Mr. Calder & Mr. Behrens

by Michael Gilbert

  “That’s right.”

  The three of them were sitting in a small back room in a dock-side pub at Tilbury which Mr. Behrens had hired for the occasion. He said, “You weren’t entirely sober that night in Cairo.”

  “Ah, but we were provoked. Our moral sense was outraged.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I mean, it’s one thing for a taxi-driver to offer to sell you his sister. That’s fair enough. But when he offers to sell you his mother! Anyone might let fly if they had a proposition like that made to them. You might yourself, Mr. Berrings.”

  “The situation is unlikely to arise. In any event, it’s your intentions for the future, not your past, that I’m here to talk about.”

  Martin Croft looked at him thoughtfully. Fortyish, Mr. Behrens thought. Chunky. His wits about him. His younger brother was a malevolent lump. Both self-confident, with the confidence which came from coping successfully with various violent situations.

  “You know,” said Martin, “when you invited us in here for a little talk I thought, hullo, he’s a copper. Then I thought, no. Can’t be. Too old. So perhaps he’s a reporter. Wants to buy our life stories. But I shall have to disappoint him.”

  “Oh, why? You must have had very interesting lives.”

  “The fact is, we’ve been paid too much, one way and another, not to publish them. It’s one of the things I’ve found out in life Mr.—”

  “Behrens.”

  “Mr. Berrings. Sometimes you get paid more for not doing things than for doing them. For instance, when Selby and me was in America there was this Senator – Hochstatter his name was – we was paid five thousand dollars each for not killing him. Which was funny, since we’d no idea of doing anything of the sort.”

  “Was that why you were deported?”

  Martin looked disconcerted for a moment. He said, “Oh, you knew about that, did you?”

  Selby said, abruptly, “Just who are you, mister?”

  “You got something there, Selby. He isn’t a copper, he isn’t a reporter. So who is he?”

  Mr. Behrens said, “I’ve been sent down by certain people who have an interest in seeing you behave yourselves.”

  “No-one’s got the right to put a finger on us. We’re clean. Who are these people behind you? What do they want?”

  “My instructions come from the Home Office, who are officially concerned with you because you’ve been the subject of at least one deportation order.”

  Selby lumbered to his feet. He said, “I’ve had enough of this bloody monkey-talk.”

  Martin Croft said, “Lay off, Selby. I want to get to the bottom of this. Why should anyone suppose we’re not going to behave? Perhaps you can tell me that?”

  Mr. Behrens took a deep breath. He said, “Your record speaks for itself. You’ve spent the last twenty years of your life peddling violence – in places where violence was appreciated. The message I’m trying to get through to you is this. There’s no market for it here.”

  Martin Croft said, slowly, “I think you’ve got a nerve, coming down here, lecturing us, like we was a couple of naughty kids. What’d you do if I threw you through that window?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Take it any way you like. We’ve done more than that to people who’ve annoyed us. Remember that American reporter in Cuba, Selby? We took him by an ankle each and swung him against a tree. They were hours and hours picking his teeth out of the trunk.”

  Mr. Behrens said, in his gentlest voice, “I quite understand. And now you are threatening me with the same sort of violence.”

  “I wonder,” said Martin equally softly, “what happens if we say yes?” He seemed to be listening. “Got men outside? Come rushing in? Search me and Selby? They won’t find a thing.”

  “It’s true you’re not carrying guns at this moment,” said Mr. Behrens. “But you both own them. Yours, Martin, is a P.38, number RN9688. Selby’s is a Mauser. I can’t tell you the number, because it’s been filed off. The steward who carried them ashore for you has been arrested and charged. Whether he implicates you depends on how much he loves you – or how much you’ve paid him.”

  Silence descended again. The brothers seemed to sense, for the first time, something menacing in the spare, grizzled scholarly man in front of them.

  At last Martin said, “Let him say what he likes, you’ve still got nothing you can pin on us.” Selby growled his agreement.

