Charters and Caldicott

by Stella Bingham

  ‘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 three. 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.

  CHAPTER 18

  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.’

  ‘Whether it is or where it is?’

  ‘Either or both. If it leads us to the rain forests of Borneo, we’re on the wrong trail again.’ Charters checked the notes he’d made on the back of Jock Beevers’ letter and turned the pages of the atlas. ‘Fifty-eight west, seven north – this region, I fancy.’

  Caldicott looked over his shoulder. ‘Brazil? Possible.’

  ‘No. Much further west and much further north. Somewhere about here.’ Charters jabbed at the map.

  ‘But that’s in the sea!’

  ‘Of course it’s in the sea, Caldicott. Where else would you expect to find a submarine?’

  One or two of the correspondents glanced up curiously at this.

  ‘But how do we know that’s where the submarine did scuttle itself?’ asked Caldicott, examining the map as if expecting to find a symbol indicating the actual wreck.

  ‘We don’t – that’s the trouble. The position seems likely enough but it could be a coincidence. If only we had one more clue to tell us we’re on the right track.’

  ‘Charters, look here, old man,’ said Caldicott, almost reverently.

  ‘I’m afraid this small type defeats my glasses.’

  ‘Then take them off and use them as a magnifying glass.’

  Charters followed this suggestion and peered closely at the blurred outline of the Guyanan coast. Finally he focused the lens over one place-name – Charity.

  Charters and Caldicott beamed at each other and shook hands. ‘The largest of Scotch and sodas, Caldicott,’ said Charters as they turned to leave the press room. Wrigley stood in the doorway. To the astonishment of the cricket correspondents, he was pointing his gun at Charters.

  ‘You’ve already had your count of ten, Charters,’ said Wrigley, positioning himself to fire.

  ‘Gordon, no! No more!’ Meg burst in and seized his arm. In the struggle that followed, the gun went off. Snow, Tipper and a constable rushed in as Wrigley threw Meg to the ground and dashed for the verandah. The police made as if to follow but stopped abruptly when Wrigley turned the gun on them.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Wrigley,’ said Snow. ‘Drop the gun on the deck and walk forward.’ Margaret came softly into the room and put her arm round Meg. ‘Just drop it, Wrigley. Come on, lad, you can’t do anything now. Just drop the gun and…’

  Another shot rang out. Meg buried her face in Margaret’s shoulder. The sergeant ran to Wrigley lying on the ground but Snow stayed where he was, shaking his head.

  The cricket correspondents had all jumped to their feet – except for one particularly cool customer who picked up his phone, dialled and asked for the news desk.

  Charters and Caldicott exchanged what they thought to be worldly glances and turned again to the door. As they passed Meg, Caldicott patted her shoulder and Charters coughed sympathetically.

  ‘I’d say that stiff drink was still in order, wouldn’t you, Charters?’ asked Caldicott.

  ‘Mr Charters, Mr Caldicott,’ Snow called after them. ‘You won’t be going far, will you?’

  ‘Not until close of play, Inspector,’ said Caldicott. As Snow joined them, he went on more quietly, ‘We can take it he’s dead?’

  ‘Not a pretty sight. Still, look on the bright side – no trial. That does mean your statements can be a little less, shall we say, detailed than they might otherwise have been. We don’t want to waste
police time, do we?’

  ‘Good Lord, no, that would never do,’ said Caldicott.

  ‘What will happen to Wrigley’s wife, Inspector?’ asked Charters.

  ‘Not a lot, I shouldn’t think, Mr Charters. What happens to us all? I suppose there are peripheral charges I could make, but once we start on that game we never know where to stop, do we? Mr Caldicott?’

  ‘Indeed no. Thank you, Inspector Snow.’

  ‘I trust we may be able to help you again one day, Inspector,’ said Charters, civilly. Snow shuddered and closed his eyes.

  ‘Two extremely large Scotch and sodas,’ Caldicott ordered, but before the words were out of his mouth the drinks were put before them. They followed the barman’s glance down the bar and saw Venables drinking by himself at the far end. He raised his glass to them and they, with reluctant good manners, raised theirs in return.

  ‘What the blue blazes is be doing here?’ Charters muttered.

  ‘God knows,’ said Caldicott through a fixed grin.

