‘Ah, so Norton and West you do know?’ said Charters.
‘It’s my business to know them. They make a rival product. They can’t sell it but they make it! So?’
‘Well, we thought… Margaret thought,’ Caldicott stumbled, tugging nervously at his collar, ‘You might know someone there we could talk to.’
‘About a little proposition of ours,’ said Charters, trying to be helpful.
Darrell was curious. ‘A proposition for Norton and West? Would it interest Zazz?’
‘I hardly think so,’ said Charters quickly. ‘No, no, no, far too modest.’
‘No problem.’ Darrell stood up. ‘If you’d like an introduction, just say the word.’
‘You’re very kind,’ said Caldicott.
‘Any time. Excuse me while I circulate.’
Charters and Caldicott reached for their glasses with heartfelt sighs of relief. ‘I must say that conversation took an unexpected turn,’ said Caldicott.
‘Yes. He was trying to draw our fire.’
‘That was my impression. I say, Charters, do you suppose he’s guessed we have an ulterior motive in being here?’ Charters’ long-suffering look answered him. ‘Oh. Then we’d better hope Margaret’s playing her cards closer to her…’ He paused, then made a delicate amendment to his words. ‘Closer to her.’
Margaret had succeeded in capturing St Clair as her supper partner and had seated them at a little table apart from their fellow guests.
‘This is a most agreeable pigeon pie,’ said St Clair.
‘Delicious.’
‘He shoots them himself, you know.’
‘I don’t think I want to know that.’
‘And by the way, now I recollect when we saw each other once before. You were escorting a young lady to Mr Darrell’s office. Rather, I should say a lady even younger than yourself,’ he corrected himself with ponderous gallantry.
‘Thank you. That would be one of my temps, Miss Brown. It was her first day. I thought I’d better hold her hand.’
‘And what is this “temps”?’
‘Temporary. It covers a whole range of jobs.’
‘Industrial spy?’
‘Not according to her references. More your audio typist,’ said Margaret, coolly concealing her shock.
‘The reason I ask is that I saw your Miss Brown prying into our host’s confidential files. Very unusual behaviour for a so-called “temp” on her first day, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Oh, that’s our Miss Brown all over, I’m afraid. A compulsive Nosy Parker.’
‘A common failure, Mrs Mottram.’
‘Isn’t it just, Mr St Clair? Would you excuse me? I’m not sure the pigeon pie was as agreeable as we thought.’ St Clair rose and bowed as Margaret made her escape with as much dignity as she could muster.
Emerging a short while later from an upstairs bathroom where she’d been restoring her equilibrium as much as her make-up, Margaret happened to pass the open door of Darrell’s study and heard him talking on the phone. ‘You don’t sound surprised? You knew they were staying here? How did you know? I didn’t know myself until two days ago.’ Margaret dawdled outside, pretending an interest in a nearby picture. ‘Then did your little bird tell you who the hell they are and why they’re asking questions about your operation?… That’s right!… Don’t give me that – we all have something to hide in this business – Norton and West more than most operations, am I right?’ Darrell suddenly noticed that his door was open and kicked it shut. Margaret, seeing that one of Darrell’s weirder guests was heading towards her, was forced to abandon her listening post and make for the stairs.
Coffee and liqueurs were being served in the great hall. Margaret ran Charters and Caldicott to earth there and helped herself to half Caldicott’s brandy before saying grimly, ‘Those pigeons we ate for dinner. I think between us we’ve set the cat among them.’
CHAPTER 8
After such an unpromising start to their weekend’s investigations, Charters and Caldicott decided to cut their losses and concentrate on the more traditional country pursuits. The following morning, clad and equipped for fishing, they strode through the deserted great hall and out into the fresh air. As they paused to assess the weather, a car sped down the drive and drew up beside them. A smart, young accountant-type got out, retrieved his slim-line, black executive case and weekend grip from the back seat and nodded coolly to them. They nodded back and were about to continue on their way when Josh Darrell called down to them from his balcony, ‘Meet Gordon Wrigley.’
Charters and Caldicott turned back civilly to greet a fellow guest.
