking?’

‘You’ve never heard of Madison?’

Greene met Temple’s level gaze steadily. ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t.’

‘Then why was Sam Portland in such a hurry to get to England?’

Greene reached into his pocket and brought out a packet of cigarettes. The librarian, standing on his library steps above and behind him, gave a loud cough. The library was a ‘No Smoking’ area. Greene put his cigarettes away again. ‘I thought you knew why. You said he told you. I was having trouble with Moira. I’ve been having trouble with her for weeks now. The girl’s a little bi– well she gets completely out of hand. I tried to keep it from Sam but in the end it was quite impossible. Three days ago I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to stand any more of her damned nonsense. I telexed her father and offered my resignation.’

‘I see.’

‘If you don’t believe me, ask George Kelly.’ Greene had already stood up. ‘He knows about Moira, he knows what’s been going on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see if Mrs Portland is ready to be taken down to the car.’

Temple did not stand up. He responded in kind to Greene’s curt nod. His head did not turn as the other man walked past him and out through the door behind. He sat there quite still for several minutes before he stood up and followed Portland’s London representative.

‘Paul, I do wish you’d get out of my way.’

‘Now don’t be irritable, Steve!’

‘Darling, we’ve been away for two weeks and I’m trying to unpack!’

The Temples were back at their flat in Eaton Square by seven o’clock. Charlie had prepared a special welcome-home dinner, which the Temples had felt bound to savour to the full. Then there had been the inevitable pile of correspondence which Temple had sifted through to find out if there was anything of immediate importance. In the end it was ten o’clock before they even started to unpack their suitcases and the extra packages of duty-free goods they had bought on board ship.

‘Yes, all right! All right, Steve! Where’s that bow tie – the one I bought in New York?’

‘Now what on earth do you want that for?’

‘I want to try it on.’

‘You can’t try it on now, not in your pyjamas, you’ll look ridiculous. Besides, you’ve been trying it on ever since you bought it!’

‘Oh, here it is!’ Temple deftly tied the bow and studied the effect in the mirror. His expression changed from enthusiasm to gloom.

‘I think it’s a bit bright.’

‘Of course it’s too bright, I told you that in the shop.’

‘It looked all right in New York.’

‘Yes, well, we’re not in New York! Paul, go into your study and read a book or get into bed or have a bath or something!’

‘By Timothy, I am popular!’

‘You’re just getting in my way, darling! Now where did I put that blouse? Oh, here it is … Come in, Charlie!’

Charlie was the Temples’ Jack-of-all-trades – cook, housemaid, watch-dog and even driver, but the latter only in time of dire necessity. He stood five-foot six in his socks, which were all he had on his feet now. Above them he was wearing a pair of over tight chef’s trousers and an old cardigan that had been buttoned up skew-whiff. He stared goggle-eyed at his master in pyjama top and dazzling bow tie.

‘What is it, Charlie?’

‘Sir Graham Forbes is here, sir. He’d like to have a word with you.’

‘Sir Graham? I didn’t hear the door-bell.’

‘No, sir. You and Mrs Temple was kickin’ up quite a racket. I put him in the living room, was that all right, sir?’

‘Yes, that’s all right, Charlie.’

Still mesmerised by the tie, Charlie withdrew. Steve exchanged a worried glance with her husband.

‘Paul, what does he want – do you know?’

‘No, darling. Where’s my dressing-gown?’

‘It’s on the bed.’

‘Oh, thanks …’

Temple put on his dressing-gown and thrust his feet into slippers. Steve’s voice stopped him when he was at the door.

‘Paul.’

‘Yes?’

‘I shouldn’t wear the tie, darling.’

Sir Graham Forbes was the kind of man who seemed to fill any room he was in. Broad shoulders, a trim moustache and bushy eyebrows enhanced his commanding features. He was old enough to treat women with an avuncular protectiveness to which they reacted favourably. Steve always flirted with him shamelessly, knowing that he would never overstep the bounds of correctness.