  ‘If he claims to be the official keeper of the Ashes or any such nonsense, I shall have it out with him.’

  Caldicott turned away from Venables and was confronted by the even more unwelcome sight of Margaret, Meg close behind. ‘You can’t come in here!’ Caldicott hissed, hideously embarrassed.

  ‘There, Meg, I said you should wear a tie,’ said Margaret. ‘She’s all in. Brandy.’

  ‘He would refuse to serve us!’ Caldicott belatedly remembered what Meg had been through. ‘I say, are you all right? You’ve had a frightful, er, experience.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve known ever since Helen’s death that it would have to end something like this. I just wanted to apologise to you both for all the trouble I’ve caused. And to thank you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Charters, taking her arm. ‘Now if you’ll allow me to show you the way…’

  Margaret stayed put. ‘What about that medicinal brandy?’

  ‘Oh dear, this is very difficult.’

  ‘And I’ll have a medicinal gin and tonic.’

  ‘Look here,’ said Caldicott. ‘Why don’t we go across and have a nice drink in the Ladies’ Lounge?’

  ‘Can’t. You’re not ladies and we’re not members.’

  ‘Pity. We could have been your guests.’

  ‘That’s all right. We can be your guests.’

  ‘Ah, but you see, this is members only,’ said Charters.

  ‘Vive la différence.’

  Charters and Caldicott exchanged desperate glances and peered furtively about them. Deeply disapproving glowers met them on all sides. Only Venables seemed to find the situation amusing.

  ‘Well, my dear, I don’t know what your arrangements are,’ said Charters pointedly to Meg.

  ‘Oh, look after Father as best I can. He’s still got Josh Darrell to worry about, remember. And I suppose I’d better write to Jenny in New York about the plot that failed.’

  ‘Quite. I meant your immediate arrangements.’

  The barman finished making a phone call and gave Charters and Caldicott a meaningful cough. They sidled over and listened to his whispered message. Before rejoining Margaret and Meg, they exchanged a few discreet words of their own.

  ‘The stewards are on their way,’ said Charters. ‘Now look here, Mrs Mottram, we don’t want a scene.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  Charters ignored her and said to Meg, ‘Jock Beevers’ will. Jenny has the original one, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. And you have the later one.’

  ‘No. There is no later one,’ said Caldicott. ‘Isn’t that so, Charters?’

  ‘Positively,’ said Charters, grasping Meg’s elbow again. ‘And now…’

  Meg resisted. ‘But there is. We all know there is.’

  ‘Misunderstanding,’ said Caldicott.

  ‘Jock was thinking of changing his will but in the event he never got round to it,’ said Charters, putting the lie they’d agreed upon as succinctly as he could. ‘You may be sure that if the will in Jenny’s possession goes for probate, no one will come forward to challenge it.’

  Meg was overcome. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘By leaving instantly.’

  ”Home-time, ducks,’ said Margaret, apparently capitulating. ‘You need sleep and I need my pigskin suitcase.’

  ‘Goodbye and good luck,’ said Caldicott.

  Charters and Caldicott heaved heartfelt sighs of relief as Margaret took Meg out. ‘Large ones, I think,’ said Caldicott, turning back to the bar. Charters nudged him. Glancing round, be found that Margaret had returned. ‘Now look here, Mottram!’

  ‘You’re taking me out to dinner tonight, that goes without saying. I just want to make it clear that one subject is banned.’

  ‘Yes, I know you hate cricket.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about cricket. I was thinking about the murders. So we’ll just get it over with now, shall we?’

  ‘Mrs Mottram, I really must ask you to leave,’ said Charters as two stewards came into the bar.

  ‘I’ll leave when I have the answer to one question. In a sentence, how did you know it was Wrigley?’

  ‘Not in a sentence, dear lady, in a word. Deduction.’

  ‘What a coincidence. That’s how Inspector Snow worked it out.’

  Caldicott took her arm. ‘Yes, well tonight you can tell us how you worked it out, clever britches.’

  ‘Oh, no – no shop-talk, remember.’ Margaret smiled at the two hovering stewards. ‘Shan’t keep you a jiff, ducks. Anyway, it was just a routine blinding flash. I was driving over the Pennines this morning when out of the blue I suddenly remembered something. You know that weekend with Josh Darrell?’

