Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

  “No, but I don’t think she had.” Charlie was certain that Steve had had no other thought in her mind except to meet her husband. “I hope there hasn’t’ been an accident …”

  “Yes, I hope so too, Charlie,” Temple said gravely. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Very good, sir.” Unusually subdued, Charlie replaced the receiver.

  The homecoming dinner prepared with such care by Charlie had proved to be wasted effort. On arriving back at the flat Temple had declared himself unable to swallow a mouthful after the meal he had eaten on Concorde, and five hours after she had left for the airport there was still neither sight nor sound of Steve. Charlie had salvaged what he could and stored it away in the deep-freeze for some future occasion. He was in his bed-sitter watching the TV commercials that preceded the ten o’clock news when there came a long ring on the doorbell followed by an authoritative rat-tat-tat on the knocker.

  Charlie, divested of his apron and wearing a jacket which noticeably failed to match his trousers, went to open it. Of the two men standing on the landing outside he was already familiar with one. Sir Graham Forbes was the kind of Englishman who had been formed by the successive processes of school, university, military service and public office. With his broad shoulders, bristling grey moustache, bushy eyebrows and a certain aura of unshakable confidence he was still impressive enough to attract the glances of women.

  “Good evening, Charlie,” he said, as one greeting an old friend.

  “Good evening, sir. Mr Temple’s expecting you.”

  “Any news?” Sir Graham asked, as he stepped into the hall.

  “No, sir. I’m afraid not.”

  The heavily built man with Forbes was at least fifteen years younger and of a very different type. He was soberly dressed with a plain tie and well-polished black shoes. Charlie, who was at heart a downright snob, could see at a glance that he had made his way in the world by his own unaided efforts, assisted by no advantages of family or money. Charlie was not endeared by the way those hard eyes swept over him, missing not a detail of his dress and physical features. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being checked against some rogues’ gallery that the police officer carried in a computer-like mind.

  “In here, Sir Graham,” he said, fussing over the taller man and ignoring the other. “Mr Temple’s in the sitting-room.”

  Temple, who had also been watching the ten o’clock ITV news, half expecting to hear that there had been some horrific pile-up on the M4 between London and Heathrow, switched the set off and came across the room to meet his visitors.

  “Come in, Sir Graham. It’s very kind of you to come at such short notice.”

  “My dear fellow, I’d have got here sooner only I was already half-way home from my club when your message came through. And when Steve is concerned —”

  “I understand there’s no news, Mr Temple,” the police officer said, anxious to make the point that he too had forsaken hearth and home to accompany Sir Graham.

  Temple turned towards him and the eyes of the two men met with mutual appraisal and respect. Raine, of course, had known Temple’s reputation as a criminologist as well as an author, even before the briefing Forbes had given him in the car.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “This is Superintendent Raine, Temple.” Forbes put a friendly hand on the Scotland Yard man’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve met before.’’

  “No, I don’t think we have. Though I read about your handling of the Belgrave Square siege.” The two men shook hands, still measuring each other with their eyes. Temple assessed Raine as thorough and methodical but perhaps a little unimaginative. “How do you do, Superintendent.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr Temple.”

  “Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”

  “No, no. Don’t worry about drinks.” Forbes brushed the offer aside, to Raine’s evident disappointment. “Temple, tell me, have you checked the hospitals?”

  “I’ve checked every hospital within thirty miles of the airport,” Temple said wearily. “It took me the whole evening.”

  Raine had seated himself on the front edge of one of the easy chairs. “I understand you found Mrs Temple’s car?”

  “Yes, Superintendent. It was in the car park at the airport. The attendant remembered her arriving — about half an hour before my plane was due. She’d left her coat in the back of the car, so she couldn’t have intended to go much further than the lounge, or maybe the restaurant.”

  “I take it Mrs Temple didn’t leave a note for you, sir, or anything which might…”

  “No. I’ve been through the place pretty thoroughly, and apart from a telephone message there’s nothing — absolutely nothing.”

  Forbes, who had taken up his customary position in front of the fireplace with legs astride, asked: “What was the telephone message?”

  “It was on the pad upstairs. It simply said: ‘Tell P.’ — which is obviously me — ‘about L.’ “

  “Who’s L, Temple?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s important, Sir Graham. According to Charlie, the message was written several days ago.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr Temple,” Raine commented in his deliberate way, “but it looks as if we shall have to face the facts. The only explanation I can see is that your wife’s been waylaid by someone. Now the question is …”

  He was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone out in the hall. Temple exchanged a quick glance of hope with Forbes before he went out to pick the receiver up.

  “Hello?”

  He could hear the bleep-bleep, indicating that the call was coming from a pay ‘phone. There was a clunk as a coin was pushed into the slot. Then Temple heard a man’s voice, muffled but obviously in the same call-box.

  “All right. Go ahead. Talk to him now …”

  “Hello!” Temple repeated impatiently. “Hello, who is that?”

  There was a pause, and then: “Is that you, Paul?” The woman’s voice was so weak that he hardly recognised it as Steve’s.

  “Steve! Is that you, Steve?”

  “Paul, can you hear me?”

