Paul Temple and the Madison Case. Francis Durbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ he was murdered?’

      ‘No, I don’t. But there’s one thing I’m rather curious about, Steve.’

      ‘What’s that – the watch-chain?’

      ‘Yes. I’m going to have a word with Mrs Portland.’

      ‘Oh, darling, not at this time of night!’

      Temple was already at the telephone table. ‘I’ve got a hunch it’s important.’ He opened the telephone book and ran his finger down the column till he found the number.

      Shaking her head half in exasperation and half in affection, Steve went to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a small measure of brandy. Behind her she heard Paul stabbing the numbers, talking to The Ritz switchboard and finally getting through to Mrs Portland’s suite. Her voice came over loudly on the ’phone and Steve was able to hear both sides of the conversation.

      ‘Mrs Portland? This is Paul Temple here.’

      ‘Oh, good evening, Mr Temple!’

      Temple quickly distanced the ’phone a few inches from his ear. ‘Forgive me ringing at this time of the night, Mrs Portland, but I’ve just been having a chat with Mr Greene. He tells me that you’ve lost your husband’s watch-chain.’

      ‘Is Hubert with you at the moment?’

      ‘No, he’s just this second left.’

      ‘I’ve got the chain, Mr Temple, there’s no need to worry about it.’

      ‘You mean you’ve found it?’

      ‘No, I mean it was never lost. I – I had it all the time.’

      ‘I see,’ said Temple, trying to conceal his annoyance at the false alarm.

      ‘I doubt very much whether you do see, Mr Temple.’ Mrs Portland paused. ‘Are you likely to be passing my hotel tomorrow?’

      ‘Yes, I might be. Probably in the morning.’

      ‘I’d like you to drop in for a few moments.’

      ‘Yes, all right. Shall we say eleven o’clock?’

      ‘That will do nicely. Good-night, Mr Temple.’

      ‘Good night, Mrs Portland.’ Thoughtfully Temple put the receiver down. ‘You heard all that?’

      ‘I couldn’t help it, Paul. Why did Greene lie to you about it?’

      ‘I don’t think he was lying, darling. He really did think it was lost.’

      The Temples’ flat was fitted with Banham double mortise locks on the front door and the latest burglar-proof double-glass windows. But Steve always insisted on having a window slightly open in the bedroom. She could not sleep unless she knew that there was an inlet for fresh air, even on the chilliest nights.

      She had been the first to put her light out and soon afterwards Temple had closed his book and followed suit. But his sleep was not deep. In his subconscious mind he kept running over the short conversations he had had with Forbes and Greene and checking back on his encounter with Sam Portland. He heard the gentle chimes of the clock in the sitting-room striking two and soon after that he must have dropped off completely.

      Perhaps an hour later he woke up. The only sound was the muted hum of the radio-alarm on his bedside table and the echo of a car in the square below. He tried to recall the faint noise that had alerted him, more like a furtive creak than a sharp crack. He felt a stronger current of air on his face and the rustle of the curtains stirring at the window. Opening his eyes he saw pale moonlight slanting across the balcony outside. Was the chink in the curtains wider than when he had gone to bed?

      Then for a moment the shaft of moonlight was broken as a shadow passed across.

      Very quietly Temple pushed the covers back and swung his legs out of the bed. His movement woke Steve.

      ‘Paul …’

      ‘Sh,’ he whispered. ‘There’s someone on the balcony. Don’t talk.’

      She froze. He could sense her fear as she held her breath. There was no further movement at the window. Temple sat completely motionless for five minutes. Through the wall he could just hear a faint sound like waves on a pebbly beach. It was Charlie, snoring in his sleep.

      At last that creak came again. The curtains swung slightly. Again the moonlight was broken by a shadow. Someone had come through the window and was standing behind the curtains. Temple still made no movement except to put a reassuring hand on Steve’s arm. All his antennae were on full alert. He sensed rather than saw the intruder move out from behind the heavy curtain, into the pool of darkness in the corner beside the door. He could smell the faint tang that always clings to clothes of a heavy smoker.

      Reaching towards the bed-head he pulled the string to switch on his reading lamp. Sudden light flooded the room.

      The man who already had his hand on the door-handle whipped round, blinking and momentarily dazzled. He was tall, fiercely moustachioed, heavily built, fortyish and scared. In his hand he gripped a stubby automatic.

      Temple said, in his normal conversational tone, ‘Are you looking for anything in particular, my friend – or is this just a social call?’

      ‘Stay where you are! Don’t move either of you!’

      Temple had faced men with guns before and he already had the measure of this one. By the way he was holding his weapon he was no trained marksman. But he was scared and that was always the danger.

      Temple did not obey the command. He shuffled his feet into the slippers he had discarded before going to bed, stood up and put on his dressing-gown.

      ‘Paul, he’s got a gun!’

      ‘Yes, darling. I can see it.’

      ‘Now don’t try anything!’ the man warned. ‘I’m prepared to use it.’

      ‘I’m sure you are,’ said Temple. ‘Just tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll try to help you.’

      ‘You can help me by putting your hands up and standing against that wall. No, facing it. And keep your hands up!’

      ‘Paul, for God’s sake do as he says!’

      Temple did as he was told, feigning submission. He heard the man padding across the room behind him, suspicious that he had some weapon in the pocket of his dressing-gown. This was almost too good to be true. The man was obviously a novice. He smelt the whisky on his breath as he came close. The nose of the automatic was pressed hard against the small of his back. A hand groped in the pocket of his dressing-gown.

      At that critical moment and in a lightning movement Temple’s arm flailed down like the blade of a propeller. The side of his stiffened hand connected brutally with the man’s wrist, knocking his hand sideways and loosening his grip. The automatic clattered to the floor. Temple’s movement had swung his body round to face his assailant.

      Paradoxically he was more dangerous now. СКАЧАТЬ