Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple and the Madison Case

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.

Shaking her head half in exasperation and half in affection, Steve went to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a small measure of brandy. Behind her she heard Paul stabbing the numbers, talking to The Ritz switchboard and finally getting through to Mrs Portland’s suite. Her voice came over loudly on the ’phone and Steve was able to hear both sides of the conversation.

‘Mrs Portland? This is Paul Temple here.’

‘Oh, good evening, Mr Temple!’

Temple quickly distanced the ’phone a few inches from his ear. ‘Forgive me ringing at this time of the night, Mrs Portland, but I’ve just been having a chat with Mr Greene. He tells me that you’ve lost your husband’s watch-chain.’

‘Is Hubert with you at the moment?’

‘No, he’s just this second left.’

‘I’ve got the chain, Mr Temple, there’s no need to worry about it.’

‘You mean you’ve found it?’

‘No, I mean it was never lost. I – I had it all the time.’

‘I see,’ said Temple, trying to conceal his annoyance at the false alarm.

‘I doubt very much whether you do see, Mr Temple.’ Mrs Portland paused. ‘Are you likely to be passing my hotel tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I might be. Probably in the morning.’

‘I’d like you to drop in for a few moments.’

‘Yes, all right. Shall we say eleven o’clock?’

‘That will do nicely. Good-night, Mr Temple.’

‘Good night, Mrs Portland.’ Thoughtfully Temple put the receiver down. ‘You heard all that?’

‘I couldn’t help it, Paul. Why did Greene lie to you about it?’

‘I don’t think he was lying, darling. He really did think it was lost.’

The Temples’ flat was fitted with Banham double mortise locks on the front door and the latest burglar-proof double-glass windows. But Steve always insisted on having a window slightly open in the bedroom. She could not sleep unless she knew that there was an inlet for fresh air, even on the chilliest nights.

She had been the first to put her light out and soon afterwards Temple had closed his book and followed suit. But his sleep was not deep. In his subconscious mind he kept running over the short conversations he had had with Forbes and Greene and checking back on his encounter with Sam Portland. He heard the gentle chimes of the clock in the sitting-room striking two and soon after that he must have dropped off completely.

Perhaps an hour later he woke up. The only sound was the muted hum of the radio-alarm on his bedside table and the echo of a car in the square below. He tried to recall the faint noise that had alerted him, more like a furtive creak than a sharp crack. He felt a stronger current of air on his face and the rustle of the curtains stirring at the window. Opening his eyes he saw pale moonlight slanting across the balcony outside. Was the chink in the curtains wider than when he had gone to bed?

Then for a moment the shaft of moonlight was broken as a shadow passed across.

Very quietly Temple pushed the covers back and swung his legs out of the bed. His movement woke Steve.

‘Paul …’

‘Sh,’ he whispered. ‘There’s someone on the balcony. Don’t talk.’

She froze. He could sense her fear as she held her breath. There was no further movement at the window. Temple sat completely motionless for five minutes. Through the wall he could just hear a faint sound like waves on a pebbly beach. It was Charlie, snoring in his sleep.

At last that creak came again. The curtains swung slightly. Again the moonlight was broken by a shadow. Someone had come through the window and was standing behind the curtains. Temple still made no movement except to put a reassuring hand on Steve’s arm. All his antennae were on full alert. He sensed rather than saw the intruder move out from behind the heavy curtain, into the pool of darkness in the corner beside the door. He could smell the faint tang that always clings to clothes of a heavy smoker.

Reaching towards the bed-head he pulled the string to switch on his reading lamp. Sudden light flooded the room.

The man who already had his hand on the door-handle whipped round, blinking and momentarily dazzled. He was tall, fiercely moustachioed, heavily built, fortyish and scared. In his hand he gripped a stubby automatic.

Temple said, in his normal conversational tone, ‘Are you looking for anything in particular, my friend – or is this just a social call?’

‘Stay where you are! Don’t move either of you!’

Temple had faced men with guns before and he already had the measure of this one. By the way he was holding his weapon he was no trained marksman. But he was scared and that was always the danger.

Temple did not obey the command. He shuffled his feet into the slippers he had discarded before going to bed, stood up and put on his dressing-gown.

‘Paul, he’s got a gun!’

‘Yes, darling. I can see it.’