Paul Temple and the Madison Case

by Francis Durbridge

  “Well, how did you get on upstairs?” Temple asked, with a glance at the ceiling.

  “It’ll be another day before we finish going over the flat. You made a fine mess of the door.”

  “Anything to go on so far?”

  “Very little of the stuff seems to belong to Elzec. It’s mostly Major Hartley’s.”

  “Finger prints?”

  James shook his head. “We’re working on it. Elzec must have inflicted damage on his attacker. We may get something from his knuckles and finger nails. But that’s not why I wanted to see you.”

  Temple waited for the question.

  “Are you quite sure that Elzec said: ‘the cottage at Lockdale’?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was Lockdale?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

  “Well, if there’s a cottage down there being used for this counterfeit racket then we’ve yet to find it.”

  Temple had moved to the window. Drawing the curtain back he was just in time to see Steve cross the street and walk briskly away towards Sloane Square.

  “Well, I’m sure Elzec said Lockdale.”

  “All right, we’ll go on checking. We’ll move the whole of Scotland Yard down there if necessary.” James pressed the tobacco in his pipe down and applied another match. “Temple, you remember that fellow Mark Kendell – the chap who broke into your flat?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got a theory about him. I think that Kendell was under the impression that Elzec was double-crossing him. It’s my opinion that he didn’t intend to break into your flat that night, but into Elzec’s.”

  “In other words, he picked the wrong flat?”

  “Exactly. Don’t forget Elzec had only moved in the day before.”

  Temple nodded. “That would explain a lot.”

  “And there’s another point, Temple. You remember that explosion on the river?”

  “I shan’t easily forget it.”

  “Well, I think I know what happened that night. Madison took a suitcase down to the launch, he told Elzec it was something for the cottage. But in fact it was a bomb. Either the suitcase contained a timer, or the device could have been triggered by a radio signal. I think that Madison wanted to get rid of Elzec, Dordrecht and the rest of the gang.”

  “In other words he’s going into liquidation?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You may be right, Inspector. If you are … We’ve got to move fast.”

  “Temple, what do you think happened last night?”

  “Upstairs? It’s only a theory, but try this for size. Elzec realised that Madison had tried to kill him. He let Madison know that he was still alive and lured him to the flat last night. He intended to have a show-down, possibly threaten Madison with exposure. But he forgot that he was dealing with a savage murderer - who had struck three and perhaps four times already. Faced with a maniac Elzec did not stand a chance.”

  James looked up at the ceiling. “Must have been a hell of a fight. Funny you did not hear anything.”

  “We had not got back from the Manila and you can bet Charlie had his television on full blast.”

  “And Kelly was beaten up by Madison who was making a getaway after the attack on Elzec?”

  “Yes, I’m inclined to believe Kelly’s story.”

  Outside in the hall the buzzer had sounded. Someone was at the front door.

  “That’s one theory, of course,” said James. “There is another.”

  But Temple was not interested in the other theory. “What time is it?”

  “It’s just gone twelve.”

  “I think that’s George Kelly at the door, will you excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’d like a word with Kelly,” James said with satisfaction.

  “Well, I did rather want to see him alone …” Temple pointed out with some embarrassment.

  “I can wait.” James eyed the chairs, trying to decide which one would be most favourable for a short cat-nap.

  “No, I’d – “ Temple seemed secretly amused, “er – prefer you to see him some other time, if you don’t mind.”

  James’ eyes narrowed. He took his pipe out of his mouth and aimed the stem at Temple. “Are you up to something, Temple?”

  “I’ll take him into the study and you slip out the front door.”

  “What’s going on here?” James was now really suspicious. “Why shouldn’t I see Kelly?”

  Temple decided to change his tack. Very formally he said, “No reason at all, if you really want to.”

  James stared at him, trying to read what was going on in his mind. Temple gazed back at him levelly.

  “All right, Temple. You play it your own way.” James put his pipe into his pocket. “I’ll slip out when you’re in the study.”

  “Thanks, Inspector.”

  Kelly had pressed the bell push twice before Temple opened the door to him. He still bore the marks of the previous night’s fight. The plaster had been removed and dried scabs showed where his skin had been broken. His experience had not suppressed his habitual cocksureness.

  “Sorry I was out when you ’phoned,” he said, slipping into the hall. “I only got your message about an hour ago.”

  “That’s all right. I’m glad you could make it.”

  Temple moved to shepherd Kelly away from the closed door of the drawing-room.

  “Let’s go into the study.”

  Kelly threw the newspaper he was carrying onto a chair. On the threshold of the study he stopped.

  “Say, this is some den!”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I certainly do.” Kelly’s eyes were doing a tour of the room, taking in the dictating-machine, photo-copier, word processor. “Is this where you write all those books?”

  “Well, most of them. Would you like a glass of sherry?”

  “Yeah - I think maybe I would.”

  “It’s very dry, is that all right?”

  “Can’t be too dry for me.” Kelly had moved to stand in front of the case which contained all Paul Temple’s titles. “Say, you’ve written some books, Temple!”

  “One or two,” said Temple from the small cabinet where he kept a decanter and some glasses.