  “A little matter of threatening me with violence, wasn’t there?”

  “Two to one. Who’s going to believe you?”

  “If it comes to the point,” said Mr. Behrens, “I expect they’ll believe the tape recorder.”

  “Are you telling me you’ve got this place bugged?”

  “Naturally. Why do you think I brought you in here?”

  Martin got slowly to his feet. He looked at his brother. He said, “We’ve got work to do, Selby. We’re going to take this bloody room to pieces and find that bloody recorder, and break it on this character’s head.”

  “Waste of time,” said Mr. Behrens. “Everything’s gone straight through on the wire to London. It’s probably been typed out in triplicate by now.”

  “You did that very nicely,” said Mr. Fortescue. “I did wonder, for a moment, whether they would take a chance on it, and assault you. In a way that would have suited us very well.”

  “I was fairly sure they wouldn’t,” said Mr. Behrens. “They’re not young tearabouts. They’re middle-aged professionals. Even if they’d thought I was bluffing, they wouldn’t have taken a chance on it. Incidentally, that steward wouldn’t give them away. It wasn’t just money. He was afraid of them.”

  “Thoroughly undesirable customers,” said Mr. Fortescue. He sounded as though he was refusing them an overdraft at his bank.

  “What do you plan to do next?”Calder has an idea about that.”

  “I did think,” said Mr. Calder, “that it’d be a good idea if we put them somewhere where they’d have plenty of opportunities to get involved in trouble. Suppose we let them have a tip-off that Major Porter was looking for new talent. He sacked a rather ineffective muscle man called Naylor last week, so he’s got at least one vacancy on his staff.”

  Mr. Fortescue thought about it. He said, “If it can be done discreetly, it might work well. We would, at least, know where they were. But I don’t want any unnecessary violence.”

  Mr. Calder promised, meekly, that there would be no unnecessary violence. He knew that the episode of the Pike and Eels was neither forgotten nor forgiven.

  Managing matters with discretion took time. Time to get the information, at fourth hand, to the Crofts. Time for them to vet the major and the major to vet them. It was on a fine morning in early May that they turned up at the Island Club to be given their instructions by Leo Harris, the major’s chief of staff.

  “In the ordinary way,” he said, “it isn’t a hard job. Most of the work’s at night, when the tables are going. Perhaps someone loses money and gets a little bit upset about it. Or perhaps they’ve had too much to drink. Then you have to cool them off.”

  “Bounce them,” said Martin. “That shouldn’t be too difficult. What’s amusing you, Selby?”

  “He said, cool them off. All we’ve got to do is drop ‘em in the river, right?”

  “Certainly not,” said Mr. Harris. “For the most part they are thoroughly respectable people. You put them in the motor launch, land them on the bank, and persuade them not to return.”

  “And that’s all there is to it?”

  “Not quite. There are the betting shops that have to be looked after. It’s a cash trade, so no bad debts to be collected. But it does happen, sometimes, that one of the managers gets ideas. Puts the money in his pocket, not in the books. When the auditors spot anything like that, you and Selby pay the manager a visit—”

  “And hold him upside down until the money runs out of his pockets.”

  “You’ve got the idea exactly.”


  It was nearly a fortnight before they saw the major, who’d been away on business. When he summoned them to his office, they noticed that his right hand was in a glove. He said to the Crofts, “Sit down. Harris has been giving me a good report on you. You seem to handle the work very competently.”

  “Well, you see, Major, it’s the sort of job we’ve done in rougher places than this.”

  “I’m sure the routine work gives you no trouble at all. What I’ve got for you now, is a special job.”

  Martin looked at him speculatively. He said, “Special job, special pay?”

  “Naturally.”

  “If there’s someone you want done, it’ll come expensive. Selby and me are aiming to keep our noses clean just now.”

  “Not someone. Something. There’s a dog I want to have destroyed. A dangerous and savage dog. It attacked me the other day.”

  “Is that why you’re wearing that glove?”

