Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

by Francis Durbridge

“Ask Mrs Fletcher about the coat … ?”

  “Yes. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  A sign above the pumps at Fletcher’s Garage informed customers, ‘We serve you.’ A young man of about twenty, clad in neat blue overalls, stepped up to the driver’s window as Temple pulled in.

  “Fill up — with four-star. And would you check the oil, water and battery, please?” As the attendant nodded and moved round to unscrew the filler cap, Temple told Steve: “That must be young Fletcher. Keep him talking, Steve. I’m going to have a word with his mother.’’

  With the eyes of the pump attendant on him, Temple sauntered over to the little shop-cum-office at the back of the forecourt. A bell pinged as he opened the door. A woman of about fifty was standing behind the counter, checking a wad of five-pound notes. She was stoutish and quite smartly dressed. She looked capable and confident and Temple was not surprised that she had decided she could do better for herself than working for Dr Benkaray and her ill-tempered secretary. She gave him a welcoming smile and closed the notes in a drawer.

  “Good morning,” Temple said. “Do you sell cigars?”

  “Over this side, sir.” She indicated a set of shelves beside the counter, stocked with cigarettes and packets of small cigars.

  “Oh, yes! I’ll have a packet of these, please — the Panatellas . . .”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Temple handed her a five-pound note and watched her capable hands operate the cash register.

  “Your change.” She glanced out at the Rover. “Just driving down to the coast, sir?”

  “No, as a matter of fact my wife and I spent the night here — at The Red Hart.”

  “Oh.” She nodded non-committally. “Not a bad little pub.”

  “No, indeed.” Temple slipped the cigars and the change into his pocket. “Mrs Fletcher, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said, pleased to be known by name.

  “Fred Harcourt mentioned you.”

  “Oh …” Mention of the innkeeper’s name was not an immediate recommendation.

  “He said you used to work for Dr Benkaray.”

  “Oh, did he?” The smile had been replaced by a frown.

  “Yes,” Temple said, still casual and friendly. “I’d heard of Dr Benkaray and happened to mention her name. Incidentally, while you were working for the doctor did you come across a man called Ted Angus?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’ve heard the name before, I take it?”

  “I can read,” she snapped. “It’s in the newspapers.”

  “Angus was murdered last night — in the wood, not far from Dr Benkaray’s place.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But you’d never heard of Angus — not until you’d read about him this morning?”

  “No, I hadn’t.” Mrs Fletcher drew in a long breath. “Are you a newspaper man?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you ought to be — you’re nosey enough for one!”

  Behind Temple the bell pinged. The young man came in, wiping his hands on a cloth.

  “Ma, could you …” He stopped when he saw the expression on his mother’s face. “Hello, something wrong?”

  “This chap’s askin’ me a lot of questions, Bill. I don’t know who he is but…”

  “Well, I do!” Bill grinned. “You’re Paul Temple, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thought so. Your photograph’s on the back of a book I’ve been reading.” Bill gave Mrs Fletcher a nod and a wink. “It’s all right, Ma — he’s nothing to do with the newspapers.”

  Mrs Fletcher’s expression relaxed to one of only slightly less hostility. “Are you from the police, then?”

  “No, but I’m helping the police to investigate a murder case; Julia Kelburn …”

  “Oh, I read about her!” Mrs Fletcher exclaimed, relieved to be back on more familiar ground. “Bit of a hot number, wasn’t she?”

  Temple did not respond to the innuendo. “She was a patient of Dr Benkaray’s.”

  “Go on … Was she?” Bill said, with exaggerated surprise. “Didn’t know that, did you, Ma?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Mrs Fletcher agreed, a little baffled, but taking her cue. “But then the doctor has hundreds of patients.’’

  Outside, at the pumps, a horn was being hooted, impatiently. Bill looked at Temple, still with that friendly smile fixed on his face. ‘She was good to Ma, the doctor was.”

  “That’s Tom Eaton’s van — go and see what he wants, Bill.”