‘Hello, Steve!’ he greeted her, as she came into the sitting-room a minute or two after Paul. The two men already had glasses of whisky in their hands. ‘My word, you do look well!’ His eyes ran appreciatively over the silk house-robe she had put on. ‘Are you glad to be home?’

‘Well, I don’t know, Sir Graham. It all depends what you’ve got up your sleeve!’

‘I haven’t got anything up my sleeve,’ Forbes protested, a little too emphatically. ‘So don’t worry, my dear!’

‘Well, Sir Graham, is this a social call?’ Temple asked, waving his guest to a chair.

‘Not exactly. I want some information.’ Forbes sipped his whisky appreciatively and put the glass down on a low table beside his chair. ‘When you were on the boat coming over from America did you meet a man called Portland – Sam Portland?’

Temple nodded. ‘Yes, we did.’

‘Did you see much of him?’

‘Well – I had quite a chat with him. As a matter of fact I was going to ’phone you. There’s something about Portland you ought to know.’

Steve was standing behind the sofa. ‘Don’t you think you ought to start the story at the beginning, darling?’ she suggested.

‘Well,’ Temple began, ‘we left America last Friday evening. I was feeling rather tired because I’d had a pretty hectic time. It was just after six o’clock when the boat sailed. Steve was on deck staring at the skyscrapers and waving a last farewell to New York …’

Sir Graham listened without interruption while Temple told him in detail what had occurred on the Princess Diana. He ended with an account of his conversation with Hubert Greene.

‘Did you speak to George Kelly?’

‘Yes. He confirmed Greene’s story. He said he’d actually seen the telex from Hubert Greene offering Portland his resignation.’

‘Did you ask him about Madison?’

‘He’d never heard of him.’

‘M’m.’ Forbes sounded sceptical about that. He picked up his glass and tipped his head back to empty it. Temple stood up to replenish both their glasses.

‘Sir Graham, how does Scotland Yard come into this?’

‘Just over a week ago one of my men – Chief Inspector James – received this note. Here we are, Steve, read it.’

Steve had seated herself on the end of the sofa. She reached over for the note and slowly read it out. ‘An American multi-millionaire called Sam Portland intends to visit England. He must be stopped from doing so – if he isn’t … a … murder … will … be … committed.’

‘Is there a signature?’ Temple asked.

‘No, it’s typed, darling. There’s no signature.’

‘At first we thought it was a hoax,’ Forbes said, recovering the note from Steve. ‘Then something came up which made James decide to take it seriously. He contacted New York. They checked up and told him that Portland apparently hadn’t the slightest intention of coming to England.’

‘He probably hadn’t at that time.’

‘We kept the file open but took no further action until we heard that Portland was on his way over here …’

‘… and had died of a heart attack,’ Temple finished for him.

‘Precisely. Naturally we obtained a list of passengers and when I saw your name on it I was confident you could fill us in. There will have to be an inquest, of course, even though the doctor appeared quite happy to sign a death certificate attributing the cause of death as … ‘Forbes paused as there came a knock on the door and Charlie poked his head in.

‘Excuse me, sir.’

‘What is it, Charlie?’ Temple asked with ill-concealed impatience.

‘There’s a Mr Greene to see you, sir. I didn’t say you was in.’

‘Surely it’s a bit late for a social call,’ Steve protested.

‘That’s all right, Charlie,’ Temple said with resignation. ‘I’ll see him.’

Steve stood up and adjusted her house-robe more carefully. ‘What can Greene want, Paul?’

‘We’ll soon see,’ Temple murmured. He just had time to put the whisky glasses away before Charlie showed the visitor in. ‘Hello, Greene! Come in! What can I do for you?’

Greene was taken aback to find his hosts in night attire. ‘I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, especially at this time of night, but …’ He was staring at Sir Graham, who had remained seated. ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but haven’t we met before?’

