breath and he felt the side of an open hand smash down on his neck behind the ear.
He saw a white flash and slumped to the ground.
‘I thought you were never coming, Paul! I’ve poured your coffee out.’
‘Oh, thanks, darling.’
‘I’ve told Charlie to make you an omelette. Is that all right?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘How does your head feel this morning?’
‘It’s not too bad. I could kick myself for letting that chap get away!’
‘Do you know, Paul,’ she said now, remembering her behaviour with shame, ‘although I was worried I had a most terrible fit of the giggles. I just couldn’t help myself.’
‘I don’t know why the devil you didn’t hit him with something! I’m afraid you didn’t come up to scratch, darling!’
‘You didn’t exactly come up to scratch yourself!’ Steve flashed back. Then she relented and put a hand on her injured husband’s arm. ‘Have you been in touch with the Yard?’
‘Yes, I spoke to Superintendent Vosper. He’s calling round after breakfast.’ Paul cocked his ear at the sound of the front door bell. ‘Perhaps that’s him now.’
A minute later Charlie appeared at the door of the dining-room. He looked haggard after his broken night’s sleep. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs T.’
‘Yes, what is it, Charlie?’
‘There’s a Mrs Portland’s called – she wants to see Mr Temple.’
Steve turned to Temple in surprise. ‘I thought you’d arranged to see Mrs Portland at her hotel?’
‘I did. I said I’d drop in about eleven.’ Temple shrugged. ‘It’s all right, Charlie, you can show her in.’
Steve would hardly have recognised the woman who walked in as the Stella Portland she had met on her second evening on board ship. She was wearing a dark grey costume, the nearest thing to black that she possessed, and had aged by ten years. Gone was her confident, contented manner. She clearly felt it was no longer worth while taking trouble over her make-up and her eyes were red from weeping.
Steve rose to meet the American, her face showing concern.
‘Good morning, Mrs Portland. We’re just having some coffee, won’t you join us?’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Mrs Temple.’ Stella’s voice was weary, drained of emotion. ‘A cup of coffee certainly would be very welcome.’
‘You look tired,’ Steve said, pulling a chair back for her.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I didn’t sleep very well last night.’ Stella made a great effort to pull herself together. She gave a pathetically forced smile. ‘I’ve just been for a walk in St James’s Park. It’s a lovely park, isn’t it? You know, there’s no place like London, is there? I don’t know why, but I always think the trees look different. Sam would have loved it over here … It’s an awful pity that …’ The brief attempt at bright conversation had failed. She closed her eyes and choked back a sob.
‘Do sit down, Mrs Portland.’
Stella took the proffered chair, as Charlie came in with another cup and saucer. No one spoke as Steve poured the coffee and pushed the milk and sugar towards her.
Then Temple remarked pleasantly, ‘I think we had an appointment at eleven o’clock.’
‘Yes, we did, Mr Temple.’ Stella was immediately contrite. ‘I’m awfully sorry dropping in on you like this.’
‘That’s all right,’ Steve reassured her. ‘We’re delighted to see you.’
‘I thought we might be able to talk better here than at my hotel. You see …’ A hint of desperation crept into Stella’s voice. ‘Mr Temple, did Sam talk to you about his watch-chain? Did he show it to you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact he did. Mrs Portland, what is this all about?’ Temple’s voice also betrayed him, showed his impatience. ‘Hubert Greene came here last night, he told me that you’d lost the chain and yet when I telephoned you at your hotel you …’
‘No, no, I haven’t lost it. It’s here. I want you to have a look at it, Mr Temple. Please …’ Stella had opened her handbag. She produced a chain with a watch at one end and a shiny penny on the other. She handed it to Temple. ‘Is that the chain that my husband showed you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m reasonably sure. It’s got the penny on the end and it looks exactly the same. Yes, this is it all right.’
‘Did my husband tell you about the penny?’
‘He said it was in his pocket when a policeman called Dan Kelly arrested him for jay walking. That was in Chicago in 1952.’
‘That’s right,’ Stella confirmed.
‘Your husband told me rather a remarkable story, Mrs Portland. He said that, from the moment he was arrested his memory was a complete blank and he simply couldn’t recall …’ Temple, turning the penny over in his hand, had stopped dead and was staring at it.
‘Paul, what’s the matter?’
Temple pushed the penny across the table. ‘Steve, look at the head on this penny!’
Steve examined the penny and looked at Paul, puzzled. ‘What about it?’
‘That’s Queen Elizabeth. She had not come to the throne when Portland was picked up in Chicago. Look at the date on the back.’
Steve turned the penny over and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘1957!’
‘But that’s impossible!’ Stella exclaimed. ‘If the penny wasn’t made until 1957 Sam couldn’t have had it in his pocket when he was arrested.’
‘Exactly, Mrs Portland. When I met your husband, the first morning we left New York, he told me that although he was known as Sam Portland, Portland was not his real name. He told me that he didn’t know his name, had no idea of his identity.’
‘That’s perfectly true.’ Stella had added milk and sugar to her coffee. Now she began to stir it. ‘Thirty-five years ago a policeman called Dan Kelly found Sam wandering aimlessly down Portland Avenue in Chicago. He couldn’t even remember who he was or where he’d come from. Is that the story my husband told you?’
‘Part
