Charters and Caldicott (15 page)

Venables lowered his club. ‘Would you mind, Charters?'

‘Sorry, Venables. I'm Caldicott, actually,' said Caldicott as Venables swung his club again. Venables glared at him.

‘Do let's not chitter-chatter on the green, Caldicott,' said Charters. ‘Sorry, Venables.'

Venables played off at last. ‘More luck than judgement there, I'm afraid,' he said, pleased with his shot. ‘Yes, one gathers he was in league with a certain Colonel Pokrovski in Moscow, if that name means anything to you.'

‘It does as a matter of fact,' said Caldicott as they made their way down the fairway. ‘Jock often used to yarn about him.'

‘His Russian opposite number when he was with the Control Commission in Berlin after the war? Best days of his life, he used to say,' said Charters.

‘They probably were. That must have been when they hatched this highly profitable scheme out,' said Venables. ‘One doesn't know what Pokrovski made out of it but I hear your friend Beevers finished up with not far off a cool million.'

Caldicott whistled. ‘But not a spy,' said Charters.

‘Not a spy.'

‘That's very good news, Venables,' said Charters. ‘Very good news indeed. I always knew in my bones that Jock Beevers was incapable of treachery.'

‘Yet you don't seem surprised that he was capable of icon­running.'

‘Oh, indeed not. He always had a weakness for that type of exploit, didn't he, Charters?' said Caldicott.

‘A distinct
Boy's Own Paper
streak, I'd say.'

Venables, about to stroke his ball to the green, considered that last remark. ‘I was never a big reader of the
Boy's Own Paper
–' he broke off to hit the ball, ‘Left, you brute, left! – but I don't think their heroes usually made a practice of defrauding Customs and Excise while in the service of HMG, what?'

‘Quite,' Charters grunted, shamefaced.

Charters and Caldicott digested this new information about Jock while they completed the tenth hole and teed off at the eleventh. As the golfers followed their balls, Caldicott said, ‘So that accounts for his forged passport, false-bottomed Bible and all the rest of it.'

‘Yes, I expect it does,' said Venables.

‘You haven't come across Jock Beevers' daughter Jenny during your inquiries, have you Venables?'

‘Inquiries, my dear fellow? What inquiries?'

‘You know very well, Venables!' said Charters, firmly. ‘The inquiries that led you to the conclusion that Jock was not a spy but a smuggler.'

‘Oh, that. Shall we say that it came to my notice.'

Venables putted to within a couple of inches of the eleventh hole and held up the pin for Caldicott. ‘If one
is
allowed what you term an “inquiry”, however, I suppose you chaps know nothing about your friend's extramural activities over the years – that goes without saying?'

Charters, who had reverted to his usual form, emerged from a bunker in the wake of a shower of sand. ‘Then why say it?'

‘What was that curious phrase in that note to you both from Beevers? “Mix Well and Serve”, was it?'

‘How did you know about that?' Charters demanded.

‘Oh, it came...'

‘To your notice, yes,' Charters finished. ‘Look here, Venables, let me ask you a question. Just who the devil are you?'

Venables straightened his tie and said reproachfully, ‘You know me, Caldicott. We belong to the same Club.'

‘I'm aware of that and my name's Charters.'

‘Well, then! Venables – chairman of the Wine Committee.' And with that he sunk his ball smoothly.

‘M15, I'd say, or M16 – whatever cloak and dagger name they give themselves these days,' said Caldicott, stirring his tea thoughtfully. He and Charters had omitted their customary visit to the nineteenth hole and had hurried straight to Margaret Mottram's to give her the latest news.

‘I don't think so, Caldicott,' said Charters. ‘Otherwise he'd have lost interest once it was established that Jock Beevers was never involved in spying activities. No, he's still got the bit between his teeth. Police Special Branch, that's my guess.'

‘Is that a promotion or demotion from Official Mourner at funerals?' asked Margaret, amused.

‘Official Mourner, my Aunt Fanny,' Charters snorted. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Mottram.'

‘If he's heard of your Mix Well and Serve conundrum, he can only have got that from your chum Inspector Snow, can't he? So perhaps he
is
some kind of policeman.'

‘Could be,' said Caldicott. ‘Although he didn't rise to the bait when I mentioned Jenny Beevers, did he, Charters?'

