Charters and Caldicott (5 page)

‘An old flame,' Charters amended roguishly.

‘A respectable divorcee of the very best sort. Runs a temps agency now. She can be trusted implicitly. I knew her in Kenya.'

Jenny smiled at the non sequitur. ‘I'm sure that's an impeccable reference.'

The question of Jenny's billet for the night having been settled, Charters was anxious to get home. ‘If you're taking a cab, you can drop me at the Green Line bus stop.'

‘We'd better confer very soon,' said Caldicott.

‘Is that necessary? I've a very full diary next week.'

‘We did find a corpse in my flat today, Charters,' Caldicott reminded him acidly. ‘I think that takes precedence over your parish council meetings and chrysanthemum shows.'

‘Perhaps I could come up for a turkish bath on Monday,' said Charters, ruffled.

‘Do.'

Margaret Mottram welcomed Caldicott, strange girl in tow, to her South Kensington mews house without much surprise. An easygoing woman with a clear sense of priorities, she got busy with the gin bottle while she listened to the bare bones of Jenny's story.

‘He's improving,' Margaret said to her unexpected house guest at the end of the recital. ‘The last time he called he only brought me a goldfish.'

‘The old clothes man gave it to me in exchange for a redundant pair of riding boots,' Caldicott explained. ‘I thought it needed a better home than I could offer.'

‘Now he brings me a beautiful young thing who's left herself for dead on his bedroom floor. Ice and lemon?'

‘Please,' said Jenny. ‘Am I a nuisance? I could always change my name and find a hotel.'

‘You'll do no such thing. If Caldicott hadn't brought you to Chateau Mottram I'd have been livid. If there's anything I can't resist it's a mystery novel – see, I've got them by the yard – and you've stepped right out of chapter one'. Put this down you, love, and then we'll get you into a nice hot bath.' Jenny accepted a generous gin and tonic.

‘But not until we've rummaged through that swapped handbag of yours, I hope,' said Caldicott. ‘There must be
some
clue as to who this Helen Appleyard is – or was.'

‘I've been through it once. There's very little to go on,' said Jenny, tired and depressed at the end of a long, upsetting day.

Margaret sympathised. She leaned forward and snapped the bag shut. ‘Now that can wait till morning. The owner of that handbag's dead so she's not going to run away.'

‘I thought you were gasping to get your teeth into the mystery,' Caldicott protested.

‘So I am, when Jenny's had at least ten hours' sleep. That girl's pooped. She ought to be in bed.'

‘I'm all right – really,' Jenny said unconvincingly, sipping her drink.

‘There you see – tough eggs these Beevers,' said Caldicott.

‘All the same, she's had an exhausting and trying day. How would
you
feel if you walked into someone's flat and found a body on the floor!' said Margaret.

Caldicott began to nod sympathetically, then his head jerked upright. ‘But I did! And nobody tells
me
I ought to be in bed.'

‘Story of your life, dear, isn't it?' Margaret said with a wink. ‘Come along, my girl. Say goodnight to your Uncle Caldicott and he can come and see you again for breakfast.'

Jenny smiled and allowed herself to be led away. ‘Do you always call him by his surname?'

‘My dear, even his mother called him by his surname.'

Caldicott sipped his drink contentedly, sank deeper into his armchair and tried to look indignant.

Dusk was falling by the time Charters reached home. As he put his key in the lock he heard a banging noise coming from somewhere. Stepping back to investigate he spotted a side window open and swinging gently to and fro. Charters hesitated apprehensively, then opened his front door and went in.

Caldicott had a few words he wished to say to Grimes before he went up to his flat. The porter's desk was deserted but Caldicott pressed the bell in a determined manner and paced up and down the lobby until Grimes emerged from the basement.

‘I thought it might be you, Mr Caldicott. Only I've just got back from the police station. The questions I've been asked today, sir!'

‘Not to mention the questions you're about to be asked. Come on, man, why did you let that woman into my flat?'

‘For £250, sir. She only offered £100 at first but I turned her down flat,' said Grimes virtuously.

‘Very commendable, I'm sure. And who was she?'

