Charters and Caldicott (25 page)

‘Why are we here, Caldicott? We're here to see England take another three wickets before tea on present form.'

‘That goes without saying, Charters. What I meant was, why did we come north in the first place? Why did we go to Norton and West?'

Charters looked at him with concern. ‘I know a good deal has happened, old chap, but surely you remember – we were directed there by Jock's letter.' He dug it out. ‘There, you see. For Johnson read N. Orton – Norton – then A.N.D. Weston. And West. One of his confounded clues, like his fictitious charity match and the non-existent Old Corinthians.'

‘Yes, I know that, Charters – but why? Why did he send us to Norton and West?'

‘Why? Isn't it obvious why? If we hadn't gone to Norton and West, we should never have recovered Jock's letter, nor pinned down Wrigley as the murderer.'

‘But Jock wasn't to know that Wrigley would have his letter – much less that he would have taken it from St Clair's body. I repeat, Charters, why are we here?'

The next batsman was walking to the wicket but Charters was staring at the letter. ‘I begin to wonder, Caldicott. I begin to wonder.' They dutifully watched the next over and joined in the smattering of applause; then Charters returned to his study of Jock's letter. ‘Norton and West,' he muttered, frowning.

Caldicott's attention had wandered to the neighbouring public stand where a nun sat engrossed in her Bible. ‘Now that's a sight one doesn't often come across at a Test Match.'

Charters allowed himself a perfunctory glance. ‘You'd think, having come here, she'd pay attention to the game. Norton and West. Do you know what I'm beginning to think, Caldicott?'

‘You too, old man!'

‘What?'

‘Pay attention to the game. The over's begun.'

Charters did as he was told.

Gordon Wrigley, a tense Meg in tow, paid for entry at the turnstile and began to search the ground for Charters and Caldicott. Hot on their heels came Snow, Tipper and Margaret who were all admitted free on Snow's pass and at once split up to track down Wrigley. Inevitably, Venables had beaten them all to Old Trafford. Holding a cool drink and sporting a pair of expensive binoculars, he strolled to the front of the pavilion balcony and looked down benignly upon Charters and Caldicott. Perfectly oblivious to all this activity, they were applauding the end of another over.

‘That was leg before, if you want my opinion, Caldicott,' said Charters.

‘Oh, I don't know, Charters. Benefit of the doubt, what? Mark you, a couple more degrees of spin on that ball and you may well have had a case. You were saying?'

Charters stared at him in sudden excitement. ‘A couple more degrees!'

‘No – that's what
I
was saying. What you were saying was something about Norton and West.'

‘But that's it, Caldicott! When Jock referred us to N. Orton and Weston he didn't mean Norton and West!'

‘No?'

‘No!' Charters flourished the letter. ‘That's what was beginning to dawn on me, and now it's perfectly evident. It was the nearest he dared get to spelling out North West.'

Caldicott looked at him blankly. ‘North West?'

‘North West.'

‘How do you make that out?'

Charters thrust the letter at him ‘See!'

‘Hold on, old chap. The over's starting.'

Charters and Caldicott settled back to enjoy the new over while assorted search-parties scoured the ground for them and each other. Margaret had actually reached the members' enclosure but her attempt to saunter casually inside was foiled by an alert steward. On the balcony, Venables applauded the fall of another wicket and peered down at Charters and Caldicott through his binoculars.

‘Now, see what you make of this, Caldicott,' said Charters, picking the letter up off his lap.

‘Half a jiff, old chap, must keep the scorecard up to date.'

‘Never mind your scorecard for the moment, Caldicott. Where are those notes you made from Wisden when we made the comparison with the school year-book?'

Caldicott stared at him, astonished. ‘Never mind my scorecard?'

‘I said, for the moment. Just let me see those figures while their next man is padding up.'

Caldicott got out his notebook. ‘What's this north-west business? I don't follow.'

Charters tapped the letter. ‘This rigmarole about the batting order. Degrees, Caldicott. North-West. Degrees latitude north, degrees longitude west.'

‘I'm beginning to twig this, Charters. So by changing round all these averages and so forth as instructed...'

