FRANCIS DURBRIDGE
Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by
Hodder & Stoughton 1986
Copyright © Francis Durbridge 1986
All rights reserved
Francis Durbridge has asserted his right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
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A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008125769
Ebook Edition © November 2015 ISBN: 9780008125776
Version: 2016-04-29
Contents
CHAPTER IV: Bill Fletcher’s Story
CHAPTER VI: The Late Tony Wyman
Thanks to a cab driver with the nerve of a Grand Prix racer Paul Temple caught the morning flight from New York to London by the skin of his teeth. As a Concorde passenger he received VIP treatment and was hustled through the departure formalities. Less than an hour after leaving his hotel on Fifth Avenue he was in his window seat watching John F. Kennedy Airport drop rapidly away as Concorde soared towards her cruising height. Some other passengers must have cut things even finer, for the seat beside him had remained empty.
He listened patiently to the stewardess going through the familiar demonstration of the emergency equipment, waiting for the illuminated sign to be switched off so that he could unfasten his safety belt. As the Captain finished his reassuring announcement he made his way forward to put through the telephone call to London which he had booked on boarding.
One of the stewardesses, who had put on her in-flight overall, stood aside to let him pass. Her smile was not purely automatic. It was a pleasure to see someone whose style matched that of the aircraft. Temple, with his well-cut clothes, tall build and clean-cut features looked as British as the Rolls-Royce engines that were driving them through the air faster than a bullet leaving a rifle.
Temple’s decision to return home had been made last thing the evening before and his wife Steve would need some warning that he would be arriving two days early.
When he returned to his seat he found that a youngish man had ensconced himself in the empty place. He smiled apologetically and swung his knees sideways to let Temple pass.
‘I hope you don’t mind. I saw that this seat was empty.’ The accent was American, but suggestive of Boston rather than the Bronx.
‘Not at all,’ Temple said, removing The New York Times from his seat before he sat down. ‘I thought someone must have missed the plane.’
‘Oh, I have a seat further back. I flew in from California overnight and had a couple of hours’ wait at Kennedy. Nice to think we’ll be in London just about the same time as we left New York. Your Concorde sure is a fantastic aircraft.’
‘Yes, and this new telephone link by satellite is a great advantage. I’ve just been talking to my wife.’
‘Mrs Temple doesn’t come on these trips with you?’ The man laughed when he saw Temple’s surprise. ‘You don’t remember me? My name’s Langdon. Mike Langdon. We met in Hollywood, Mr Temple.’
‘Did we?’ Temple turned to look at his neighbour more closely. He was wearing a lightweight suit and his confident manner was that of a hard-thrusting businessman who does not mind cutting a few corners to achieve his targets. His dark curly hair was cut close to his head and he must have found time to shave during his wait at Kennedy, for his cheeks were smooth. Temple could often tell as much about a person from his hands as from his facial features, but Langdon held his hands firmly folded in his lap as if determined to keep them strictly under control.
‘You don’t remember?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Langdon was holding his gaze. ‘I’ve met so many people during these