Mr. Calder & Mr. Behrens

by Michael Gilbert

  He said, “They seem to be having a bit of a debate in there. What is it? Two anglers arguing about who caught the biggest fish last season?”

  “A friendly argument of that sort I expect, sir.”

  “Not so friendly,” said Mr. Calder.

  There had been a sudden flurry of movement. A crash of a table going over. A rush of footsteps. It sounded as if one of the debaters had made a dash for the door and had been headed off at the last moment.

  Mr. Calder was now listening unashamedly.

  He heard the second voice saying, “You’ve got no right—” and then, in a tone of panic which came clearly through the closed door, “Don’t do it, please,” followed by the sound of a blow.

  Mr. Calder said, “It sounds to me as if the argument is getting out of hand. Do you think, perhaps, you ought to break it up?”

  The landlord leaned forward, with both his arms on the bar, and said, “If I was you, sir, I should just finish up that drink, and push off.”

  Up to that point Mr. Calder had had no intention of interfering. He had enough troubles of his own in the ordinary line of business not to wish to intervene in other people’s quarrels. But the threat in the landlord’s voice had annoyed him.

  He said, “I think I’ll have a look. Perhaps I shall have a calming influence on them. I’ll tell them the story of the angler who caught Brighton Pier.”

  “I’m telling you, you can’t go in there.”

  “Oh! Why not?”

  “Major Porter won’t like it. It’s a private room, see. And he’s reserved it.”

  “It’s labelled ‘Private Bar’. If your pub’s open, all the bars in it are open to the public. That’s the law.”

  “Law or no law—” began the landlord. But he got no further, because Mr. Calder had already moved across and opened the door.

  There were three men in the private bar.

  A red-faced, white moustached military character, dressed in a tight-fitting grey suit was standing in front of the fireplace, with his thumbs hooked in the arm-holes of a checked waistcoat. A young man wearing corduroy trousers and a pullover was sitting in a chair. He was sitting with his chin up and his head tilted back, the reason for this uncomfortable position being that the third man, standing behind the chair, had his hand enlaced in the youngster’s hair, and was pulling his head back over the top rail.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are,” said the red-faced man, “but get the bloody hell out of it, and shut the bloody door.”

  Mr. Calder said, “Good morning.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said get the bloody hell out of it. And I’m not going to say it again.”

  Mr. Calder said, “I ought to warn you, Major. It is Major Porter, isn’t it? The louder you shout, the more angry my dog gets. If he gets really angry, he’ll probably eat a bit out of you.”

  “Naylor. Boot him out. And his dog with him.”

  Mr. Calder transferred his attention to the man behind the chair. During these exchanges he had not moved.

  Now he released the boy’s hair, and came forward cautiously, manoeuvring to avoid the legs of a table which had been knocked over.

  “Naylor?” said Mr. Calder thoughtfully. “You were in D-Division. Got booted out for taking bribes from street bookies. You’re getting a bit old for this strong-arm stuff, aren’t you?”

  “Mr. Calder, ennit?”

  Having made this discovery, he seemed even less anxious to come forward. He said, “I know this man, sir. He’s a—well—he’s sort of official, you see.”

  “I don’t care if he’s your Aunt Tabitha,” said the major. “He’s got no right in here. Remove him.”

  “The major’s right,” said Naylor, sidling up cautiously. “It’s a private room. You’d better be off.”

  “How are you going to make me?” said Mr. Calder genially. “You’re much too fat to fight.”

  “If you’re afraid to tackle him alone,” said the major, “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “That you won’t,” said Mr. Calder. And to Rasselas, “Guard.”