‘Of Norton and West,’ said the newcomer, making no move to shake their outstretched hands.
‘Ah,’ said Caldicott.
‘You wanted to see me?’ said Wrigley.
There was a pause. ‘Yes,’ said Caldicott.
‘A proposition?’
‘Yes. Well, you see, the thing is,’ Caldicott stammered after an even longer pause, ‘Charters and I are inordinately fond of Birdade, aren’t we Charters?’
‘Inordinately.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Wrigley.
‘Drink it all the time, don’t we, Charters?’
‘Perpetually.’
‘Good. And what’s your proposition?’
‘Well not so much a proposition, just an idea, really,’ said Caldicott, cornered. ‘We thought, Charters and I, that what Birdade could do with is a slogan.’
‘A slogan?’
‘Yes.’
‘What slogan?’
‘Tell him your slogan, Charters.’
‘Very well,’ said Charters, rising loyally to the challenge. ‘For what it’s worth – “Birdade – gives you back your fizz”.’
‘Of course, that’s only a rough draft,’ said Caldicott hurriedly.
‘“Birdade – gives you back your fizz”,’ Wrigley repeated.
‘Something along those lines,’ said Caldicott.
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Do. Well, we have an appointment with some trout,’ said Caldicott, beginning to shuffle away.
‘Don’t let me keep you. See you at lunch.’
‘Look forward to it,’ said Charters, joining Caldicott in undignified retreat.
‘We’ll have another chat,’ said Caldicott. Their tactical withdrawal turned into a disorderly rout.
Wrigley, totally bemused, looked up at the balcony from which Darrell, amused and intrigued, had watched Charters’ and Caldicott’s discomfiture. Darrell shrugged elaborately.
Charters and Caldicott reached the sanctuary of the riverbank and fished for some time in silence. ‘I’ve just made a discovery,’ said Caldicott finally. ‘There are some moments in life so hairy that even fishing can’t blot them out.’
‘Yes, it was rather embarrassing. But of course it was meant to be. Shock tactics, Caldicott. Trying to find out what our game is.’
‘I’ll tell you one thing. I couldn’t possibly face that Norton and West chap at lunch.’
‘Nor I. I think we should run for it.’
‘The old telegram trick?’
‘They don’t have telegrams now, more’s the pity. I’ll say we’ve had an urgent telephone call. Your sister ill – that should sound convincing.’
‘I haven’t got a sister.’
‘Very well, then, my sister.’
‘Better.’
With escape in sight, they both cheered up. Charters consulted his watch. ‘If we left at once, we could be back for the start of play.’
‘Good-oh. Which is it to be? Lord’s or the Oval?’
‘Difficult question. Middlesex are in good form but on the other hand I wouldn’t mind seeing Surrey thrashed.’
‘We could do Lord’s this morning and the Oval after lunch,’ Caldicott suggested.
‘No, no, no – far too unsettling. We’ll decide this in the traditional way.’
Caldicott nodded and produced a coin. ‘Heads Middlesex
v Warwicks, tails Surrey v Essex. Agreed?’ He threw the coin up but the result went unheeded. Gregory was standing motionless on the opposite bank, staring across at them.
‘Who killed Helen Appleyard?’ Gregory called.
‘That’s what a good many people would like to know,’ said Caldicott.
‘Perhaps you did it, Gregory,’ said Charters. ‘Accomplices do fall out.’
‘She wasn’t my accomplice. She was my wife.’
‘Sorry about that. I didn’t know,’ Charters mumbled.
One of Darrell’s dogs ambled into sight along the river-bank. Judging his master to be not far behind, Caldicott called urgently, ‘Look here, Gregory, we can’t go on bawling at one another across the river like this. Isn’t there somewhere we can talk?’
‘The gun museum. At eleven.’ Gregory turned and walked away.
‘Eleven? That’s cutting it a bit fine,’ said Charters.
‘I say!’ Caldicott shouted after Gregory. ‘You couldn’t make it a bit earlier, could you? We have some rather urgent business in Town.’ But Gregory was out of earshot.
