Charters and Caldicott (26 page)

‘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 for 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.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,' said Venables between puffs. ‘So you thought that sunken gold would go to a good cause?'

‘Had we found out where it was,' said Caldicott mendaciously.

‘To
charity
, perhaps?'

Charters and Caldicott gave Venables a sharp glance but a splendid piece of cricket distracted them.