  “Do you know, funny enough, I’ve never read one of yours.”

  “There’s nothing funny about it,” Temple said with a smile. “A great many people haven’t read my books.”

  “I go in for Westerns. You know the sort of thing. Riders Over Arizona, The Sheriff of Melton Creek.”

  “Shades of Zane Gray.” Temple handed Kelly a schooner of Manzanilla. “Well, your very good health.”

  “And yours.” Kelly raised his glass in reply. He took a good drink and smacked his lips in appreciation.

  “Sit down, Kelly.” Temple waved Kelly to an easy chair and sat down behind his desk. “I’ll tell you what I wanted to see you about. I’ve been having a talk with Chief Inspector James. He’s got a theory about last night. He thinks that Elzec was murdered by a man called Madison and that it was Madison who bumped into you coming out of the lift.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I thought,” Kelly said indignantly. “I told you.”

  “Of course you did,” Temple said soothingly. “Well, he’d like you to go down to the Yard and look at some photographs. You might be able to pick him out.”

  “What – the man who attacked me?”

  “Yes.”

  Kelly shook his head decisively. “There’s not a hope. I wouldn’t recognise him if he walked into this room. I told you, it was dark. I hardly saw the guy.”

  “All the same, we’d like you to have a look at the photographs … Excuse me.” On the desk the telephone had started ringing. Temple picked the receiver up, pressed the earpiece close to his head so that Kelly would not hear the caller’s voice.

  “Well, here I am, darling,” said Steve brightly. “You told me to ring up.”

  “Oh, hello, Steve!” said Temple, as if he had not seen his wife for hour
s.

  “Well, don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Is anything the matter, darling?”

  “No, of course there isn’t anything the matter! Remember you told me to … ”

  “I say, that is too bad,” said Temple sympathetically “Where did it happen?”

  “Where did what happen?” Steve asked, puzzled by the question.

  “Have you tried waiting for ten minutes and then trying the starter again?”

  “Paul, what are you talking about?” Steve was beginning to sound really cross. Paul pressed the receiver tighter against his ear.

  “Oh, Steve, you probably gave it too much choke. It’s no good gunning the starter, you’ll only end up with a flat battery. Where are you? Where are you speaking from?”

  “Where do you think I’m speaking from? I’m in the call box at the end of the road. That’s where you told me …”

  “Look Steve, I’d better come down. Go back and sit in the car, darling.”

  “I haven’t got the car, Paul. I walked down to the box.”

  “Yes, all right. You stay where you are. I shan’t be long, darling.” Cutting off protestations, Temple hung up.

  “Is anything wrong?” Kelly asked anxiously. He’d been trying to make sense of Temple’s end of the conversation.

  “Yes, my wife’s having trouble with the car. Not exactly an unusual occurrence.” Temple stood up. “Would you mind if I popped out for five or ten minutes? I’d better give her a hand.”

  “Sure,” said Kelly, standing up also. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, as a matter of fact I’d rather you didn’t. The flat’s empty and I’m expecting a call from Scotland Yard.”

  “Do you want me to take it?”

  “I’d be grateful if you would. It’ll be Sir Graham Forbes. Tell him I’ll see him as arranged – nine o’clock tonight.”

  “O.K. I’ll do that.”

  “I shan’t be long. Help yourself to the sherry.”

  During the forty minutes Temple had been absent Kelly had taken the invitation to help himself to the sherry literally. The level in the decanter had gone down by several inches. Kelly was sprawled in the arm chair reading one of the Paul Temple novels he had taken from the book-case.

  “I hope you helped yourself to the sherry,” Paul remarked dryly.

  “Yeah, I nearly started on the whisky.” Kelly stood up and slid the book back into the shelf.

  “You should have, Mr Kelly,” said Steve “It would have taught my husband a lesson. Leaving you alone in the flat like that.”

  “Did anyone call?”

  “No, and no one ’phoned either.”

  “Oh - didn’t Sir Graham ring?”

  “No,” said Kelly, gently touching a cut on his forehead.

  “That’s funny.” Temple went behind his desk and made a gesture of annoyance. “How stupid of me! I forgot to switch the ansaphone off.” He reached over and pressed one of the buttons.

  Kelly asked, “What was the matter with the car, Mrs Temple?”

  Temple laughed. “Tell him, darling.”

  “I will not.”

  “She ran out of petrol.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” Kelly said with male chauvinistic sympathy. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve got to be making a move. I’ve got a date.”

  “Well, look here, Kelly, please do drop into the Yard and have a word with James. I’d like you to check on those photographs.”

  “O.K. But I’ve told you it’s no use. I’m sure I shouldn’t recognise the guy again.”

  “Well, you never know. If you can give James some idea of the height and build of the man who attacked you …”

  “Goodbye, Mrs Temple.” Kelly was already in the hall.

  “Goodbye, Mr Kelly.”

  No sooner had the front door closed than Steve’s manner changed. Temple came back into the study to find her facing him angrily.

  To mollify her he said, “I’d forgotten how attractive you look in that dress …”

  “Now, look here, Paul - don’t start giving me the run around.”

  “The run around?” Temple echoed innocently.

