Paul Temple and the Madison Case

‘For your information Mr Samuel L. Portland died from natural causes. The Coroner was quite convinced there was no suspicion of foul play.’

Temple had pressed the stop switch on his ansaphone and resumed his seat behind the desk. ‘Well, if the Coroner was convinced …’

‘Don’t you agree?’

‘There’s something behind this Portland business. I don’t know what but I’m quite sure there is.’

‘Now, take the facts, Temple.’ Forbes sounded a little impatient. ‘Either Portland told you the truth about himself and about Hubert Greene getting in touch with him – in which case Greene lied to you when you saw him at Southampton – or Portland didn’t tell you the truth, in which case his story was a complete hoax.’

‘There are too many coincidences for my liking,’ Temple persisted. ‘First of all you receive an anonymous letter saying that if Portland comes over here a murder will be committed …’

‘But a murder hasn’t been committed.’

‘One very nearly was committed, Sir Graham,’ Temple pointed out quietly.

‘When?’

‘Five nights ago, here, in this very flat.’

‘Yes,’ Forbes conceded, ‘But we’ve no evidence that had any connection with the Portland case.’

Temple decided not to press the point. ‘Anyway, let’s forget it for the time being. Would you like a cup of tea, Sir Graham?’

‘No thanks. I suppose I’d better be getting back to the Yard. Heaven knows there’s enough to do.’

‘What are you on at the moment?’

‘What are we not on? Bomb scares, the state visit, a spate of armed robberies. We’re particularly worried about this counterfeit business. I expect you’ve read about it?’

‘No, but I’ve been abroad for two weeks.’

‘It’s serious, Temple. For several months now the Continent has been flooded with counterfeit notes – chiefly dollars, of course. About a week ago the French Sûreté said that in their opinion the gang were not actually working from the Continent but from England.’

‘Who are the people behind it – have you any idea?’

‘I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, Temple, but frankly, at the moment we haven’t a clue. So now you know why I’m not particularly interested in the late Mr Portland, to say nothing of the watch-chain.’

The telephone on the desk had been ringing for several seconds. ‘Excuse me.’ Temple said and picked the receiver up. ‘Hello?’

‘Paul, I’ve been trying to ring you but all I got was the ansaphone.’

‘I’m sorry, Steve. Where are you?’

‘Paul, listen.’ Steve’s voice was excited. ‘I’m in Harridge’s. I want you to come here straight away. It’s urgent.’

‘What’s happened?’

Forbes had made a valedictory sign to Temple and was moving towards the hall. Temple signalled him to wait.

‘I came back from Bramley on the 11.40. When I got to Waterloo I was just getting into a taxi when … Paul, are you listening?’

‘Yes of course I’m listening. You were just getting into a taxi.’

‘Yes, and I saw a man join the end of the taxi queue. At first I couldn’t place him. Then suddenly I realised who it was. Darling, it was that man.’

‘Which man?’

‘The man who broke into the flat, the man who knocked you out.’

Forbes had come back into the room and was trying to hear what the caller was saying.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely sure.’

‘Go on, Steve …’

‘I didn’t know what to do. I made my driver wait a bit and then when I saw him getting into a taxi I decided to follow him. He’s here at Harridge’s.’

‘Where are you actually speaking from?’

‘I’m in a ’phone booth on the ground floor, you know, next to the flower stall.’

‘Where’s the man?’

‘He’s in the snack-bar. It’s all right, he can’t come out without my seeing him, in any case he’s only just given his order.’

‘Has he seen you?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘O.K., darling. Now, don’t do anything foolish. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ Temple slammed the receiver down and stood up.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Get your hat, Sir Graham. I’ll explain in the car.’

The lift was occupied. Rather than wait for it Temple raced down the stairs, with Forbes not far behind. His Jaguar was parked almost directly opposite the flat. He was in the driving seat and had the engine started before Forbes slid in beside him. The car had pulled out from the kerb before Sir Graham had time to fasten his seat-belt.

‘You’ll cover me if I get stopped for speeding, Sir Graham?’

‘What’s this –’ Forbes was still regaining his breath. ‘What’s this all about?’

As soon as he heard that Steve had spotted the burglar at Harridge’s Forbes used the in-car telephone to contact his office at Scotland Yard. Temple concentrated on his driving. The knowledge that Steve was perfectly capable of attempting to prevent her quarry from leaving made him take chances. Forbes closed his eyes as Temple raced across the King’s Road just as the lights went red. Through Belgrave Square the tyres were shrieking. Down the narrows of Pont Street he switched on his headlamps and used his horn ruthlessly to clear a passage. As he swung right into Sloane Street the car heeled over and Forbes was only prevented from falling into his lap by the seat-belt.

Traffic was already building up to the evening rush hour and it was seven minutes before the tall Harridge’s building came in sight. There was no hope of finding a parking space anywhere near the store. Temple double-parked close to the entrance which he knew was nearest the flower stall. He left Forbes to deal with a scandalised traffic warden who was gesticulating wildly.

He spotted Steve as soon as he burst through the swing doors. She was standing beside the flower stall at the top of the steps that led down into the snack-bar. She was pale with tension.