  “Okay.”

  Bill, realising that his mother wanted to get rid of him, threw the cloth down and went out; the bell pinged unnecessarily as he opened the door. Temple leant an elbow casually on the counter.

  “Mrs Fletcher, I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself, but it might be worth your while to tell me one or two things.’’

  “What things?” she said defensively.

  “My wife and I found Ted Angus last night. He’d been beaten up. Just before he died he mentioned your name.”

  Her astonishment was unfeigned.

  “Ted Angus did?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You — you must be mistaken.”

  “No, I wasn’t mistaken.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  Temple paused, watching her. “He said: ‘Ask Mrs Fletcher about the coat.’ “

  In her agitation she began to fiddle with the objects on the counter, moving the receipt pad, closing the lid of the rubber stamp pad, replacing the clip on a sheaf of repair slips.

  “The coat? What coat? What was he talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” Temple said equably. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  “I don’t know what this is all about,” she said, with a vigorous shake of the head. “I don’t know anyone called Angus. It wasn’t me he was referring to — must have been another Mrs Fletcher.”

  “I see. Very well.” Temple began to move away. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.’’

  “Wait a minute! Have you said anything about this to the police or anyone?”

  “No, not a word — and there’s no reason why I should.” Temple reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. “Look — here’s my card. If you should remember anything about Ted Angus or Julia Kelburn, just give me a ring.’’

  “Julia Kelburn? I never set eyes on the girl. She was never in these parts.”

  She held the card at arm’s length, screwing up her eyes to read the small print.

  “According to Fred Harcourt she was. Well, if you remember anything give me a ring. It’ll be worth your while, Mrs Fletcher, I assure you.”

  The Temples had an early lunch at The Crown in Chisle- hurst, after which Temple put a call through to Scotland Yard. They were back in Eaton Square by three o’clock. When Charlie opened the door he seemed relieved to see them.

  “You’ve got a visitor, Mr Temple.” Temple had already seen the hat and gloves on the hall table. “It’s a Mr Kelburn, sir. He’s been here about twenty minutes.”

  “Kelburn?” Temple gave Steve a puzzled look. “Any other messages?”

  “A Mr Langdon telephoned.” Charlie closed the front door. ‘’ Twice, as a matter of fact. He said he’d ring back later.”

  “Take this case, will you, Charlie? No,” Temple said, as Charlie reached for his own smaller suitcase, “the big one.”

  “Oh — very good, sir.” Charlie seized Steve’s much bulkier case and grimaced as he felt its weight.

  “Oh, and Charlie — I’m expecting Sir Graham Forbes. Show him into the sitting-room when he arrives.”

  George Kelburn had been reading a book from Temple’s shelves. He got up to put it back as he heard the door opening. Temple recognised the spine of one of his own novels, The Tyler Mystery. As his visitor turned towards him, Temple saw that his manner was totally different from the last time they had met, polite and controlled but
unmistakably distant.

  “Hello, Kelburn! Sorry to have kept you waiting, only my wife and I have been —”

  “That’s all right,” Kelburn said quickly. “I apologise for intruding like this.”

  ‘’ I don’t think you’ve met my wife.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Kelburn bowed politely but did not offer to shake hands. “Good afternoon, Mrs Temple.”

  “How do you do, Mr Kelburn.” Steve’s voice was a little cold. She had already sensed George Kelburn’s mood, and did not ask him to sit down. Kelburn’s next remark showed that she had been right.

  “Temple, there’s no point in beating about the bush. I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Changed your mind? About what, exactly?”

  “About the murder. About your investigation. I want you to withdraw from the case. Naturally, I’ll pay any reasonable fee you decide to ask and any expenses which …”

  “Wait a minute! Why have you changed your mind, Mr Kelburn?”

  “I’ve thought about this and decided that there’s nothing to be gained by further private investigation. It can’t bring Julia back.”

  Steve moved across to the window to adjust the curtains, which Charlie had pulled back carelessly that morning.