‘We get the chart references for Jock's U-boat of gold, or I'm a Dutchman. Now. “For R.H.L. Johnson as Captain read N. Orton.” Write down North – “whose innings figures should be the same as Larkin's”.' Caldicott obediently wrote twenty-one. ‘”Boyd-Mason's average should be reversed with that of T.P. Cowling.”' Caldicott wrote down 69.93 then glanced up, prepared to discuss this remarkable figure, but Charters' mind was not on cricket. ‘Then the non-existent Weston – put down West – and his non-existent bowling average of 17.43. And finally, “Number of runs scored off L.G. Palmer should be 100 less than the total given”.' Caldicott painstakingly subtracted one hundred. ‘Nine-0-six. Is that it?'

Charters looked at Caldicott's figures. ‘Yes. 21 degrees north. No, that's impossible.'

”Why? Is it in the middle of Greenland?'

‘No, it isn't anywhere, Caldicott. It's simply not possible.'

‘Why not?'

Charters sighed. ‘You never did that advanced map reading course in the army, did you? Take it from me, old fellow – that can't be a bearing. It's like saying the time is 2.26 and 93 seconds.'

‘Nearer half-past, actually,' said Caldicott, consulting his watch.

‘As for the longitudinal reading – far too high.'

‘Oh, I don't know. Bear in mind the school had a very good batting side last year.'

‘It simply isn't a chart reference, Caldicott,' said Charters, exasperated. ‘And a moment ago I was so sure I had it.'

‘Supposing we juggle the figures around a bit more?'

‘We can juggle them till hell freezes over, Caldicott – there are simply too many digits. Besides, this next paragraph about the fictitious Old Corinthians being 131 for three not out in their first innings. How does that fit in?'

‘Search me, old fellow.'

‘It doesn't make sense.' Charters frowned over the letter. ‘Or does it?'

Margaret had discovered a tunnel that Jed into the members' enclosure and appeared to be wholly unguarded. Primly buttoning up her jacket as she passed a sign saying ‘No bare torsos', she slunk through and up into the enclosure, tiptoeing past a row of dozing colonel-types. One of them opened an eye blearily. ‘Good God! It's a woman!'

‘He's not wrong,' said Margaret with a wink as she was escorted back past him by a pair of stewards.

Caldicott had given up playing navigators and was attending to the game but Charters, still closely observed by Venables, continued to worry over the letter. ‘Corinthians,' he muttered to himself.

‘Good show.' Caldicott gave Charters a bemused glance. ‘I say, you missed a fine save there, old chap.'

‘Corinthians!' Charters leaped to his feet and made off across the pavilion enclosure, deaf to Caldicott's scandalised, ‘I say! Watch out, Charters, you're walking behind the bowler's arm!'

As Caldicott watched in amazement, Charters approached the railings, raised his hat to the nun who was still reading her Bible, said something to her and returned holding her Bible and leafing feverishly through its pages.

‘What the blazes are you up to, Charters?' Caldicott demanded. ‘You'll have us thrown out.'

‘Corinthians, Caldicott! Corinthians first innings – or, One Corinthians. One-three-one for three or, if you run the figures together, thirteen thirteen. One Corinthians, chapter thirteen verse thirteen.' Charters stabbed his finger at the open page and read, ‘“And now abideth faith, hope, charity; these three; and the greatest of these is charity”.'

Caldicott gasped. ‘Charity! By Jove, Charters, our visit to the old school! The only purpose of which was to inform us, via the bursar, about an old boys' charity match which never took place!'

‘Yes. One had deduced that while you were gawping at the cricket.'

‘One does not gawp, Charters, when Botham is bowling. One concentrates.'

‘Yes, I withdraw that remark, I do beg your pardon, Caldicott. I was pre-occupied.
These three
– just supposing. Give me your notebook again.'

‘You're missing some awfully good cricket, you know, Charters,' said Caldicott wistfully, handing it over.

Having failed to effect an entrance into the members' enclosure itself, Margaret descended the steps of the adjoining public stand. Looking for Charters and Caldicott through the railings she was spotted by Venables who raised his hat and drew her attention to where the pair were sitting some distance away. Margaret, not quite recognising Venables, nonetheless smiled her thanks and waved at Charters and Caldicott to try and attract their attention.