‘I thought that was established, sir. Miss Beevers. Though the name she preferred to give me was Miss Smith.'

‘Yes, well her name wasn't Smith and you know damn well she wasn't Miss Beevers.'

‘All I know, sir, is that another young woman's been round
calling
herself Miss Beevers. When I heard you say
this
one was Miss Beevers, who was I to argue? I didn't want to get you into trouble, see, Mr Caldicott.'

‘You're the one who's in trouble, laddie. Now, what do you know about this woman?'

‘Nothing, sir.'

‘Nothing? And you let her, into my flat? I expect you thought I was giving up the lease and she'd been sent round by the estate agents with an order to view.'

‘It's the same as what I told the police and what I've kept on telling them, Mr Caldicott – she said you had some correspondence of hers that she'd be happier getting back, on account of she was getting married.'

‘And you believed her!'

‘Not for me to say, is it, sir?' Grimes smirked.

‘No, it's merely for you to pocket 250 smackers, isn't it? Where did she come from – she didn't just walk in out of the street?'

‘That's just what she did do, sir. Came in yesterday – looking very upset and could she have a word. Spun me a tale and then asked was there any particular day I could be sure of Mr Caldicott being out, and when he
did
go out, could I ring her right away at this number.'

Caldicott grabbed the crumpled piece of paper Grimes produced. ‘Did you give the inspector this number?'

‘Not me, sir. I told him what he asked me about and no more. So if you should want to keep this phone number quiet – he thinks she came back by appointment, style of thing.'

‘Did you just wink at me, Grimes?' Caldicott demanded, outraged.

‘Twitch in the eye, Mr Caldicott.'

‘Yes, well look here. You and I are not in collusion over this business. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Oh yes, Mr Caldicott.'

Caldicott made as if to go, then stopped and asked in what he hoped was an off-hand manner, ‘That duplicate key, by the way. What did Inspector Snow make of it in the end?'

‘Same as I made of it. She must have snitched it while my back was turned – in case I had second thoughts and wouldn't let her in. Only explanation there
can
be – isn't it?'

‘Yes, I expect you're right.'

‘I suppose it's got to go to the landlords, sir – about me letting her in?'

‘It certainly ought to, Grimes. You've betrayed a trust.'

‘I know I have, sir, and I'm ever so sorry. If there was anything I could do...'

‘There's one thing you
can
do, laddie, and that's keep your trap shut.'

‘I understand, Mr Caldicott.'

‘You don't understand anything, Grimes, and you don't have to. Except this. Someone wanted to kill the real Miss Beevers. Thanks to a series of fortuitous misunderstandings they now think they have. Until the murderer is brought to book, that's how we need it to remain. And that's all you need to know. Now you're on probation, Grimes. If any of this gets out, you're for the high jump.'

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

‘Very well.' Caldicott strode off to the lift, reaching it just as the doors opened to let out a woman holding a collecting tin. ‘Ah, another victim,' she beamed, pouncing on Caldicott.

‘Good evening,' said Caldicott coolly.

‘Would you like to give something to the Children's Fund?'

‘Of course.' While Caldicott fumbled for change, the lady gushed, ‘It's not really our flag day until tomorrow, but I find people are much more generous if I beard them in their dens.'

‘Flag Day!' Caldicott gasped, giving a decent imitation of Paul on the road to Damascus.

‘I hope you don't mind. It's in a very good cause.'

‘Indeed it is, dear lady, indeed it is.' To the woman's utter astonishment, Caldicott whipped out his wallet and stuffed a fiver into her tin. Brushing aside her thanks, he stepped into the lift. ‘Oh, and by the way,' he said, pressing the floor button. ‘The porter there is also good for a fiver.'

Highly excited, Caldicott hurried into his flat, threw down his bat and umbrella and beaded straight for the phone.

‘Tudor Cottage. Charters speaking,' Caldicott heard. ‘Oh, it's you, Caldicott.'

‘Charters, are you busy at the moment?'

.'Well, it is rather an inconvenient time, since you ask.'

‘This won't take a sec, old man, and it is rather important. It's just come to me where we've seen Helen Appleyard before. Do you know who she was, Charters? She was the flag seller outside the Club. You remember – selling petunias although it wasn't Petunia Day.'