  “Yes.” The major removed the glove and Martin looked curiously at the hand. The print of Rasselas’ teeth showed clearly on the back. “He severed two tendons. I’ve got the use of the hand back now. But it was painful.”

  “I’ll say. It sounds the wrong sort of animal to mix with.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you mix with it. I’ve been making some enquiries. The animal belongs to a Mr. Calder. He lives in a cottage, two miles from the village of Lamperdown in Kent. I suggest—”

  “That’s all right, Major,” said Martin. ‘’Leave all the details to Selby. He’s the marksman. Less you know about it the better.”

  At six o’clock in the morning, three days later, Mr. Behrens’ telephone rang in his bedroom at the Old Rectory, Lamperdown. Mr. Behrens sat up in bed, couldn’t find his glasses, swore, found his glasses, picked up the receiver and said, “Hullo.”

  “It’s me,” said Mr. Calder.

  “I guessed as much. What do you want now?”

  “A little help,” said Mr. Calder. “There’s a man holed up in an oak tree on the edge of the wood opposite my front door.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Rasselas spotted him. He refused to let me open the front door, and he’s been ‘pointing’ him for the last five minutes.”

  “But you haven’t actually seen him?”

  “No. When I used my binoculars, I did think I spotted a slight movement. What I guess he’s done is knock a hole in the hollow part of the trunk, and fixed his rifle up inside. That’d give him a rest for the gun, and good cover.”

  “He sounds like an old hand,” said Mr. Behrens appreciatively.

  “That’s why you’ll need to take him very carefully.”

  “I’ll need.”

  “Well, I can’t come out. They may have the back covered too.”

  “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “It won’t take long,” said Mr. Calder. “You know the back path through the wood. All you’ve got to do is follow it, and you’ll come out right behind this joker.”

  Selby had reconnoitred the place the evening before and had fixed up his hide before it was light. He was wearing a camouflage jacket. He was a careful and experienced sniper. The range he had estimated as two hundred yards. The telescopic sight was focused on the front door of the cottage, about eighteen inches above the ground. He was happy to wait. Sooner or later the door would open.

  He tensed. The door had swung half open – showing a black gap. Who would fill it first? Man or dog?

  The voice behind him said, “Don’t turn round too quickly.”

  Selby froze.

  “Leave that rifle exactly where it is, and come out. What I’ve got here is a twenty-bore shot gun. It’s got such a comfortable spread that I couldn’t possibly miss you. Come out, and stand up.”

  “I know you,” said Selby stupidly.

  “We met at Tilbury, and had a short talk. I remember warning you against peddling your brand of violence in this country.”

  “Violence,” said Selby. “Who’s talking about violence? I came here to shoot a fox.”

  “In some parts of the country, that’s regarded as worse than murder. Have you got a licence for that rifle?”

  “What’s it got to do with you?”

  Keep him talking.

  “Look,” he said, “let’s be reasonable about this, shall we?”

  Get one step closer, then duck under the barrel and collar him round the legs. Would the old coot have the nerve to pull the trigger?

  “I didn’t mean any harm to you. Right? It’s just a job I’m doing for a friend. As a matter of fact, it isn’t a fox. It’s a dog. A nasty dangerous animal.”

  “I shouldn’t say anything to upset him,” said Mr. Behrens.

  Selby heard a slight sound and swung round.

  Rasselas was standing just behind him. His nose was a few inches from Selby’s leg, and he was grinning.

  “Listen,” said Martin Croft. “You’ve got to get him out.”

  He was trying to speak reasonably, but there was an undercurrent in his voice which Major Porter found disturbing. He had employed rough people before, but never anyone of quite this calibre.

  He said, “They can’t pin anything on him except the licence business. It’ll only be a fine. I’ll see it’s paid.”

  “You don’t understand, do you? You’re not trying to understand. The way we’ve always worked is not to get mixed up with the law. Once they convict you of anything you’ve got a record. They’ve got your prints. You’re pegged.”