  “No,” Temple said, “but it might result in the murderer being brought to justice.”

  Kelburn’s stiff attitude relaxed a little and he let his shoulders droop. “Yes, well — it’s Julia I keep thinking about. It can’t bring my daughter back. Naturally, I appreciate you feel some disappointment in losing a profitable assignment…”

  “That’s nothing to do with it,” Temple cut in with irritation. “I make my money out of books, Kelburn —not other people’s troubles. I’m working on this case simply because I became involved in it; there’s no other reason.”

  “But Mr Kelburn, surely you realise the police are bound to go on with their investigations?”

  Kelburn turned towards Steve, who had moved out from behind the piano. “Yes, Mrs Temple, I realise that. There’s nothing I can do about the police, unfortunately.”

  “And they’ll expect you to co-operate,” she pointed out.

  “I’ve already told the police all I know,” Kelburn said impatiently. “There’s nothing else I can say or do which could possibly help them.” He turned back to Paul. “I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought, Temple, and that’s my decision.”

  Temple shrugged. “Very well, if that’s your decision.”

  “Now, don’t be stupid about the financial aspect, I don’t expect people to work for nothing. Send your account to my office in …”

  “There won’t be an account,” Temple interrupted, annoyed at being treated as if he were a minion on Kelburn’s payroll. “I started this investigation partly on your behalf. I shall continue it entirely on my own.”

  “That’s up to you, of course,” Kelburn said stiffly, straightening his jacket. “But I can’t undertake to give you any co-operation. In fact, I may be going abroad in the near future.”

  “Very well.” Temple had begun to move towards the door, as a hint to Kelburn that the interview was finished.

  “Sorry about this, Temple, but these decisions have to be taken.”

  Temple ignored the man’s attempt to end the meeting on a cordial note. “I only hope this is one you won’t regret. I’ll see you out.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye, Mrs Temple.” Again, Kelburn bowed stiffly. “I’m glad to have met you.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Steve said, with icy insincerity.

  Kelburn had not been gone five minutes when Sir Graham Forbes arrived, accompanied by Superintendent Raine. While Steve went to find Charlie and rustle up some tea, Temple took the two men into the sitting-room.

  “Was that Kelburn we saw getting into his car?” Forbes asked.

  “Yes, it was.”

  Raine observed: “He appeared to be in rather a bad mood.”

  “Yes, I think he was. Excuse me a moment.”

  Temple had heard the telephone ringing. As neither Steve nor Charlie seemed to be answering it, he went out into the hall to take the call.

  It was Mike Langdon. He was going back to the States at the end of the week, he said, and wanted to see Temple before he left. As he was in the West End Temple suggested that he came round in an hour’s time.

  “You know where we are?”

  “Yes. Eaton Square.”

  “Right. I’ll see you about five.”

  In the sitting-room Sir Graham had made himself comfortable in an armchair, but Raine was prowling restlessly round the room.

  “Yes, Kelburn was in a strange mood,” Temple said, picking up the conversation where they had left off. “He asked me to withdraw from the case, Sir Graham. He says he doesn’t want me to make any further investigations.”

  “Why should he ask you to do that?”

  “He didn’t say why,” Temple said, sitting down in his own favourite chair, “but I got the impression he was frightened.”

  “Frightened of what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You mean,” Raine said, “you think someone’s bringing pressure to bear on him?”

  “Yes — or he’s just plain frightened. Perhaps he knew Ted Angus …”

  Raine finally decided to take a chair, but as always he chose a fairly upright one and sat perched on the forward edge. “Tell us about Ted Angus, Mr Temple. What exactly happened, last night?”

  “Well, Steve and I went down to Westerton. You know why — I told you on the ‘phone about Steve’s visit to the dress shop and Dr Benkaray.’’

  Raine nodded.

  “Well, after dinner we went for a drive. I wanted to take a look at Dr Benkaray’s place. We parked the car and walked through the wood towards the house. Suddenly we heard a noise. It was Ted Angus — he’d been beaten up.”

