“Oh, I’m supposed to be a blackmailer as well, am I?” Greene had recovered sufficiently to bring a note of sarcasm into his voice. “My word, I do sound an unpleasant customer! Just as a matter of interest, who am I supposed to have blackmailed?”
“You blackmailed Mrs Portland into telling me a very interesting story – a perfectly true story, except for one important detail. It was you, and not Chris Boyer, who discovered that Sam Portland was the son of a swindler. It was you, and not Boyer, who blackmailed Moira. When she refused to be blackmailed any longer you sent for Sam. When Sam died you tried to get hold of the penny to substantiate your story. You knew that if you had the penny you could go on blackmailing and eventually gain control of the Portland Yeast Company.”
“This is a most interesting story.” Greene was now pretending to be mildly amused. “Tell me, it’s a small point, but why am I supposed to have murdered Chunky Brooks?”
“Because you knew that he was receiving information from one of your people, Mark Kendell. But that was when you made your first mistake. You left a penny at the scene of Chunky’s murder. That was intended to make us think his death was connected with the Madison mystery. But your penny was the wrong date. It should have been 1923, not 1952.”
Greene was still composed but the colour had drained from his face.
“And are you accusing me of killing my own wife?”
“I am. You knew she had found out about the counterfeit set-up and was in contact with a CID man. Brooks asked her to find out about the movements of couriers. Unfortunately – fatally, in fact - she gave herself away.”
“So I – just eliminated her?” said Greene, with an incredulous laugh.
“So you just eliminated her,” Temple agreed seriously. “Doing your best, of course, to throw suspicion on Kelly. But Kelly had seen you going down to the boat-house with Eileen that night. He threw the knife at our door in a desperate attempt to get help to her in time and then when he realised he was being set up as Eileen’s killer he made a pathetic attempt to throw dust in our eyes by claiming he had found the diamond clip …”
“You know, Temple, I can understand why your books are so successful – ”
“You decided Kelly was expendable,” Temple went on remorselessly. “You sent him to the cottage at Lockdale to pick up a suitcase. But Kelly outsmarted you there. He sent Boyer instead, telling him that the suitcase contained counterfeit notes and that if he played along Madison would cut him in on the racket…”
The rug had become scuffed up under Greene’s feet. He waved a hand at the shelves of books.
“If the stories under those covers are half as good as the one you’re inventing now – .”
Once again Temple did not let him finish. He moved behind his desk, which faced outwards across the room from a corner, and looked down at his ’phone and ansaphone.
“You’re clever with electronics, aren’t you? Time fuses and radio-activated explosives and that sort of thing. So you know how easy it is to bug a telephone.”
Greene was like a man turned to stone. Only his eyes moved as he worked out the implications of what Temple had said.
“So that was it,” he almost whispered. “You bugged the ’phone and rigged the ansaphone to record our conversation.”
“Exactly.” Temple’s hand moved to lift the telephone receiver. “Like to see how it works? Of course the cassette’s been removed …”
“Don’t touch that ’phone!” Greene commanded harshly. His hand had delved inside that well padded left shoulder. It came out holding a stubby black automatic. He pointed it unwaveringly at Temple’s midriff.
Temple arrested the movement of his hand. He measured the distance between himself and Greene with his eye.
“Greene, I think you ought to know that there are three men watching the house and a fourth on the lift, so if you have any melodramatic ideas …”
“Behold!” said Greene, “I have a weapon …”
“By Timothy!” Temple breathed, staring at the man. He had declaimed the line as if acting his part in a play.
“There’s an important point, Temple, which you appear to have overlooked.”
“Oh, yes?” said Temple, playing for time. He knew now that he was dealing with someone whose mind was unhinged. Strangely he felt no sense of personal danger.