  He could tell from her voice that she was very frightened. “Steve, where are you?”

  “Don’t worry, dear.” Scared though she was, she was trying to reassure him. “There’s nothing to worry about …”

  “Yes, but Steve,” Temple cut in, unable to mask his impatience, “where are you speaking from?”

  “I’m … perfectly all right …”

  “Steve, listen!” Temple was gripping the receiver. “There was a man on the ‘phone, I heard his voice … Who was it? ”

  “Paul, don’t try and … ” Steve’s voice was fading, as if someone were pulling the receiver away from her.

  “Darling, please tell me … Where are you?”

  “Oh, Paul…” The cry was barely audible. Before Temple could speak again the maddening bleep-bleep had started once more.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What’s happened?”

  Temple looked round to find Raine at his shoulder. “The line’s gone dead.”

  “Replace the receiver, Mr Temple — in case she rings back.”

  Temple realised that he was still trying to squeeze some response out of the telephone. With deliberate control he replaced it on the cradle.

  Forbes had come to the doorway of the sitting-room to listen to Temple’s side of the brief conversation. “You said something about a man, Temple. Was there someone with Steve?”

  “Yes. I heard a voice just as I picked up the ‘phone. It sounded as if someone was in the call-box with her and was forcing her to …”

  The ‘phone shrilled and Temple scooped it up with one quick movement.

  “Take it easy, Temple,” Forbes cautioned.

  Temple put a finger into his free ear. “Hello?”

  “Paul —” Steve’s voice was a little stronger, but she was still tense.

  “Steve,” Temple
said, speaking slowly and deliberately but with all the urgency he could muster. “Where are you calling from?”

  “I don’t know the number.”

  “Darling,” he told her very gently, “look at the dial.”

  “It’s a call-box.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  “Paul, I’m trying to concentrate,” she was evidently dazed and confused, “but somehow I can’t —”

  He asked: “Is there anyone with you?”

  “No. Not now, darling.”

  “Well,” he tried again, still as if coaxing a frightened child, “where is the telephone box, Steve?”

  “It’s at Euston. Just inside the station.” She was near to tears and her voice was beginning to break. “Please come and fetch me, darling. I’ll wait for you in the station near the bookstall.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes!” This time Temple rammed the receiver down on the cradle. His face was grey as he turned to Forbes and Raine. “She’s at Euston Station.”

  “Right! Come on, Temple!” Forbes was already heading for the front door. Raine started to follow, but the older man put a finger to stop him and nodded at the telephone.

  “Get through to the Yard. Warn all cars in the area but tell them to stay clear of the station. Follow as soon as you can. We’ll see you at Euston.”

  Knowing that Raine would have no problem with transport, Forbes commandeered the police car waiting down in Eaton Square. The superintendent had chosen as his personal driver a young constable who had passed out of the Police Driving School at Hendon with a Class A. Authorised to use the blue light and siren he made his tyres squeal as he careered round Belgrave Square. The carousel of traffic at Hyde Park Corner yielded to the white police Rover as it squirmed between taxis, buses and private cars. On the Hyde Park ring road they touched a hundred miles an hour and the houses along Park Lane flashed past in a blur. An obstinate Daimler limousine blocked them for a long ten seconds at Marble Arch and received a horn-blasting that sent him rabbiting on to the pavement. As the Rover sped along the Marylebone Road, Forbes and Temple were thrown from side to side when their driver swerved round the slow-moving vehicles, sometimes cutting boldly across to the wrong side of the road and forcing the oncoming traffic to give way to him.

  A quarter of a mile from Euston Forbes called out: “Cut the siren now, Newton.”

  Temple glanced at his watch. He had automatically checked the time of Steve’s call. It looked as if he was going to keep his promise of being at the station within ten minutes. As if in confirmation the clock of the church across the road began to chime the quarters. Raine’s driver braked and swung in through the entrance reserved for buses, slowing behind a Number 14 as it circled the memorial to London and North Eastern Railway personnel killed in the 1914-18 war. Temple, all his senses at full stretch, noted the four statuesque figures guarding it, heads bent over, hands folded on their reversed rifles — an attitude of permanent mourning.

  “Well done,” Forbes told the driver, as he deposited them at the kerb. “Wait for us here.”

  Outpacing the passengers who had alighted from the bus, Forbes and Temple hurried across the broad, almost deserted forecourt, past the statue of Robert Stephenson and through the glass doors into the main hall. Both men were wary and watchful. There seemed no good reason why Steve should be kidnapped and then released after only five hours without some sort of pay-off. She could still be in grave danger. At this time of night the bookshop at the east side of the main hall was closed and only a lone vendor of newspapers was doing business.

  Temple shook his head. “She’s not here.”

  The loudspeakers boomed out some announcement about a train shortly due to depart for Edinburgh. The panels on the indicator-board flapped as a new set of departure times was rung up. From one of the platforms a posse of travellers just in from the North spilled out, dazedly lugging suitcases.

  “Is there another bookstall?” Forbes was turning his head this way and that, searching for a slim woman in a blue suit. Charlie had told them what Steve was wearing when she’d set off for the airport.