‘Venables isn't given to rising to bait, Caldicott. There's much of the basking shark in that man's make-up. I know one thing. If we allow him to ply his seedy trade on the golf course, they'll be letting in double-glazing touts next. I shall write to the secretary.'

‘In the strongest terms,' said Caldicott. ‘And now I suggest, Margaret, that we mark our formal detachment from all these recent unpleasantnesses with a modest celebration.'

‘Oh, goody – are you going to get me drunk?'

‘No, we are not going to get you drunk, my girl – we are taking you to the pictures.'

‘We thought the local Classic,' said Charters. ‘It
is
in English.'

‘Oh, yippee,' said Margret drily.

‘Come on, Mottram, put your bonnet on,' said Caldicott. ‘Or would you rather spend the next couple of hours sipping cold tea and endlessly chewing over a case that no longer concerns us?'

‘I wouldn't mind if it was cold gin, but you're right. Unless that fake Jenny Beevers turns up on my doorstep to return my best pigskin suitcase I never want to hear of that little cuckoo in the nest again. I'll just go and powder my...'

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. The three of them jumped, and stared at each other in consternation. ‘Milkman wanting his money,' said Margaret, relaxing, and going to answer the door.

Charters consulted the evening paper. ‘You realise we've seen this film before?'

‘Oh yes, when it first came out. 1962, wasn't it?'

‘Even earlier than that. It was the year School thrashed Harrow.'

‘No, that was 1959. It was the year Winchester thrashed School 1962.'

The pair squabbled over the date, using their usual cricketing terms of reference, while Margaret chatted on the doorstep. She seemed to be taking a surprisingly long time to pay for a few bottles of milk.

‘We'll soon settle the matter,' said Charters. ‘If Mrs Mottram would oblige us by hurrying herself. They always print the date on the credit titles.'

‘Yes, Charters, but only in roman numerals. Can't make head nor tail of them.'

‘Ah, now there's a particular reason for that practice, Caldicott,' said Charters knowledgeably. ‘You see, when the film is reissued as this one is now, it may not be in the distributors' interests to let their audiences know just how ancient the...' He broke off, thunderstruck, as Margaret came back into the room accompanied by Inspector Snow.

‘Well, I'll be blowed,' Caldicott exploded. ‘Did Grimes tell you you'd probably find us here? I'll skin that little weasel alive!'

‘There's such a thing as unwarranted intrusion, Inspector,' said Charters. ‘First you hound us in our Club, now you gatecrash this lady's private tea party. Mrs Mottram, you don't have to receive him in your drawing-room, you know. He can just as well conduct this interview in the kitchen.'

‘Wouldn't be the first time,' said Snow. ‘Don't worry, Mrs Mottram, it won't take a minute.'

‘Yes, but we don't happen to have a minute at our disposal,' Caldicott objected. ‘We're just off to the pictures.'

‘Nobody's stopping you, Mr Caldicott.'

‘Good,' said Caldicott. Then the words sunk in. ‘Eh?'

‘It's Mrs Mottram I've come to see. Just an informal word, Mrs Mottram.'

‘With me? Why?' asked Margaret nervously.

‘Mrs Mottram knows nothing whatever about this business, Inspector,' said Caldicott.

‘Except what you've told her, eh?'

‘We're old friends. We have discussed the case, naturally.'

‘Including the fact that the dead girl originally believed to be Jenny Beevers turned out to be Helen Appleyard from Hong Kong?'

‘That much was in the papers,' said Margaret, recovering her composure.

‘Married to Josh Darrell's chauffeur, likewise found dead on the one weekend all three of you happened to be staying at Mr Darrell's place in the country.'

‘That's right.'

‘Why?'

‘Why was he killed? I don't know, Inspector, I'm not a detective.'

‘No, I don't mean why was he killed. I mean, why were you there?'

‘Like the other twenty or thirty guests, I was invited. I do a lot of business with Mr Darrell.'

‘Yes, but these two don't. They didn't even know him.' Snow began absent-mindedly to pile the used tea things onto the tray.