  The great dog had moved like a shadow on springs, and was standing in front of the major, his lips lifted over long white teeth. Naylor made a tentative lunge at Mr. Calder, who dodged, caught the arm as it came past and pulled. The combined effect of the lunge and the pull swung Naylor half round. Mr. Calder chopped him, with economical force, at the point where his spine joined his skull. Naylor keeled over, hitting his head on the protruding table leg as he did so. The major’s hand slid inside his open coat and came out with a gun in it. It was a quick, smooth move, but Rasselas moved even more quickly. His teeth sank into the major’s hand. The gun dropped to the floor and Mr. Calder put his foot on it.

  The major had given a brief cry as the teeth went in. Now he stood very still.

  Mr. Calder picked up a linen runner from the sideboard, said “Loose” to Rasselas, who let go of the major’s hand. Mr. Calder wrapped the runner round it to stop the spurt of blood. Then pulled the silk scarf off Naylor’s neck as he lay on the floor, and tied it firmly round the runner.

  Whilst he was doing all this, Mr. Calder was cursing himself, silently but steadily. He had committed an unpardonable offence. He had interfered in something which was not his business. Moreover he had made a mess. The nursery rule held good. If you make a mess, you clear it up.

  He said, “That should hold until you get to hospital.”

  The major still said nothing. It was partly shock, Mr. Calder thought, but there was a lot of hatred in it too.

  He said to the landlord, who had at last ventured into the room, “Major Porter has had a severe shock. Take him into the bar and fix him up with a brandy. And when you’ve done that come back here.”

  Mr. Garner looked at the man on the floor, looked at the man in the chair, looked at the major, who still said nothing, and finally looked at Mr. Calder.

  “Get on with it,” said Mr. Calder impatiently. “There’s a lot to do.”

  He had picked up the gun from the floor, and was holding it, loosely wrapped in his handkerchief. The sight of the gun seemed to make up Mr. Garner’s mind for him. He said, “Come on, then, Major,” and led him out into the public bar.

  Mr. Calder turned his attention to the young man, who seemed glued to the chair. He said, “I think you’d better clear off now. Have you got some transport?”

  “Y—yes. My moped. It’s in the y—yard.”

  “Then that’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t you want to know about—I mean—about me, and what they were doing?”

  “If it’s important, I’ll find out later. You’d better go out the back way. That door probably leads into the yard.”

  “Y—yes. That would be best.”

  The young man stopped at the door. He seemed to have something on his mind. Then he said “Thank you,” and went out, closing the door behind him.

  Mr. Garner came back. He said, “That’s a nasty wound.”

  “He shouldn’t wave a gun around.” Mr. Calder put it carefully in his own pocket. “My dog’s funny that way. He doesn’t like guns. They make him nervous.”

  Rasselas rumbled happily.

  “It’ll have to be seen to.”

  “Of course. A deep bite like that can be very dangerous. Has the major got a car?”

  “He keeps his car here.”

  “Keeps it?”

  “He couldn’t keep it on the island, could he?”

  That made sense. The major was exactly the sort of man to live in the sort of house he had seen on the island.

  “Could you drive it?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Then run him to the nearest hospital. The sooner they get an anti-tetanus injection into him the better. They’ll probably want to keep him overnight. Have you got someone who could keep an eye on the place?”

  “Ernie can do it.”

  He went to the door and shouted down the garden. Then he came back and said, “What abo
ut him?”

  Naylor had turned over and groaned.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Mr. Calder. “Just banged his head as he went down. Might be concussion. Nothing worse.”

  Mr. Garner said, “Look here. I don’t know nothing about you. You come here. Stir up trouble. And now you’re giving orders. This is my place.”

  “It’s your place,” said Mr. Calder softly, “and it’s your licence. And if anyone found out that you’d allowed Major Porter and his hired thug to use your private bar to bully that young man, and if they knew that the major was carrying a gun, and had drawn it, and threatened a member of the public with it, then I think you might say good-bye to that licence.”

  Mr. Garner stood for a moment, in silence. Then he said, “All right. We’ll do it your way.”