“You claim to be able to read my mind, so you must know that I have not the slightest intention of being arrested and left to rot for the rest of my life in some stinking gaol. So I have nothing to lose by killing you. Turn round and put your hands against that wall behind …”
Before Temple had time to obey, the door opened. Steve was still fully dressed. She stood there, taking in the scene - Temple behind his desk apparently calm. Greene, grasping the automatic and looking as wild and unpredictable as a jackal. The gun had swung to cover her.
“One move, Temple, and she gets it. Come in, Mrs Temple. Stand beside your husband.”
“Do as he says, Steve,” Temple told her.
Steve, mesmerised by Greene’s threatening crouch, came round the open door and stood beside her husband. His apparent unconcern reassured her a little.
“Now, turn round, both of you, and place your hands against the wall.”
Temple obeyed and Steve followed suit. It was a replay of the scene in the bedroom when Mark Kendell had broken in. But Greene was wilier than the man he had trained. He kept his distance as he moved towards the door.
“Now, don’t imagine I won’t use this thing,” he threatened again. “Keep your head down, Temple.”
Temple heard the quick swish of his feet across the carpet, heard the key being taken out of the door and inserted on the outside, heard the door slam and the key turn. A moment later came the sound of the front door being closed quietly.
By then he and Steve had lowered their arms and turned round.
“Steve, I thought you’d gone to bed …”
“I know you did,” retorted Steve dryly. “Did you think I couldn’t tell that you’d doctored my drink? It was obvious you were up to something. What are we going to do now? He’s locked us in.”
For answer, Temple opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the spare key he had put there. He was banking on Greene having extracted the key of the study door before leaving the flat.
He had. Temple was able to insert the key and turn it.
As he went out into the hall he saw that in his haste Greene had bequeathed them his check shower-proof overcoat.
A key was already scraping in the lock of the front door. It opened to reveal the alarmed face of Charlie, returning from a day with his pals in Stepney. He stared wide-eyed at Paul and Steve.
“Blimey, what’s going on here?”
Temple had seen that the lift was already ascending from the ground floor. “Did you see Mr Greene?”
“Greene? Was that the bloke in the grey suit and …”
“Yes,” snapped Temple impatiently. “Did you see him?”
“’Course I saw him. Blimey, he wasn’t ’alf in a hurry. He ran upstairs like a scalded cat.”
“Upstairs?”
“S’right.”
“Are you sure?”
“ ’Course I’m sure.”
The lift had come level with the third floor landing. The door opened and Detective Chief Inspector James stepped out.
“What’s happened, Temple?”
“He’s made a dash for it, James – he’s gone upstairs. Is Sir Graham with you?”
“He’s in the car outside. Is there an exit up there?”
“There’s a fire-escape from the roof into a cul-de-sac.”
“Where’s the cul-de-sac - at the back of the building?”
“Yes, I’ll show you … ”
“Paul!” Steve had seized Paul’s arm. “Leave it to the police. I think I may be going to faint…”
“Oh, my God!” said Temple with concern. He took her arm and as James pulled his radio set out to warn his men t
hat Greene had gone over the roofs, he led her back into the flat. He did not see the look she gave Charlie.
“It looks as if he’s beaten us, Temple.”
“Not yet, Sir Graham. I think I know where he’ll head for.”
A quarter of an hour had passed since Greene had disappeared on to the roof. A dozen policemen had scoured the block and the mews behind it, their search co-ordinated by pocket radios. Forbes and James were forced to admit that Greene had slipped from their net.
The two CID men were standing in the hall of the Temples’ flat with Temple and Steve. Sounds of bumping still came from the roof two floors overhead.
“You know where he’s heading?” echoed James sceptically.
“Yes. He’ll make for ‘Brown Acres’.”
“Brown Acres?” said Forbes, trying to read Temple’s expression. “What makes you think that?”
“Something he said when he pulled the gun on me. If we move fast we can get there before he does.”
Forbes hesitated for only a moment.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s get moving. You’ll come too, Temple?”
