‘St Clair. Do you believe that was yet another accident?’ Caldicott asked Meg.
‘Look, all these people – Helen Appleyard, Gregory, St Clair – were criminals. Desperate with greed. They’d have killed either of you, both of you, just to get what they wanted. They’d have killed me; they’d have killed my husband.’
‘If he hadn’t killed them first.’
Meg had fine-tuned her moral judgement in the interests of self-preservation and there was nothing more to be said. Now that all aspects of the mystery had been cleared up, Charters was conscious again of the call of Old Trafford. Caldicott caught him surreptitiously consulting his watch and did the same himself. ‘Yes, time is getting on, Charters, isn’t it? I enjoyed our chat Wrigley, Mrs Wrigley, but now we really must be making tracks.’
‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to call us a taxi,’ said Charters.
‘The will,’ said Wrigley.
Caldicott shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid after all we can’t help you on that one.’
‘Please!’ Meg pleased. ‘Not for me, for Jenny and my father.’
Charters looked down his nose. ‘One doesn’t wish to be sanctimonious…’
‘Well, dammit, I do wish to be sanctimonious,’ said Caldicott. ‘You got into all this to protect your father. Sooner or later he’s going to learn that however far he may have strayed from the straight and narrow, his daughter has strayed a good deal further. Whatever you do now, you can’t shield him from that.’
‘As for poor Jenny,’ said Charters. ‘From what you tell us, she’s regrettably beyond the help of worldly fortune.’
‘But she isn’t!’ said Meg. ‘With money there are operations she could have – a new clinic in Texas. But you know what these things cost over there.’
Caldicott wavered. ‘What do you say, Charters?’
‘What I say, Caldicott, is that provision for Jenny may safely be left with us. There are ample funds available and I’m sure it would be her father’s wish. As to handing Jock Beevers’ last will and testament over to this blackguard, I should sooner be roasted over a slow fire.’
‘Hear hear! Shall we go, old man? We’ll probably pick up a cab at the corner.’
Charters and Caldicott stood up defiantly and prepared to take their leave like ordinary guests. Wrigley picked up the gun that had been lying unregarded on a table.
Meg pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘Gordon – no!’
‘Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure if precedent is anything to go by, the verdict will be self-defence,’ said Caldicott.
‘Sit down,’ said Wrigley. ‘You already have the will, don’t you?’
‘As we used to say at school, Wrigley, that’s for us to know and you to find out,’ said Charters.
‘We went to different schools, Charters.’ Wrigley raised his revolver and pressed the barrel to Charters’ temple.
CHAPTER 17
Margaret changed into something suitable for watching cricket, summoned a taxi and set off for Old Trafford. A minute or two later her taxi stopped abruptly, made a speedy U-turn and dashed back to the hotel. Margaret, very agitated, hurried across the lobby to where Snow and Sergeant Tipper were going over some papers spread across a coffee table.
‘Charters and Caldicott are with Gordon Wrigley.’
Snow leaped to his feet. ‘The stupid old…! Where?’
‘At his house. My cab driver took them there.’
‘Is he sure it was Charters and Caldicott?’
‘He remembers them vividly,’ said Margaret laconically.
‘I’m going to count to ten, then it’s your turn,’ said Wrigley to Caldicott, holding his gun to Charters’ head.
‘Gordon, you can’t!’ Meg pleaded.
‘Look here, Wrigley! Charters doesn’t know where the blasted will is.’
‘Decent of you to bluff, old man,’. said Charters gruffly. ‘The secret dies with me, Wrigley. Caldicott knows nothing.’
Wrigley began to count – slowly. He’d got as far as nine when the drawing-room door burst open and Jacob Norton was wheeled in by his nurse. Regardless of the circumstances, Charters and Caldicott rose with automatic courtesy. Wrigley hurriedly hid the gun.
Norton glared at his unexpected guests. ‘What are you two doing in my house?’