  As soon as Mr. Garner and the major had departed, Mr. Calder hoisted Naylor into a chair, fetched the brandy bottle from behind the bar and poured out a half-tumblerful. By the time Naylor had finished it he seemed to be himself again. The only mark on him was a large, purpling bruise on the side of his forehead.

  Mr. Calder said, “Now, talk.”

  “I haven’t got nothing to say.”

  “And I haven’t got any time to waste,” said Mr. Calder. “If you don’t talk, I’ll get my dog to chew off your fingers. He’s had a taste of blood already this morning. He won’t need much telling.”

  “You leave me alone.”

  “Guard,” said Mr. Calder.

  Rasselas jumped to his feet.

  “All right, all right,” said Naylor, hastily. “What do you want to know? Good dog. Sit down.”

  Rasselas advanced stiff-legged.

  “It’s all right,” said Mr. Calder. “He won’t actually start on you until I tell him to. The only thing is, once he does get going, I’m not sure that even I can stop him.”

  “Then don’t let ‘im get going. What do you want to know?”

  “Just exactly what was going on here this morning.”

  When the landlord came back he found Mr. Calder playing darts with Ernie. Mr. Calder said, “Your other guest has gone. He won’t come back. I’ve had two pints of beer, and Ernie found me some bread and cheese in the kitchen. Oh, and he’s already won two pints off me at darts. If you’ll tot it all up, I’ll pay you and be off. And Ernie, if you wouldn’t mind, I want a word in private with your boss.”

  Ernie grinned and departed to resume his gardening. He was a simple soul, but threw a good dart.

  “What did you tell them at the hospital?”

  “I told them what you said. That a man had come in with a dog, and the dog had thought the major was threatening him, and had bitten him.”

  “Did you mention my name?”

  “I didn’t mention it, because I didn’t rightly know it. I heard that other man call you Corder, or something like that.”

  “Right,” said Mr. Calder. “Now listen to me. This episode is finished. It’s over and done with. Practically, you might say it never happened. If the major wants to take it any further that’s up to him. My guess is he won’t.”

  Here Mr. Calder underestimated Major Porter, but he was not to know this. Back in the village he found that his car was once again in working order. “Temporarily,” said the mechanic. “You’ll need a new pump soon, but it’ll do for the moment.” Mr. Calder thanked him, paid him and drove into Sonning. There was one more loose end to tidy up.

  He found the young man, whose name was James Bird, half asleep in a chair in front of the fire in his lodgings. He said, “I got your address from that ape, Naylor. I want a few details from you. I gather that Major Porter is quite a lad. Owns a chain of betting shops, and at least three gaming clubs.”

  “Four, actually. The largest, and the most profitable, is the one on that island.”

  “And you know all about that because you’re his accountant.”

  “One of his accountants. He uses several.”

  “And you ran into a bit of trouble.”

  “I was a fool. When the major invited me to come over and have a go I was rather flattered. Normally the only people who get invited to the island are his special – friends, and people with a lot of money. I thought I understood the odds. I’d worked out a system.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “All right. You can’t kick me any harder than I’ve been kicking myself. I did make a bit of money – to start with.”

  “Then you started losing. How much?”

  “In the end, just over eight hundred pounds. Of course, I hadn’t got it. I gave them an IOU.”

  “And this morning’s effort was Major Porter doing a bit of debt-collecting?”

  “It wasn’t just the money. He knew that was safe enough. He’s only got to mention the matter to my firm, and I’d have got the sack on the spot. Anyway I’d made him an offer. Two hundred pounds, every three months, with interest at fifteen per cent. I could have managed that. Just.”

  “And he wouldn’t accept it.”

  “It wasn’t the money he was after. He said he’d tear up the IOU and forget about the debit if I did what he wanted. I look after the accounts for some of his betting shops. I do the annual audit. Well – you can guess.”

  “He wanted you to fiddle the books for him,” said Mr. Calder brutally. “And you said you wouldn’t, and he set Naylor onto you.”