  “Selby ought to have thought of that before he let himself be caught.”

  “Let himself?” Martin’s voice went up. “Let himself nothing. He was doing your dirty work. A private grudge job.”

  “I chose him because I thought he could do a simple job. Not make a mess of it.”

  “When you talk like that,” said Martin slowly, “I don’t like you.”

  The major was not a fool. He knew when he had gone too far. He said, “There’s no point in quarrelling. That won’t get us anywhere. Tell me what you want me to do, and if it’s reasonable, I’ll do it.”

  “What you’ve got to do, is buy Selby out.”

  “Buy him?”

  “That’s right. Slip what’s necessary to the top policeman or judge, and kill the case.”

  “You can’t do it. Not in this country.”

  “Let me tell you,” said Martin, “I’ve bought my way out of trouble in every bloody country I’ve ever operated in. The only difference is, some cost more and some cost less. Don’t tell me they’re so snotty-nosed in this country they don’t know folding money when they see it.”

  The major considered the matter. Then he said, “First things first. Your brother’s been committed for trial by the magistrates. They refused him bail. But they don’t have the last word. There’s an appeal to a judge in Chambers. We’ll do that next Monday. Get the best lawyers – a QC if necessary. It’ll take a bit of organising. We’ll have to put up two sureties. You can be one. I’ll be the other.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Martin.

  “Fortescue doubts if we can hold him,” said Mr. Behrens.

  Mr. Calder said, “As soon as he gets bail, he and his brother will skip. They’ve probably got half a dozen different passports, and as many ways out.”

  “Which is exactly what we want.”

  “It’s not what I want,” said Mr. Calder, coldly. “I want Major Porter.”

  “You’re taking this very personally.”

  “You seem to forget that he arranged to have Rasselas murdered.”

  Later that day he had a word with Superintendent Hadow, with whom he was on friendly terms, having known him when he was attached to the Special Branch.

  “Certainly I’ve heard stories about this club,” said Hadow. “Crooked play, and people being roughed up when they wouldn’t pay up. The trouble is, nobody’s ever been prepared to stand up in court and say so.”

  “But you’d like to shut the place up?”

  �
�Certainly. Give me an excuse to take away its gaming licence, or even its drink licence, and it’d be dead.”

  “A bad case of disorderly conduct? Fighting? Use of firearms? Would that do it?”

  “If it was reported to us.”

  “Suppose you actually heard it. You’ve got two police launches which make regular patrols. Next Monday, suppose one of them put me quietly on shore at the end of the island? Let’s say at half past eight. Then they both cruise downstream, turn round and come back timing their arrival for exactly nine o’clock.”

  “And you think,” said the Superintendent, “that if they did that, they might, at nine o’clock, just by coincidence, hear enough evidence of disorderly conduct to justify them investigating?”

  “I’m a great believer in coincidences,” said Mr. Calder.

  At half past four on Monday afternoon Martin Croft came out of the High Court, into the Strand. He was accompanied by his solicitor and Mr. Mortleman, QC. He said, “Well, what do we do next?”

  “Better come back to my Chambers and talk about it,” said Mr. Mortleman.

  The Chambers were in Queen Elizabeth Buildings and overlooked the Embankment.

  “I’ve never known an application for bail more strenuously resisted,” said Mr. Mortleman. “The charge is trespass when armed with a rifle for which no licence had been obtained. In simpler terms, you might call it poaching. A first offence, too. We offer them two sound sureties, who are prepared to deposit the money in court if necessary. If it had been you alone, Mr. Croft, if you’ll excuse me saying so, they might have hesitated. You’re no longer, I believe, a national of this country, and have no fixed residence here. But Major Porter is quite different. He’s a substantial citizen, with a house, and a business.”

  “Then why did the beak say no?”

  “He didn’t say no. He agreed to adjourn the matter for a week so that the police could complete their enquiries. He didn’t like doing it. And I’m quite certain that when we do come up next week he’ll grant the application.”