Meg kissed him, greatly relieved. ‘Father, this is Mr Charters and Mr Caldicott. We met in Hong Kong – they were very old friends of Jenny’s father.’
‘Is that what they told you? It’s not what they told me.’
‘Told you what? I didn’t know you’d even met,’ said Wrigley.
‘You don’t have to know all my business, Gordon. Meg, what have they been saying to you?’
‘Oh, just chewing the fat, don’t you know,’ said Caldicott reassuringly. ‘About this morning, sir – I believe we may owe you an explanation.’
‘You do that.’
‘Possibly in private,’ said Charters, a plan of escape occurring to him.
‘We don’t need to bother Mrs Wrigley with our tiresome business affairs,’ said Caldicott.
‘You can wheel me round the garden.’ Norton turned to his nurse. ‘Lunch in ten minutes.’
Powerless to stop them, Wrigley watched Charters and Caldicott push Norton’s chair through the french windows and down the garden path, Jock Beevers’ letter safely in their charge once more.
Always the appreciative guest, Caldicott glanced about him. ‘Wonderful show of roses you have.’
‘Betty Uprichards, I believe,’ said Charters.
The party came to a halt at the far end of the garden beside a door set into the wall. ‘This’ll do,’ said Norton. ‘We’re out of earshot now.’
‘And eyeshot, too, which is more to the point,’ said Caldicott. ‘That door, Mr Norton. Does it lead to the outside world?’
‘Never mind that. Come on, let’s have it then! What’s your game, the pair of you?’
‘Cricket, sir. We’ve already missed the first morning’s play.’ Charters opened the door and peered out. ‘A most convenient alley.’
‘Sorry to desert you, Mr Norton. I’m sure your nurse will be along in a jiffy. Good morning.’ Caldicott joined Charters in a hasty retreat through the door.
Wrigley looked round as Norton’s nurse brought in his lunch tray. ‘He’s still in the garden. You’d better go and fetch him.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Come on, Meg.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘The same place they’re going.’
‘It’s no use, Gordon. It’s all over.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
Their car, Wrigley at the wheel and a set-faced Meg beside him, sped out of the drive seconds before a police car carrying Margaret, Snow and Tipper drew up outside the house.
Charters and Caldicott took a fast bus back to their hotel and hurried up to Charters’ room. As soon as they were inside, they tugged open their shirt collars and let out simultaneous sighs of relief. Caldicott shed his jacket and picked up the phone. It was time to bring Inspector Snow up to date with developments. While he waited for London to answer, he peeled off his braces and began to unbutton his shirt.
While Charters undressed, he heard Caldicott, in the surprising absence of both Snow and Tipper, prepare to bring enlightenment into the life of a very junior, unknown policeofficer. The constable refused the part allotted to him. ‘He says they know who the murderer is too,’ Caldicott reported in a hurt manner as he accepted Charters’ shirt in exchange for his own. ‘Are we talking about the same chap?’ asked Caldicott, still hoping to surprise Scotland Yard. ‘Oh, very well. One was only trying to do one’s duty as a citizen.’ He hung up in a huff. ‘Says Inspector Snow has everything in hand and will we please keep our noses out of it.’
‘Impertinent little pipsqueak! You got his name, did you?’
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out,’ said Charters, fingering his, collar with relief as they got out of the lift.
> ‘So am I, Charters, much more satisfactory.’
‘You know, these reachme-down shirts are really quite comfortable.’ Charters dropped his key at the reception desk on the way out. Venables, the clubman, paused in the middle of signing himself in and watched their departure for Old Trafford with a smile.
Charters and Caldicott were fortunate enough to find seats in front of the pavilion. As they settled themselves in, scorecards at the ready and hats adjusted against the sun, an English fielder welcomed them with a spectacular catch. They applauded the returning batsman, recorded his innings on their cards and sat back contentedly. Unexpectedly, a frown flickered across Caldicott’s face. ‘I’ll tell you something that’s been puzzling me on and off, Charters. Why are we here?’
‘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 mutte
red 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.
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