“But, Sir Graham,” James objected. “We’ve no good reason for believing …”
“That’s my decision, James,” Forbes snapped. “You can leave half a dozen men here in case he shows up. We’re going down to ‘Brown Acres’.”
It was a squash for the four of them to fit into the car as well as the driver. Temple had realised that Steve was on his heels only when he reached the street. Her faintness had miraculously passed. Rather than argue the point he accepted the inevitable. She slipped into the back seat where she was wedged between her husband and Sir Graham. James sat in front beside the driver. Temple noted with satisfaction that he was the same young man as had driven them down to Windsor on the night they had rescued Steve.
As soon as the doors were closed and seat-belts snapped home the driver let in his clutch. Forbes had authorised the use of the flashing blue light and the siren. Drivers checked and heads turned as the police car swung out into King’s Road and headed west.
Temple grabbed the support strap as the Rover rocked through Sloane Square and then on down the King’s Road.
“I’ll go over Putney Bridge, sir,” the driver said, changing up one gear, “and pick up the Kingston by-pass.”
“Whichever’s quickest,” gasped James, closing his eyes as the car squeezed between a bus and a lorry. He turned in his seat, the radio mike in his hand. “I’ll alert all cars in the Leatherhead area, Sir Graham. We can seal ‘Brown Acres’ off.”
“Sir Graham,” said Temple. “We don’t want any police cars near the place till we know Greene is there. That’s vitally important.”
“We’ll do it Temple’s way,” Sir Graham told the Chief Inspector.
James’ expression showed clearly what he thought as he faced forward again.
“Paul,” said Steve, “I realise now that Greene is Madison, but there’s an awful lot I don’t understand. What made you suspect him in the first place?”
“Didn’t you suspect him? Hubert Greene is an extraordinary character. I realised that the first time I met him at Southampton. Then there was that night at the Manila when he persuaded Moira to go down to his place for the weekend.”
“Was that why he was at the Manila – to see Moira?”
“That was not the only reason. Elzec had told him that Mark Kendell was going to meet Archie Brooks there. Greene had already heard about him from Eileen and wanted to take a look – ”
Temple’s explanation was cut off as they were all thrown forward. A small van had turned out of a side street in the path of the charging police car.
“Silly little man,” was all the driver said, as he slipped into first gear and accelerated to 60 m.p.h.
“But why on earth did he invite us down to ‘Brown Acres’ for the weekend?”
“Greene was extraordinarily arrogant. He had already made up his mind to murder Eileen and throw suspicion onto Kelly. It gave him a perverse amusement to use us as witnesses to his innocence, but Kelly outsmarted him. At first I thought he’d killed his wife because she was informing Brooks about him. Now I think there was another reason, and a much more complex one.”
“Was it Kelly who threw the knife at our bedroom door?”
“Yes.”
“But how do you know?”
Temple glanced at Forbes, who was listening intently to this conversation.
“When Sam Portland died George Kelly was out of a job … ”
“And a very soft job too,” grunted Forbes.
“… Greene very quickly weighed up the situation. He told Kelly that if he co-operated with him he’d be taken care of. For a time Kelly did precisely what Greene told him … ”
“Even to the extent of telephoning you at the Manila,” Forbes chimed in again.
“I knew all along it was Kelly,” commented Steve.
“But Kelly began to get too ambitious. He’d discovered that Greene was not only into blackmail but was also running the counterfeit racket. He wanted a part of that. Greene decided that he had to do something about Kelly. He made up his mind when he began to suspect that Kelly and Eileen were having an affair.”
“And were they?”
“Who knows? But Eileen was an attractive and flirtatious woman and you saw that she and Greene had separate bedrooms. My own opinion is that Greene was insanely jealous – both of Brooks and Kelly.”