  “Yes, the run around. Now what’s this all about?” In her anger Steve was pacing the space in front of the desk. “First of all you give Charlie the day off, then you make me go down to the call box and put through a phoney ’phone call, then you invite Mr Kelly to the flat and leave him high and dry … ”

  “Hardly dry, darling! Look at the sherry!” Temple was obviously enjoying his little mystery. “Don’t you know what it’s all about?”

  “Of course I don’t know what it’s all about!”

  On the desk the telephone had started to ring.

  “Well, where’s that intuition of yours?”

  “You keep my intuition out of this,” Steve snapped.

  Temple had reached the telephone. He scooped the receiver off its cradle.

  “Hello?”

  “Is that you, Temple?”

  “Who is that?”

  “This is Hubert Greene.”

  “Oh, hello, Greene.”

  Steve made as if to leave the room, but Paul motioned her to stay.

  “Temple, I’m awfully sorry I couldn’t make it this morning.”

  “Make it? Make what?”

  “I got your note last night. You said would I call round and see you at twelve o’clock this morning.”

  “My dear fellow, I never sent you a note.”

  “But I’ve got it here – in front of me.”

  “I sent you a note asking you …”

  “Asking me to call round at twelve o’clock this morning – yes.” Greene was trying to control his irritation at Temple’s obtuseness. “Unfortunately I was kept at the office and couldn’t make it.”

  “But Greene, I tell you I didn’t send you a note.”

  “But – “ said Greene impatiently. “I’ve got it here in front of me.”

  “Maybe you have, but the fact remains that I didn’t send it.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Was the note posted?”

  “No, it was delivered by hand. I found it in the letter box.”

  “Well, bring it round to the flat this evening. You know where to find me. Shall we say nine o’clock?”

  “Yes, all right, I will. Goodbye.”

  “What did he want, Paul?” Steve asked, curious in spite of herself. “Something about a note?”

  “Greene received a note asking him to call here at mid- day. He apparently couldn’t keep the appointment because he was detained at the office.”

  “Did you send him the note?”

  “No.”

  “Then who did? Do you know?”

  “I’ve got a very good idea,” said Temple.

  The Temples were left in peace for the next half hour. Appetising smells were coming from the kitchen where Steve was preparing tagliatelle alia bolognese. Temple was in his study, rewinding the tape in his ansaphone. He had just finished when he heard the front door buzzer.

  “I’ll go,” he called to Steve in the kitchen.

  “Lunch is nearly ready,” she warned him. “I don’t want it spoiled.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them.” But when he opened the door he forgot about lunch.

  Stella Portland was almost in a state of nervous collapse. Her finger was already stabbing at the bell push to ring again.

  “Hello, Mrs Portland,” said Temple with concern. “Is anything wrong?”

  She cast an apprehensive glance back down the stair-well. The lift was responding to a call from street level.

  “Yes, I’ve got to talk to you. Now – before it’s too late.”

  Without invitation she pushed past him into the hall. He closed the door behind her.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I want to tell you why Moira committed suicide,” she said rapidly. “I want you to know what she told me yesterday afternoon. I want to tell you about Madison. Now �
� before it’s too late!”

  8

  Introducing Madison

  Hearing Stella Portland’s voice Steve had come out into the hall. She was shocked by Stella’s appearance. It was as if invisible threads supporting her facial features had snapped. Her cheeks had sagged and a maze of lines had appeared round her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were red rimmed in an unnaturally pale face.

  Solicitously Steve took her into the drawing-room and sat her down.

  “You’re not at all well, Mrs Portland. Would you like something to drink, a cup of tea?”

  “No thanks. Just a glass of water.”

  Temple went to the drinks cabinet and poured her a glass of Malvern water. He and Steve watched anxiously while she drank it.

  “That’s better,” she said, putting the glass down. “I’ve been so upset about Moira. It came as a great shock. You see, I was talking to her just before she - committed suicide.”

  Temple pulled a chair forward to sit down opposite her. “What did she tell you, Mrs Portland?”

  “Well, as I told you, I saw her yesterday afternoon. The poor girl was obviously on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She told me the whole story – about herself and Sam and Chris Boyer.”

  “The whole story?”

  “Well, you know the story about Sam, about his loss of memory and how he was discovered wandering down Portland Avenue in Chicago.”

  “Yes.”

  “For years he tried to discover his true identity. It was almost an obsession with him. He told you the story of the penny?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He attached great importance to that penny, Mr Temple. Some months ago, Chris Boyer told Moira that he’d discovered Sam’s identity. That he was the son of a man called Clint Dawson.”

  “Clint Dawson?”

  “Yes. Dawson was a bogus company promoter. He swindled a lot of people out of their savings before the Fraud Squad caught up with him. He was sent to prison in 1949. Sam left England with his mother soon after that and no one knew where they went or what happened to them. It’s pretty obvious now, of course, that they went to the States.”

  Stella glanced at Steve, who had sat down near her.

  “Go on,” prompted Temple.

  “Chris discovered letters which were written by Dawson to his wife in which he mentions the penny. When Chris told Moira this story she asked him not to tell anyone because it might have drastic repercussions on the Portland Yeast Company.”