Charters and Caldicott communicated the change of plan to Margaret and delegated her to tell their host, with appropriate excuses, while they changed into their cricket-watching clothes and packed their cases.
‘Josh has gone shooting. I’ve left him a note,’ said Margaret when they joined her in front of the house where she was supervising the loading of the luggage into the Jaguar.
‘That’s the ticket. Saves embarrassment all round,’ said Charters.
‘The clock on the belfry strikes eleven. Should I come with you?’
‘Better not,’ said Caldicott. ‘You might inhibit him. You can be looking up trains.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Charters and Caldicott came across St Clair on their way to the gun room. He greeted them from the stone bench where he was sitting peeling yet another apple with his Swiss Army knife. ‘Forever eating, that fellow,’ Charters muttered. ‘Case of tapeworm there, I shouldn’t wonder.’
The walls of the museum were lined with guns of all kinds, ages and sizes. Revolvers, duelling pistols, muskets nestled next to military and sporting rifles. Yet more exhibits were laid out in glass display cases.
‘Bloodthirsty hobby, collecting all this stuff together,’ said Charters as they wandered round the room. ‘Give me triangular stamps any day.’
‘Everything clean, bright and lightly oiled, you’ll notice. There must be enough hardware here to slaughter a regiment.’
Charters consulted his watch. ‘It’s gone eleven. Where’s Gregory?’
Caldicott, exploring further afield, spotted one exhibit they had overlooked. He called to Charters and together they hurried across to where Gregory lay, half-hidden by one of the display cases, blood oozing onto the floor from a wound in his chest.
‘Shot?’ Caldicott asked.
‘Knifed, I’d say.’
‘A knife! In this place!’ Caldicott stared round in disbelief at the arsenal of guns surrounding them. ‘Now there’s a case of coals to Newcastle, if ever I saw one.’
Once again, Inspector Snow followed the Club porter up the stairs and into the library. The solitary occupant put down his newspaper and rose from his armchair to greet him.
‘Inspector Snow, good of you to spare me your valuable time,’ said Venables, the clubman.
The likelihood of finding bodies in the Club billiards room being, on the face of it, remote, Charters and Caldicott met there for a game of restorative snooker and a breather from the relentless attentions of the police. The game was not going Caldicott’s way. When a hiss of sharply indrawn breath distracted him as he was about to pot yellow, he turned to Charters in irritation.
‘Do you mind, old boy?’
‘I didn’t utter a sound. It’s the radiators.’
‘Sorry.’ Caldicott re-applied himself to the shot and again was stopped by a gasp. Turning, he discovered that Inspector Snow had joined them and was taking a critical interest in his game.
‘Go for the pink, Mr Caldicott. Then you’ll be in line to pot that red there, which should bring you up to the black.’
‘I’m aware of that, Inspector. I was just considering my options.’
‘Inspector, I don’t wish to appear rude, but have you been elected a member of this Club?’ aid Charters, bristling with annoyance.
‘Come along, Mr Charters, you know why I’m here.’
‘That poor devil Gregory, I suppose. We’ve already been closely questioned by the Buckinghamshire constabulary, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know. They tell me that what seemed to concern you most was missing a cricket match at the Oval.’
‘Lord’s, actually,’ said Caldicott.
‘Don’t let me interrupt your game of snooker, Mr Caldicott.’
‘I concede, Charters,’ said Caldicott, laying down his cue. ‘Look here, Inspector, I hope we’re not creating an impression of callousness, but after all we didn’t know the man from Adam and it was only our bad luck that we chanced to be the ones to find him.’
Snow began absent-mindedly to retrieve the snooker balls and replace them in their positions. ‘Oh, chance, was it? So you hadn’t gone to the gun museum to meet him?’
‘Why should you think that?’ Charters asked, bluffing boldly.
‘Well, you see, Mr Charters, you have your luggage loaded in the car in ample time to catch the 11.18 to Marylebone – you’re anxious to get to the Oval, or Lord’s, it doesn’t matter which – yet you then go wandering off to the gun museum when there isn’t another train until 2.40.’
‘Yes, and the next one after that isn’t until five, as we have good reason to know,’ said Charters bitterly.