  “He told me what Naylor was going to do. He said Naylor would knock out two or three of my teeth and fracture my jaw. I guess he’d have enjoyed watching it. He’s that sort of man.”

  “And if I hadn’t turned up, would you have said yes or no?”

  Young Mr. Bird’s face was crimson. In the end he said, “I think I might have said yes.”

  “Nasty either way,” said Mr. Calder. “Just as well, perhaps, you didn’t have to find out, wasn’t it?”

  Mr. Fortescue pursed his lips and said, “I am astounded that Calder should have behaved in such a stupid way.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Behrens.

  When Mr. Fortescue was astounded in that tone of voice there was little point in arguing with him.

  “A recruit to the service would have known better than to embroil himself with something which was not his concern.”

  The events at the Pike and Eels had been reported to him, as a matter of course, by Mr. Calder, though in a much abbreviated version; but Mr. Fortescue had had no difficulty in reading between the lines.

  “Up to that point he had been doing some useful work. He had accumulated quite a comprehensive dossier on Martin and Selby Croft. They appear to be a pair of unscrupulous mercenary adventurers with a taste for violence and a flair for keeping out of trouble. Brigadier Rooke, who had had them as recruits in their para-corps days, writes”— Mr. Fortescue picked up one of the papers in front of him— “‘They had the making of first-class fighting men, but more trouble than they were worth. The best I can say about them is that they were attached to each other. On one occasion I know of, Martin saved Selby’s life at some risk of his own.’” Hmph. Major Sholto, who knew them in Rhodesia, says, ‘You’d need wheels on your shoes to catch up with that pair.’ What a curious expression. I wonder what he meant?”

  Mr. Behrens, who knew that Mr. Fortescue understood exactly what Major Sholto meant, replied patiently. “He means that you’d have to move very fast to get ahead of them.”

  “We’re ahead of them at this moment. They are docking at Tilbury tomorrow. The Egyptian authorities deported them by the slowest available ship. Which was thoughtful of them.”

  “Do we know why they were deported?”

  “It appears that they shot a taxi-driver.”

  “Fatally.”

  “Fortunately for them, a flesh wound only. It involved them in the payment of compensation. They are not short of money.”

  “They sound quite a pair.”

  “They were on the losing side, in Tanzania, but removed themselves to America in time to avoid any unpleasant consequences. They lasted there for eigh
teen months, and then were deported on suspicion of being associated with various criminal activities. After that they spent some time in the Caribbean, allegedly running a cocoa plantation. There was some trouble about a labour dispute, and the use of unnecessary violence, and they moved on to Tunisia, where they were associated with the oil industry, although in what capacity I am not clear. Finally they gravitated to Egypt.”

  “It’s all a bit vague, isn’t it?” said Mr. Behrens. “Suspicion of association with criminals. Some trouble or other.”

  “As I told you, they are experts at avoiding specific charges.”

  “What are our instructions?”

  “To keep an eye on them. To persuade them to behave whilst they are here. And to deport them as soon as they give us the least excuse to do so.”

  “If they are British, how can we deport them?”

  “At some time in their career they acquired Panamanian citizenship.”

  “It sounds thin to me, but I suppose we could try. What is the immediate plan?”

  “I want you to go to Tilbury and talk to them.”

  “I see,” said Mr. Behrens.

  “Normally it is the sort of assignment I should have entrusted to Calder, but in his present state of mind there’s no saying what he might do. If they made some remark which annoyed him, he’d probably set that dog of his onto them.”

  “It sounds more like a job for the police.”

  “They have committed no offence in this country, as yet.”

  “Let’s hope that their first one won’t be an aggravated assault – on me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to make suitable arrangements.”

  “It’s a funny thing, Mr. Berrings,” said Martin Croft, “how people get ideas about us. They seem to think we’re always roaring drunk and dripping with blood, or something like that. What they don’t realise is we’re just a pair of sober citizens. Isn’t that right, Selby?”