  “There may be.” Temple had started across the spacious hall, his eyes checking the entrances to the bars, restaurants, information desks. People were still crowding up and down the moving staircases leading to the Underground. Half a dozen skinheads were sitting disconsolately in front of the marble plaque commemorating the opening of the new station by Queen Elizabeth II on 14 October 1968. But no sign of Steve.

  He stared at the flower-sellers packing up what was left of their stock. The bunches of spring daffodils reminded him vividly of her. So often he had bought her a huge bunch on his way home. Then suddenly, he knew what had happened.

  “Sir Graham, you wait here. It’s just a thought, but —”

  Temple quickly located the sign pointing to the ladies cloakroom. Dazed and scared as she was, Steve would still have been thinking about her appearance. It would be just like her to believe she had time for a quick check-up in front of a mirror. He had entered the opening of the passageway that led to the toilets and was bracing himself to invade the women’s domain when he saw a figure in a blue suit coming out through the door. Three seconds later they were in each other’s arms.

  “Steve!”

  “Paul!”

  She was almost sobbing with relief. He held her away from him for a moment.

  ‘’ Darling, you said by the bookstall.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I know. But I knew my face looked awful and I never thought you’d get here so quickly.”

  “Well —” Temple let out a long sigh. “Thank God we’ve found you.”

  Forbes had come striding over from the flower stall. “Are you all right, Steve?”

  “Yes, Sir Graham.” Steve managed a little smile. “I’m just — a little tired, that’s all.”

  “What happened?” Temple asked. “How did you come to be here? Who was that man whose voice I heard?”

  “Paul, I’m confused … and frightened … I hardly know …”

  “Wait a moment, Temple,” Forbes said in a low voice, his eyes on Steve’s trembling hands and nervously restless glance. “I think we’d better get her home and let a doctor see her before we start asking too many questions.”

  “You know, Temple, this really is an extraordinary affair.” Sir Graham Forbes put the glass of whisky Temple had given him on the table beside his chair. “I’ve never come across a case quite like it before. No ransom — no mysterious notes — no threats — no blackmail. Nothing.”

  “And no motive either, sir,” added Raine, who had opted for a glass of lager, “so far as we can see.”

  The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece of the Temples’

  sitting-room had moved round to twenty past eleven. More soberly than on the outward journey Raine’s driver had brought Steve, Forbes and Temple back to Eaton Square. Temple had been lucky to find the partner of their own doctor at home and he had come round at once. The three men were having a drink while they waited for him to pronounce her fit for questioning.

  “They must have had a motive!’ Temple exclaimed. He was pacing restlessly up and down the room. “Whoever they are, they must have had a reason for picking Steve up like that!’’

  “I agree, Temple. But what was the reason? After all, it isn’t as if you’re mixed up in a case at the moment, or even helping us over …”

  Forbes was interrupted by the door opening. Dr McCarthy put his head round it. “May I come in?”

  He was a small, competent but slightly self-effacing man with a balding head and prominent ears. He wore rimless glasses and carried the regulation leather bag.

  “Yes, of course, Doctor. What’s the verdict?”

  “Nothing to worry about — nothing at all.” The doctor ventured a little further into the room. “But there’s no doubt Mrs Temple has had quite a shock, and, in my opinion, she’s either been drugged or even possibly hypnotised.’’

  “Hypnotised!”
Temple echoed incredulously.

  “However, the main thing is, there’s nothing for you to worry about, Mr Temple. What your wife needs now is rest, and plenty of it! I’ve given her a sedative; she’ll probably sleep most of tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “I’ll look in during the afternoon, or give you a ring tomorrow evening.’’

  “Thank you,” Temple said again, and moved towards the door to see him out.

  But Dr McCarthy had picked up the purposeful and expectant atmosphere in the room. He peered sternly at Raine through his small lenses. “And, Superintendent …”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “My patient can’t answer any questions — not at the moment, at any rate.”

  Raine nodded, accepting the ban with resignation. “Very well, Doctor.”

  “So hold your horses until tomorrow.” McCarthy turned to Temple, who was standing waiting by the door. “And that goes for you too, Mr Temple.’’

  When Steve woke she did not immediately open her eyes, afraid that she might see again the walls of the small room where she had been held prisoner. But the sound of music was reassuring and she dared to raise her eyelids. With relief she saw that she was in her own bedroom. Though it was darkened she could identify the familiar objects of everyday life.

  “Paul … What are you doing sitting over there?”

  “I’m listening to the radio and watching you, darling.”

  “Well, what time is it?”

  “What time do you think?” Temple asked, smiling.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Steve sat up in bed, stretched her arms and yawned. “The sun’s shining so it must be morning.”

  “It’s a quarter past five.”

  “A quarter past five? In the afternoon?”

  “Yes, darling. You’ve had quite a nice little nap.”

  “How long have I actually been …?”

  “Since eleven o’clock last night.” Temple put the paper down and came over to the bed. “The doctor gave you a sedative.”

  “Good heavens! You shouldn’t have let me sleep like this! Oh, Paul — you look wonderful! How lovely to see you again!” She reached out towards him as he bent down to kiss her. “Did you have a nice trip?”