‘Faith, hope and charity,
these three
, Caldicott. That's the significant word,' said Charters, oblivious of Margaret.

‘I thought the significant word was charity. The greatest of these is charity.'

‘Indeed, but he has already drawn our attention to charity, though for what reason we know not. But
these thre
e. Suppose we divide those numbers we had
by
three. We now get 07 23.31 north, 58 13.02 west. This could very well be the precise position we're looking for.'

‘Really? Where is it?'

‘How the devil should I know?'

Margaret abandoned subtle measures, put her fingers to her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Startled, Charters and Caldicott spun round to see who on earth could be making such an infernal racket. Identifying Margaret, they gave hideously embarrassed smiles. ‘Thank God she didn't get into the members' enclosure,' Caldicott muttered. ‘Ignore her, Charters.' Wearing glassy grins that disowned her, they turned their attention back to the match.

Margaret, seeing them peering around nervously a moment later, threatened to whistle again. For all that it was the middle of the over, they were galvanised into action. Crouching down so as not to spoil anyone's view of the cricket they made a scuttling run across the enclosure in the manner of Groucho Marx. ‘I say, Margaret, you're causing a distraction,' said Caldicott, squatting beside the railings.

‘They'll be even more of a distraction if Wrigley finds you. He's scouring the ground for you.'

‘Never fear. There's little he can do,' said Charters.

‘Don't be too sure, Charters,' said Caldicott. ‘A man who'll commit murder probably shows scant respect for the conventions of cricket.'

Charters wasn't convinced.

‘And Inspector Snow agrees,' said Margaret urgently.

‘Is he here, too? You know, I think we
had
better make ourselves scarce, Charters. Let's watch from the bar – neither Wrigley nor Snow will find us there.'

‘Why shouldn't they?' asked Margaret.

‘Not members,' said Charters.

‘Boom-boom. I walked right into that one, didn't I?'

‘You might just return this to Sister over there,' said Charters, handing Margaret the Bible.

‘Really, I knew you supported England but I didn't know you prayed for them,' said Margaret. As she turned to hand the nun the Bible, she recognised Wrigley, Meg still in tow, at the top of the public stand. At the same time, Wrigley spotted Charters and Caldicott and, dragging Meg with him, headed round to the back of the members' enclosure.

‘Get the hell out of here,' said Margaret. ‘I'll see if I can find Inspector Snow.'

Venables, having watched all this activity with detached interest, turned away, his glass empty. 

Wrigley shoved aside the steward who tried to stop him getting into the members' enclosure and, deaf to Meg's pleading, began to search frenziedly along the rows of seats. Charters and Caldicott watched from their vantage point in the bar as he came nearer and nearer. When discovery seemed imminent, they abandoned their positions, fled from the enclosure through the tunnel Margaret had discovered earlier and hurried into the scoreboard building. High amongst the statistics of batting and bowling, first Charters' head, then Caldicott's appeared, framed in two small windows. By ill luck, Wrigley spotted them and tried to argue his way past another officious steward. Snow arrived at the entrance to the members' enclosure, Tipper and Margaret at his heels. ‘Get that man! He's armed!' Wrigley made a dash for it, scattering spectators to left and right.

Charters and Caldicott, observing the scene from high above, exchanged embarrassed looks across the record of the day's play and withdrew their heads. Caldicott took a fiver out of his wallet and handed it to the scorekeeper. ‘Thanks awfully, old son. Do have a large drink in the tea interval.' He gave a last glance out at the ground and said to Charters, ‘I do believe the blighter's got away.'

‘Not for long – and he certainly won't bother
us
again.'

On their way back to the members' enclosure, Charters and Caldicott passed the open door of the press room. Charters glanced casually inside. ‘Hold on, Caldicott. Let's just drop in here for a minute.'

The cricket correspondents, engaged in watching play from the verandah or typing up their reports, ignored the new arrivals. Charters went over to a large table scattered with newspapers, old Wisdens and, among other reference books, one that had particularly attracted his attention: a battered Times Atlas. ‘You were asking, before we were so rudely interrupted, for the precise location of that chart reference I worked out – if it really is a chart reference. We'll know soon enough.'