‘Yes, I remember.'

‘Clearly she was double-checking that we were where Grimes had told her we'd be, before nipping smartly round to the flat. I say, Charters, you don't seem very surprised.'

‘No, I'd already worked it out for myself.'

‘Oh,' said Caldicott, peeved. ‘Then here's something I bet you haven't worked out. Do you remember that chauffeur standing next to her, lolling against the Jag?'

‘Vividly.'

‘There was only a handful of chaps in the Club before lunch. We knew all of them and none of them runs to a chauffeur-driven Jag. Do you know what I think, Charters? I think that chauffeur was Helen Appleyard's accomplice.'

I'm inclined to agree with you. Is that all you have to say, Caldicott?'

‘Is that all
you
have to say, Charters?' said Caldicott indignantly.

‘As I've already said, you've caught me at an inconvenient time. Goodbye, Caldicott.'

‘Goodbye, Charters,' said Caldicott, hurt as well as angered by Charters' inexplicable attitude. He put the phone down.

At the other end of the line, in his cosy cottage, Charters also replaced his receiver. He sighed, then spun round in his swivel chair to face, once again, the chauffeur Caldicott had correctly identified as Helen Appleyard's accomplice. He was holding a revolver aimed straight at Charters' heart.

 

In spite of his uniform and a fittingly obsequious manner, the chauffeur managed to exude a kind of seedy menace more suited to a small-time crook. ‘Very good,' he said as Charters put the phone down.

‘That's as may be,' said Charters.

‘You were sensible.'

‘I was prudent.'

‘Prudent, then. Now you prudently unlock that trunk.' Jock Beevers' battered and rope-bound trunk had been dragged down as far as the half-landing of the open staircase. Charters had evidently disturbed the chauffeur before his job was finished.

‘You clearly have something to learn about the English language, Mr...? You are English, aren't you?' Getting no reply, Charters went on, ‘Prudence is the virtue of caution. As a cautious man, I'm unlikely to turn over the contents of Colonel Beevers' trunk to an armed intruder without credentials.'

The chauffeur was unimpressed. ‘I've already scratched your nice parquet landing getting it so far. If I have to drag it out to the car it's going to cause a lot more damage.'

‘French polishing is no problem in these parts,' Charters said airily. ‘We're blessed with some very fine craftsmen. Moreover, dragging that trunk out will take time – a commodity you don't possess.'

‘I've all the time in the world – time to tie you to that chair and persuade you – no, that's not the right word either – to hand over those keys.'

‘I think not. That telephone call just now was from my friend Mr Caldicott.'

‘Clairvoyant, is he?'

‘We've been in many tight spots together, he and I. We've therefore evolved a system of speaking in code.'

‘So when you say he's ringing at an inconvenient time, that's a signal for him to dial 999,' the chauffeur sneered, not believing a word of it. ‘Something of the sort.'

‘Pull the other one, it's got bells on.'

Right on cue, they heard the siren of an approaching police car. The chauffeur, startled, dashed to the window as the car, its roof light flashing, drew up outside the cottage. Charters, who couldn't have been more surprised if Concorde had landed on his front lawn, pulled himself together with difficulty. ‘You see,' he said smugly. Yet even with help at hand, Charters, no coward, made no attempt to stop the chauffeur as he fled through the back door. Nor did he mention his intruder to the two policemen standing on his doorstep.

‘Good evening, Mr Charters, sir,' said the sergeant. ‘Sorry to make such a racket but it's the only way we could get through them sheep. That lane's jam-packed with the beggars.'

‘They roll over the cattle grid, you know – sheep have more nous than is generally appreciated. Come in, Sergeant Bellows. Constable – what can I do for you?'

‘We're on an errand for Scotland Yard, sir,' said Bellows, preceding his constable into the cottage. ‘An Inspector Snow. Says he's already had discussions with you and he'd like us to take possession of a trunk.'

‘Oh, yes. A moment, Sergeant Bellows. Let me shut the back door,' said Charters, missing another opportunity to unburden himself to the Law.