The car was crossing Putney Bridge. The river gleamed briefly to left and right. Then they were in the crowded canyon of Putney High Street, the siren wailing non-stop and echoing from the blank windows of the shops. It was the slowest and most frustrating part of the journey, but one thing the driver had learnt at the Hendon Police School was to keep his cool. At last they were through the sludge of traffic and racing up Putney Hill. Once on the Kingston by-pass the car built up speed to 120 m.p.h.
“Paul, what was all that about this morning? First you give Charlie the day off and then you tell me to ring you from a call box with a story about …”
Temple had to raise his voice to be heard above the tyre and wind roar. “Let me explain, Steve. I asked Kelly to the flat and I also told Sir Graham to send Greene a note asking him to call in at twelve mid-day. As soon as Kelly arrived you telephoned, which was exactly what I wanted.”
“In other words you left Kelly alone in the flat.”
“Exactly. In my study, to be precise. And at twelve o’clock, bang on cue, Hubert Greene turned up. Kelly opened the door, as I had asked him and took Greene into my study.”
“So that’s why you wanted to know about telephone bugging, Temple,” Forbes cut in.
“Yes. I hoped that if Greene and Kelly were left alone together some interesting things might emerge.”
James had turned round so that he could hear better. Steve was squeezed even tighter between Temple and Sir Graham by the G forces as the driver turned left onto the A243. The traffic had thinned considerably.
“Switch the blue lights off, Foster,” Forbes directed. “And we won’t use the siren from now on.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Foster, just a little disappointed.
“And did you?” Forbes asked.
“Did I what?”
“Learn anything interesting.”
“I certainly did - at least when I had a chance to listen to the tape.” Temple chuckled. “There’s not much love lost between those two.”
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Foster, his eyes not leaving the road. “Do I take the by-pass for Dorking?”
“No,” Temple told him. “Go through the town. I’ll give you the route. We’re nearly there, I’d better make this brief. First, I heard Greene trying to justify killing Eileen and admitting he tried to throw suspicion on Kelly. It’s tantamount to a confession. Kelly was genuinely fond of Eileen, throwing the knife at our door was a desperate attempt to get help to her in time …”
“Was he a witness to th
e murder?” James asked.
“No, but he’d seen Greene walking her down to the boathouse. Secondly… “Temple was ticking the points off on his fingers. “I had confirmation that it was Greene who killed Elzec. When he bumped into Kelly coming out of the lift he thought it was me …”
“Oh, Paul!” Steve winced as she remembered the condition of Kelly’s face.
“Anyway, Kelly thought he had enough on Greene to do a little blackmailing on his own account. He persuaded Greene to supply him with fifty thousand pounds and an air passage to New York. Greene told him that the money would be waiting for him in a suitcase at Lockdale. He only had to go there and pick it up. But Kelly smelt a rat. He sent Boyer instead with a story that Madison was going to cut him in on the counterfeit racket.”
“All this is on the tape?”
“Yes, Sir Graham. And Hubert Greene realised it. That’s why he pulled the gun on me. If Steve hadn’t come in …”
“Well,” said James with satisfaction. “Mr Kelly will not be flying to New York. We picked him up at Heathrow this evening.”
“I don’t know why, Paul, but I feel rather sorry about that. I was quite fond of Kelly.”
“Yes,” said Temple, “he did have a way with the ladies.”
“You said there was another reason why Greene killed his wife.” The lights of an oncoming car shed a pale illumination on Steve’s face. Ahead the street lamps of Leatherhead had come into view. “What did you mean by that?”
Temple was leaning forward to be ready to direct the driver.
“How well do you know your Othello, Steve?”
“I know he murdered his wife out of jealousy, but she was innocent.”
“And then?” Temple prompted. But when she was lost for a reply he leant forward to be ready to direct the driver through Leatherhead and out onto the minor road that led to ‘Brown Acres’.
“I hope we’re here before Greene,” remarked Forbes.
“If he comes at all,” rejoined Chief Inspector James dryly. “I wish we’d got the place properly staked out.”
Paul Temple and the Madison Case Page 18