  Raine waited, but Temple did not embroider his account. “Then what happened?”

  “Steve went for the police and I fetched Dr Benkaray.”

  “Did she recognise Angus?” Forbes asked.

  “She said she’d never seen him before — and that went for the secretary, too.”

  “The secretary?”

  “Yes — an unfriendly character called Larry Cross.”

  “Larry Cross.” Raine made a note of the name. “Did the doctor ask you what you were doing in the wood?”

  “Yes, she did. I said I was on my way to see her and that I wanted to question her about Julia Kelburn.”

  “How did she react to that?”

  “She wasn’t particularly helpful. She said that Julia had some kind of a complex and during two or three brief interviews she’d failed to get to the bottom of it.”

  “In other words — she stalled?”

  “Yes,” Temple agreed.

  “Well, we know Miss Kelburn’s trouble. We probably know why she consulted the doctor.” Raine paused, but Temple did not oblige by asking the obvious question. “Julia Kelburn was a drug addict.”

  Temple did not show any great surprise. “How did this come out?”

  “Medical report on the post mortem,” Forbes explained. “Incidentally, keep this to yourself, Temple.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “We weren’t completely surprised.”

  “Have you told Kelburn?”

  “Not yet,” said Raine. “As soon as I’ve got a few more details from the doctor I’ll make an appointment to see him.”

  “I wonder if Kelburn knows and that’s why he wants me to drop the case.”

  “Yes, it’s a possibility,” Forbes agreed. “Let’s face it, no one likes that sort of publicity.”

  “I’ll check on this Dr Benkaray, Mr Temple,” Raine promised, “see what her background is.”

  “Thank you, Superintendent. Incidentally, I meant to ask you — what about young Wyman? Is he all right now?”

  “Yes, he went back to work last night,” said Ra
ine. “I dropped in on him just as he was finishing his act. He didn’t say much, but I got the impression he thought that Angus had smashed into his car deliberately. That kid’s scared, Mr Temple — if we could get on the right side of him I think he’d talk.”

  “He’s at The Hide and Seek, isn’t he?” Temple said thoughtfully.

  “That’s right — in Leicester Square.”

  The door had opened and when Forbes saw that it was Steve he immediately sprang to his feet. Temple and Raine followed his example in more leisurely fashion.

  “What’s all this about The Hide and Seek?” Steve wanted to know.

  “We were talking about Tony Wyman, Steve,” said Forbes, adopting the courteous attitude he always showed towards Temple’s wife.

  “Oh, yes. How is he, Sir Graham?”

  “He’s all right now — he’s back at work.”

  “If you can call it work,” Steve remarked with a smile.

  “It’s work all right, Mrs Temple,” Raine told her earnestly. “You should have seen him last night, the sweat was pouring off him.”

  “I’d like you to have another talk with him, Temple,” Forbes said. “Tonight, if possible.”

  “Yes, it might be quite an idea. I’ll get Charlie to book a table.”

  “I take it I’m in on this, Paul?”

  Steve had left the door open behind her and the rattle of a tea-trolley could be heard out in the hall.

  “Yes, of course. You can wear your new dress.”

  “I don’t think it would be quite right for The Hide and Seek, darling. In any case, it hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Feeling Sir Graham’s eyes fixed on her admiringly, Steve gave him a little smile then went to help Charlie by lifting the front of the trolley over the threshold.

  “I don’t think we can stop for tea, Steve,” Forbes protested, noting the scones and cakes on the lower shelf. “You see …”

  “Nonsense!” Steve brushed his excuses aside. “Everything stops for tea in this house! Sit down, Superintendent, make yourself at home.’’

  Raine looked imploringly at Sir Graham, waiting for a cue. But the older and wiser man had accepted the inevitable.

  “Sit down, Raine.”

  Fortunately Langdon was late and so avoided butting in on the end of Steve’s tea-party. Forbes and Raine had departed and the tea-trolley had been wheeled away when Charlie showed him in.