Paul Temple and the Madison Case

‘I mean, was he born in America?’

‘Why yes, I’ve always thought so. I was always under the impression he was born in Chicago.’

‘I think perhaps I ought to tell you, Greene, before we go any further,’ Temple spoke slowly, emphasising his words, ‘Portland took me into his confidence. He told me why he was coming to England.’

Greene took that on board thoughtfully. ‘He did?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I hope you won’t say anything about it, Temple. Now that the old boy’s dead, I don’t see any reason why we should go ahead. After all, it puts rather a different complexion on it. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, but if you’ve no objection, I’d like you to do me a favour.’

‘By all means. What is it?’

‘I want you to introduce me to Mr Madison.’

‘Mr Madison?’ Greene repeated the name as if it meant nothing to him.

‘Yes,’ said Temple, watching him.

‘Who’s Mr Madison?’

‘Why, he’s the private inquiry agent, the man you …’ Temple broke off. In a few seconds this affair had taken a whole new twist. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never heard of Madison?’

‘Of course I haven’t heard of him,’ Greene said with exasperation. ‘Who is he?’

‘Two weeks ago you telexed Portland with the news that a private detective called Madison had discovered information concerning his identity.’

Greene shook his head, more bewildered than ever. ‘Whose identity? Portland’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look here, I don’t want to be rude, Temple, but have you been drinking?’

‘You’ve never heard of Madison?’

Greene met Temple’s level gaze steadily. ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t.’

‘Then why was Sam Portland in such a hurry to get to England?’

Greene reached into his pocket and brought out a packet of cigarettes. The librarian, standing on his library steps above and behind him, gave a loud cough. The library was a ‘No Smoking’ area. Greene put his cigarettes away again. ‘I thought you knew why. You said he told you. I was having trouble with Moira. I’ve been having trouble with her for weeks now. The girl’s a little bi– well she gets completely out of hand. I tried to keep it from Sam but in the end it was quite impossible. Three days ago I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to stand any more of her damned nonsense. I telexed her father and offered my resignation.’

‘I see.’

‘If you don’t believe me, ask George Kelly.’ Greene had already stood up. ‘He knows about Moira, he knows what’s been going on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see if Mrs Portland is ready to be taken down to the car.’

Temple did not stand up. He responded in kind to Greene’s curt nod. His head did not turn as the other man walked past him and out through the door behind. He sat there quite still for several minutes before he stood up and followed Portland’s London representative.

‘Paul, I do wish you’d get out of my way.’

‘Now don’t be irritable, Steve!’

‘Darling, we’ve been away for two weeks and I’m trying to unpack!’

The Temples were back at their flat in Eaton Square by seven o’clock. Charlie had prepared a special welcome-home dinner, which the Temples had felt bound to savour to the full. Then there had been the inevitable pile of correspondence which Temple had sifted through to find out if there was anything of immediate importance. In the end it was ten o’clock before they even started to unpack their suitcases and the extra packages of duty-free goods they had bought on board ship.

‘Yes, all right! All right, Steve! Where’s that bow tie – the one I bought in New York?’

‘Now what on earth do you want that for?’

‘I want to try it on.’

‘You can’t try it on now, not in your pyjamas, you’ll look ridiculous. Besides, you’ve been trying it on ever since you bought it!’

‘Oh, here it is!’ Temple deftly tied the bow and studied the effect in the mirror. His expression changed from enthusiasm to gloom.

‘I think it’s a bit bright.’

‘Of course it’s too bright, I told you that in the shop.’

‘It looked all right in New York.’

‘Yes, well, we’re not in New York! Paul, go into your study and read a book or get into bed or have a bath or something!’

‘By Timothy, I am popular!’

‘You’re just getting in my way, darling! Now where did I put that blouse? Oh, here it is … Come in, Charlie!’

Charlie was the Temples’ Jack-of-all-trades – cook, housemaid, watch-dog and even driver, but the latter only in time of dire necessity. He stood five-foot six in his socks, which were all he had on his feet now. Above them he was wearing a pair of over tight chef’s trousers and an old cardigan that had been buttoned up skew-whiff. He stared goggle-eyed at his master in pyjama top and dazzling bow tie.

‘What is it, Charlie?’

‘Sir Graham Forbes is here, sir. He’d like to have a word with you.’

‘Sir Graham? I didn’t hear the door-bell.’

‘No, sir. You and Mrs Temple was kickin’ up quite a racket. I put him in the living room, was that all right, sir?’

‘Yes, that’s all right, Charlie.’

Still mesmerised by the tie, Charlie withdrew. Steve exchanged a worried glance with her husband.

‘Paul, what does he want – do you know?’

‘No, darling. Where’s my dressing-gown?’

‘It’s on the bed.’