‘All the more reason for catching the earlier train. That yellow please.’ Caldicott obligingly rolled the yellow ball down the table to Snow.
‘Look here, Inspector, this murder, if murder it was, took place far outside the province of the Metropolitan Police. Now, unless you’ve been brought into the case…’
‘Black, Mr Charters,’ Snow interrupted. Charters shoved the ball viciously towards him. ‘Let’s say I brought myself into it. As soon as I’d heard you’d found another body.’
‘You’re not suggesting we had anything to do with these deaths?’ Charters demanded.
‘You’re one of my common denominators. I’ll put it that way.’
‘One of them? Are there others?’ Charters asked.
‘Oh, yes. You know Gregory came from Hong Kong?’
‘Did he, by Jove,’ said Caldicott.
‘Interpol have a file on him. Petty drug-runner, porn merchant, part-time pimp. I imagine that’s why Mr Josh Darrell gave him a roof over his head when he turned up there. He’d have plenty of use for Gregory’s type of services – you know the company he keeps.’
‘Do we not!’ said Caldicott feelingly, the memory of his fellow guests still nightmarishly vivid.
‘Hardly your style, I would have thought.’
‘Yes, well, we were taken there by a friend,’ said Charters. ‘I can tell you, it’s the last time I spend a weekend with an unknown quantity.’
‘You won’t be spending any more weekends away in the near future, gentlemen, will you? No holidays abroad, for instance?’
‘We don’t take holidays abroad, Inspector, we’ve been abroad.’
‘That red,’ said Snow. When Caldicott had rolled it to him he completed the frame, moved it into its exact position and crouched down to check it at eye level. Satisfied, he removed the frame from the balls and wiped the chalk off his hands with his handkerchief. ‘Just let me know if you do decide to take off anywhere, won’t you? Washroom’s down the stairs, isn’t it?’
Snow’s departure was more than welcome but Charters hastily redirected him. ‘There’s a nearer one this way, Inspector. Down the back staircase and through the kitchens.’
‘Thanks,’ said Snow drily, moving towards the green baize door. ‘Sorry to
be an embarrassment, gentlemen, but if you will get mixed up in all these murders.’
‘Let him know if we go away?’ said Charters, as Snow followed his directions into the nether regions of the Club. ‘That’s tantamount to warning us that anything we say may be taken down and used in evidence! I don’t like this, Caldicott. He quite clearly suspects that we know far more about Gregory than we’ve admitted.’
‘Probably. I’ll tell you something he doesn’t suspect, though, Charters – the existence of the flat at Thamesview.’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘He spoke of Gregory having been given a roof over his head at Darrell’s place. Evidently he and Helen Appleyard – Mrs Gregory – kept their little hideaway to themselves.’
‘What’s that to us?’
‘Well, don’t you see, Charters? With Gregory out of the way, and the police still in blissful ignorance of the place, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go round to Thamesview now and have a thorough nose round.’
’What? Before lunch?’
‘Well, after lunch.’
They took up their cues again. ‘My break, I believe,’ said Charters.
’You won’t let me interrupt you at all, Mr Grimes,’ said Snow, his shadow falling across the newspaper Grimes was using to help him fill in his football pools.
‘’Scuse me, Inspector, slack period.’
‘Good. We can have one of our little chats. Anyone been up to thirty-six of late?’
‘Only Mr Caldicott himself.’
‘And?’
‘And Mr Charters.’
‘And?’
Grimes smirked. ‘Well, you know, Inspector.’
‘No, I don’t know.’
‘That Mrs Mottram once or twice. And that’s all, to my knowledge. Of course, if you’d like me to keep a special look-out style of thing.’
‘I don’t pay for information, you know, Mr Grimes. You’re supposed to give it to me for nothing. If you don’t, it’s called withholding evidence and you get arrested for it.’
‘I’ve got nothing else to tell you, Inspector. Honest to God, I kid you not.’
‘Good. I prefer to be kidded not.’ Snow produced a batch of photographs from his briefcase and showed Grimes a wedding picture of Helen Appleyard. ‘Now, we all know who this is, don’t we?’
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