‘If you really want to know, Josh Darrell is an incurable lecher. I couldn't turn down his invitation because I needed his business. But I asked Mr Caldicott and Mr Charters along as my – well – minders, I suppose.' Charters and Caldicott straightened their shoulders and puffed out their chests in a doomed attempt to look like minders.

‘Mm. No question of the three of you going to Mr Darrell's to see what you could find out?'

‘About what, Inspector?' Charters asked.

‘About why the murdered wife of his chauffeur was being passed off as the daughter of your old friend Colonel Beevers.'

‘But until you told us otherwise we didn't know she
wasn't
‘Jenny Beevers,' Caldicott lied.

‘Didn't you, Mr Caldicott? No, I'll tell you why I ask. You see, it transpires that when she slipped Grimes £100 to let her into your, flat...'

‘A measly £100! He told me £250.'

‘Yes, well he would tell you that – it puts him in a better light. But you see she never claimed to be Jenny Beevers at all. Whereas a different young lady who called at Viceroy Mansions asking for you
did
claim to be Jenny Beevers.'

‘Really?' said Caldicott faintly.

‘Really. As you know.'

‘
How
do I know?'

‘Grimes told you. As he told me – eventually. And you advised him to keep his trap shut.'

Caldicott made a recovery. ‘I advised Grimes to keep his trap shut because he changes his story from one minute to the next. He'll say anything to get himself off the hook.'

‘A notoriously unreliable witness, friend Grimes, Inspector,' said Charters.

‘Yes, there's a lot of it about, Mr Charters. Now, I won't keep you, Mrs Mottram. I'm just wondering about this girl you've had staying with you.'

Margaret, shaken, seized on the fact that Snow was holding the teapot. ‘Shall I get you a clean cup, Inspector?' she asked in an unnaturally high voice.

‘Not for me, thanks.'

‘Oh, then thank you for clearing up my tea things.'

‘I do it automatically. Drives my wife barmy, I don't know why. You know which girl I'm talking about, Mrs Mottram? Usually in a grey suit. Until Friday when she left with a pigskin suitcase.'

Margaret winced at the mention of her case but said easily, ‘There are girls coming and going all the time, Inspector. I run a temps bureau – I prefer to interview new recruits here where it's quiet rather than in my office with the phones ringing like Bow Bells.'

‘And do they all have pigskin suitcases?'

‘If it was Friday, that's not so very unusual. The kind of girls I employ usually go away for the weekends.'

‘And they usually wear grey suits?'

‘Practically their uniform this season. Sloane Rangers, you know – they're like peas in a pod.'

‘And if it came to it, I suppose you could produce the very girl who was seen leaving here with a suitcase at three-fifteen on Friday?'

‘I don't have my diary here but I expect I could – if it came to it. But you're chasing a red herring, Inspector.'

‘I am that, Mrs Mottram,' said Snow, preparing to take his leave. ‘And when I catch it I shall have it kippered for breakfast.'

 

‘Now you guarantee this hasn't got an eagle-eyed detective in it?' said Margaret, settling herself into her seat in the sparsely filled cinema.

‘Firm promise,' said Caldicott. ‘Boggle-eyed butler, yes, eagle-eyed detective, no.'

‘He's on to us, you know.'

‘Evidently, as Grimes appears to have blown the gaff, but he isn't on to the murderer. And so long as we keep from under Inspector Snow's feet, that will remain his main preoccupation. Ah, good show, Charters.'

Charters pushed his way along the row carrying ice-cream tubs. ‘One chocolate chip, one raspberry ripple,' he said, handing them out.

‘How very kind,' said Margaret, fumbling in her handbag.

‘No, no, no.'

‘Thank you.'

‘We'll settle up later.'

Margaret allowed her grateful expression to fade and turned back to Caldicott. ‘I know you're the eternal optimist but you can't seriously imagine the inspector isn't going to bother us again?'

‘I'm quite sure he is. All the more reason why
we
shouldn't bother
him
. Keep out of his hair and don't concern ourselves with other people's murders.' Caldicott stopped abruptly, staring into his ice-cream tub as if it contained worms. ‘This is raspberry ripple!'

‘I couldn't agree with you more,' said Charters. ‘On both points. A. I've said all along we should leave it to the police and B. I just said it was raspberry ripple.'

‘I must say I haven't quite the appetite I had,' said Margaret.