Paul Temple and the Madison Case. Francis Durbridge

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      ‘Go on, Mr Portland.’

      ‘I lived with Kelly for the best part of seven years. We got along famously together. I guess he was like a father and the proverbial big brother rolled into one. In 1958 I moved to New York and started the Portland Yeast Company. The rest you can guess. It was just a long, long trail leading to four hundred million dollars.’

      ‘What made you choose the name Portland?’

      ‘Well, I had to call myself something.’ Portland laughed and a gold tooth flashed. ‘I was on Portland Avenue when Kelly arrested me.’

      ‘But couldn’t you remember anything?’

      ‘Not a thing.’

      ‘Hadn’t you any marks of identification?’

      ‘No. When I was arrested I had three dollars in my pocket, a white handkerchief, a fountain pen and curiously enough an English penny.’

      ‘An English penny?’

      ‘Yes. I’ve still got it. Look, it’s on my watch-chain.’

      Portland was wearing a waistcoat. Temple wondered if he did so purely in order to accommodate a gold watch and chain. He inserted two fingers in the left-hand pocket and withdrew one of the big old-fashioned pennies. The copper glittered in the morning sunlight. Either it had been treated with some lacquer or he polished it every day. Temple leant over to study it but Portland had quickly slipped the coin back into his pocket.

      ‘How does this fellow Madison fit into the picture?’

      ‘I’ll tell you.’ He hitched himself round in his chair to face Temple more squarely. ‘For years now I’ve been making inquiries in the hope of finding things out about myself. If you were in my shoes wouldn’t you want to know who your parents were, where you came from and why on a certain afternoon in the year 1952 you were suddenly discovered wandering down Portland Avenue in Chicago?

      Well, two weeks ago Hubert Greene, my London representative, ’phoned through to New York. He told me that a man called Madison – a well known private inquiry agent in London – had discovered certain facts concerning my identity. As you can imagine this sort of thing wasn’t exactly new to me so I told Hubert to look into the matter.’

      ‘Did he?’

      ‘Yes he did. Three days ago he telexed me. He said he was convinced that Madison was on the level.’

      Portland leant forward and gripped the arms of his deck chair. ‘I’m finding this sea breeze a little too healthy for my liking. What do you say we move into the Midships Lounge? I hear they serve a very good hot bouillon there at eleven o’clock.’

      The two men stood up and began to stroll down the starboard side of the ship.

      ‘Frankly,’ said Portland, ‘I was rather surprised just now when you told me that you’d never heard of Madison.’

      ‘Well, I can soon check on him for you. I’ve got some very good friends at Scotland Yard.’

      ‘I hope that won’t be necessary, but if it is I’ll let you know.’ Portland laid a hand on Temple’s arm. ‘Oh, by the way, if you happen to meet Mrs Portland don’t mention this Madison story. She doesn’t know anything about it.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘No, you see my wife takes the attitude that I should let the past take care of itself. “Why should you worry, Sam,” she says, “you’re sitting pretty anyway”.’

      ‘Well, that’s certainly a point of view,’ said Temple, laughing. ‘Is your wife an American, Mr Portland?’

      ‘No, she’s English although she’s lived in America for a great many years. As a matter of fact we’ve only been married six weeks.’

      ‘Oh!’ Temple quickly controlled his surprise. ‘Congratulations!’

      ‘Thanks,’ said Sam, accepting the congratulations with the satisfied expression of a cat that had scooped the milk.

      ‘Why are you making this trip – for business reasons or simply to meet Madison?’

      ‘Well, my wife thinks I’m making it because of Moira. Oh, Moira’s my daughter – by my first marriage, of course. She works in my London office. Actually, however, I must confess I’m coming over simply because of Madison. I’m sold on Madison, Temple. I really think he’s found something. Hello, here’s George.’ Portland had spotted a man pushing his way towards them beckoning excitedly with one arm. ‘Now what does he want?’

      Temple estimated George Kelly’s age as about forty. He was wearing sneakers, jeans and a brightly coloured sports blouse. All in all he seemed an unlikely appendage for the multi-millionaire.

      ‘There’s been a ’phone call from the New York office,’ he announced excitedly. ‘I couldn’t find you so I told ’em you’d ring back. They seemed to be all steamed up about something.’

      ‘Yes, all right, George.’ Sam answered him with an almost fatherly pat on the shoulder. ‘How’s Mrs Portland?’

      ‘About the same. She don’t look too good.’ Kelly’s high pitched laugh twisted his thin mouth. ‘I reckon she don’t feel too good either.’

      ‘O.K. I’ll be right down.’

      Kelly nodded, glanced at Temple, then departed.

      ‘That’s George Kelly.’ Sam was watching the man’s receding back thoughtfully. ‘When poor old Dan died I promised to find his son a job. He’s my secretary. I guess you wouldn’t think so though to hear him talk. George is a drip! He hasn’t got the old man’s guts, personality or anything else. Still, what can you do?’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘Well, I’ll go down and see how my good lady’s getting on. Nice to have met you, Mr Temple,’ offering his hand. ‘Let’s all have a drink together sometime.’

      ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

      ‘Say we meet in the Princess Bar at seven o’clock? I’ll bring Mrs Portland along. How’s that?’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘And don’t forget to bring Mrs Temple.’

      ‘Well,’ said Temple, laughing. ‘I will if she can make it.’

      ‘She’ll make it all right.’

      Sam was lighting another cigar as he moved away in the wake of George Kelly. Temple gave him a minute’s start then made his own way to the door that led to the Midships Lounge. He was less interested in the bouillon than in locating the ship’s Business Centre with its telex, fax, up-to-date financial reports and secretarial facilities.

      The Princess Bar, adjoining the Princess Grill, was on the Boat Deck, conveniently placed for the occupants of the prestigious suites just aft of the signals and communications tower. By seven o’clock it was already well filled and virtually everybody there had already changed into evening dress. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and the orange glow of its reflection on the sea cast a warm light on the ceiling СКАЧАТЬ