‘My name is Forbes,’ Sir Graham told him bluntly, as if that precluded any previous acquaintance.

‘This is Sir Graham Forbes of Scotland Yard,’ Temple explained tactfully.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon! I was under the impression that we’d met somewhere. How do you do, sir?’ Greene was ready to follow up the introduction with a handshake but Sir Graham made no move to respond in kind, contenting himself with a nod.

‘I think you’ve met my wife.’

‘Yes, we met at Southampton.’ Having been rebuffed once Greene did not offer to shake hands with Steve. ‘Good evening, Mrs Temple. Temple, I’ve just left Mrs Portland. She’s in a pretty bad way, I’m afraid, and she seems very upset about – well – what seems to me rather a trivial matter.’

‘What is Mrs Portland upset about?’

‘Well, it seems that somebody’s stolen Mr Portland’s watch-chain.’

‘Stolen his watch-chain?’ It was Sir Graham that spoke.

‘Yes.’

‘Was it very valuable?’

‘From the way Stella’s going on about it I should say extremely valuable.’

Steve guessed that Mrs Portland had recovered from her shock sufficiently to give her late husband’s London representative a very difficult time.

‘She’s probably thinking of the sentimental value.’

‘I daresay she is, Mrs Temple, but surely at a time like this … to bother about a watch-chain … it seems most odd.’

‘Have you been in touch with the shipping line?’ Temple asked.

Greene was turning his head this way and that as questions came from three different directions.

‘Yes, I’ve even been on to Southampton!’

Temple had deliberately not offered Greene a drink nor invited him to sit down. He had not forgotten the abrupt way the man had ended their conversation on Princess Diana.

‘Well, quite frankly, I don’t see what I can do.’

‘I was wondering if by any chance you can recall seeing the chain. If I remember rightly you saw Sam shortly after – after he died.’

‘The only time I saw it was the morning he introduced himself to me. It was a thin gold chain with an English penny on the end. He kept the penny in his waistcoat pocket.’

‘I don’t know anything about that. All I know is I wish to goodness we could find the chain!’

‘Where is Mrs Portland staying?’

‘She’s at the Ritz but there’s some talk of her coming down to my place for the weekend.’

‘Is she alone?’ Steve asked with some concern.

‘No, George Kelly’s with her and Moira’s moving in tomorrow morning.’

‘Who’s Moira?’ Forbes wanted to know.

‘It’s her step-daughter.’

‘Have they met before, by the way?’ Temple asked.

‘Yes, they met about six months ago in New York.’

As no one else had made a move to sit down Forbes abandoned his chair and got to his feet.

‘Mr Greene, I understand from what Temple tells me, that you’re in charge of the Portland Corporation in this country.’

‘Yes, Sir Graham.’

‘When did you last see Portland?’

‘About four years ago.’

‘Was Portland over here?’

‘No, I was in America. So far as I know this was Sam’s first trip to Europe.’ Greene had got the message that his intrusion so late in the evening had not made him exactly popular. He began to move towards the door. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr Temple. I thought perhaps you might be able to throw some light on the missing watch-chain.’

‘If I were you I should try and get in touch with the Purser.’

‘Yes, I’ll do that.’

‘Can I give you a lift?’ Forbes offered surprisingly. ‘I was just about to make a move.’

‘Well, actually I’m on my way to Park Lane. If you could drop me I’d be very grateful.’

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘Paul …’ Steve had waited till she heard two doors closing, the front door and that of Charlie’s own private little flatlet. ‘Do you think the doctor was mistaken about Portland? Do you think we’ve all been mistaken and – he was murdered?’

‘No, I don’t. But there’s one thing I’m rather curious about, Steve.’

‘What’s that – the watch-chain?’

‘Yes. I’m going to have a word with Mrs Portland.’

‘Oh, darling, not at this time of night!’

Temple was already at the telephone table. ‘I’ve got a hunch it’s important.’ He opened the telephone book and ran his finger down the column till he found the number.