  Caldicott gave the stewards an embarrassed grin. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘I overheard him on the phone to Wrigley, telling him that you two had turned up and wanting to know who you were. And it was quite plain that Wrigley already knew you were there.’

  ‘So he did,’ said Caldicott, temporarily forgetting his social difficulties in his interest. ‘And only one person could have told him. His wife – our little cuckoo in the nest.’

  ‘Plain as a pikestaff, isn’t it,’ said Charters. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Mottram.’

  ‘Show Mrs Mottram to her taxi, would you?’ said Caldicott to the stewards. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t have that blinding flash earlier, Mottram. Your inspirational tardiness has cost us a full morning’s cricket.’

  ‘Still, never mind, so long as you know how it ends. It’s like detective stories, isn’t it?’ With a naughty wink at the scandalised pair, Margaret linked arms with the stewards and departed.

  ‘Large ones, barman,’ said Charters. He nodded towards Venables. ‘I suppose we’ve got to buy that fellow a drink?’

  ‘Can’t be avoided, old chap. He bought us one. And whatever that gentleman is having,’ said Caldicott, completing the order.

  Venables reacted with exaggerated surprise to the arrival of a full glass, then raised his drink in thanks. Charters and Caldicott, raised theirs in return and Venables moved along the bar towards them. Charters and Caldicott, with reluctant civility, shuffled forward to meet him half-way.

  ‘Salute,’ said Venables.

  ‘Your health, Venables,’ said Charters.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Caldicott.

  ‘An eventful day,’ said Venables.

  Charters nodded. ‘Very. What’s the score?’

  ‘One hundred and fourteen. No more wickets since your hasty departure from the members’ enclosure, you’ll be relieved to hear.’

  ‘Nothing to be relieved about. England needs those wickets, Venables,’ said Caldicott.

  ‘What do you know about our hasty departure, Venables? Are you spying on us again?’ Charters demanded.

  ‘Observing. I am an observer.’

  ‘Ha! Your official title, I suppose.’

  ‘No. My official title, such as it is, is Special Investigator fo
r the Treasury.’

  ‘The Treasury,’ said Caldicott, surprised. ‘What – tax and so forth?’

  ‘Gold and so forth.’

  Charters and Caldicott exchanged uneasy glances. ‘Oh, that,’ said Charters.

  ‘That. Any, er, news at all. Of its whereabouts?’

  ‘I don’t see what that is to you, Venables. Or the confounded Treasury.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Caldicott. ‘Britannia may rule the waves and all that but I don’t think that extends to possession of a German U-boat sunk thirty years ago off the coast of never mind where.’

  ‘That’s one view,’ said Venables blandly. ‘Another view is that Colonel Beevers was a serving officer when knowledge of the U-boat came into his possession. Any submarine gold, then – it could be argued – would be government property.’

  A prolonged round of applause from the ground distracted Charters. ‘Someone out, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Or a thundering good six,’ said Caldicott.

  ‘We really should be witness to these excitements, wouldn’t you agree,’ said Venables, leading the way outside.

  ‘This Treasury of yours…’ said Charters when, drinks in hand, they’d established themselves in front of the pavilion.

  ‘I wouldn’t say one’s Treasury, Caldicott,’ said Venables, beginning to fill his pipe.

  ‘Charters,’ said Charters.

  ‘As the case may be. One’s paymaster.’

  ‘If this gold should be recovered, would the authors of its recovery have a say in what was done with it?’

  ‘All those millions, what?’ said Caldicott, his eyes lighting up. ‘Hospitals? Lads’ clubs? Cricket grounds for deprived areas? I say, we could set up a trust fund.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. The Treasury is to cash what blotting paper is to ink. It simply — absorbs.’

  Charters and Caldicott grunted their disappointment and looked at each other. Caldicott raised an inquiring eyebrow and Charters nodded in agreement.

  ‘Do you have a match, Charters?’ Venables asked, his pipe filled.

  ‘No, he’s Charters,’ said Caldicott. ‘I have a lighter.’

  ‘Never light a pipe with a petrol lighter. Bad for the tobacco. Allow me.’ Charters folded Jock Beevers’ letter into a spill, lit it from the lighter and handed it to Venables.