‘Is that a promotion or demotion from Official Mourner at funerals?’ asked Margaret, amused.
‘Official Mourner, my Aunt Fanny,’ Charters snorted. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Mottram.’
‘If he’s heard of your Mix Well and Serve conundrum, he can only have got that from your chum Inspector Snow, can’t he? So perhaps he is some kind of policeman.’
‘Could be,’ said Caldicott. ‘Although he didn’t rise to the bait when I mentioned Jenny Beevers, did he, Charters?’
‘Venables isn’t given to rising to bait, Caldicott. There’s much of the basking shark in that man’s make-up. I know one thing. If we allow him to ply his seedy trade on the golf course, they’ll be letting in double-glazing touts next. I shall write to the secretary.’
‘In the strongest terms,’ said Caldicott. ‘And now I suggest, Margaret, that we mark our formal detachment from all these recent unpleasantnesses with a modest celebration.’
‘Oh, goody – are you going to get me drunk?’
‘No, we are not going to get you drunk, my girl – we are taking you to the pictures.’
‘We thought the local Classic,’ said Charters. ‘It is in English.’
‘Oh, yippee,’ said Margret drily.
‘Come on, Mottram, put your bonnet on,’ said Caldicott. ‘Or would you rather spend the next couple of hours sipping cold tea and endlessly chewing over a case that no longer concerns us?’
‘I wouldn’t mind if it was cold gin, but you’re right. Unless that fake Jenny Beevers turns up on my doorstep to return my best pigskin suitcase I never want to hear of that little cuckoo in the nest again. I’ll just go and powder my…’
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. The three of them jumped, and stared at each other in consternation. ‘Milkman wanting his money,’ said Margaret, relaxing, and going to answer the door.
Charters consulted the evening paper. ‘You realise we’ve seen this film before?’
‘Oh yes, when it first came out. 1962, wasn’t it?’
‘Even earlier than that. It was the year School thrashed Harrow.’
‘No, that was 1959. It was the year Winchester thrashed School 1962.’
The pair squabbled over the date, using their usual cricketing terms of reference, while Margaret chatted on the doorstep. She seemed to be taking a surprisingly long time to pay for a few bottles of milk.
‘We’ll soon settle the matter,’ said Charters. ‘If Mrs Mottram would oblige us by hurrying herself. They always print the date on the credit titles.’
‘Yes, Charters, but only in roman numerals. Can’t make head nor tail of them.’
‘Ah, now there’s a particular reason for that practice, Caldicott,’ said Charters knowledgeably. ‘You see, when the film is reissued as this one is now, it may not be in the distributors’ interests to let their audiences know just how ancient the…’ He broke off, thunderstruck, as Margaret came back into the room accompanied by Inspector Snow.
‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ Caldicott exploded. ‘Did Grimes tell you you’d probably find us here? I’ll skin that little weasel alive!’
‘There’s such a thing as unwarranted intrusion, Inspector,’ said Charters. ‘First you hound us in our Club, now you gatecrash this lady’s private tea party. Mrs Mottram, you don’t have to receive him in your drawing-room, you know. He can just as well conduct this interview in the kitchen.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ said Snow. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Mottram, it won’t take a minute.’
‘Yes, but we don’t happen to have a minute at our disposal,’ Caldicott objected. ‘We’re just off to the pictures.’
‘Nobody’s stopping you, Mr Caldicott.’
‘Good,’ said Caldicott. Then the words sunk in. ‘Eh?’
‘It’s Mrs Mottram I’ve come to see. Just an informal word, Mrs Mottram.’
‘With me? Why?’ asked Margaret nervously.
‘Mrs Mottram knows nothing whatever about this business, Inspector,’ said Caldicott.
‘Except what you’ve told her, eh?’
‘We’re old friends. We have discussed the case, naturally.’
‘Including the fact that the dead girl originally believed to be Jenny Beevers turned out to be Helen Appleyard from Hong Kong?’
‘That much was in the papers,’ said Margaret, recovering her composure.
‘Married to Josh Darrell’s chauffeur, likewise found dead on the one weekend all three of you happened to be staying at Mr Darrell’s place in the country.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why?’
‘Why was he killed? I don’t know, Inspector, I’m not a detective.’
‘No, I don’t mean why was he killed. I mean, why were you there?’
‘Like the other twenty or thirty guests, I was invited. I do a lot of business with Mr Darrell.’
‘Yes, but these two don’t. They didn’t even know him.’ Snow began absent-mindedly to pile the used tea things onto the tray.
‘If you really want to know, Josh Darrell is an incurable lecher. I couldn’t turn down his invitation because I needed his business. But I asked Mr Caldicott and Mr Charters along as my – well – minders, I suppose.’ Charters and Caldicott straightened their shoulders and puffed out their chests in a doomed attempt to look like minders.
‘Mm. No question of the three of you going to Mr Darrell’s to see what you could find out?’
‘About what, Inspector?’ Charters asked.
‘About why the murdered wife of his chauffeur was being passed off as the daughter of your old friend Colonel Beevers.’
‘But until you told us otherwise we didn’t know she wasn’t ‘Jenny Beevers,’ Caldicott lied.
‘Didn’t you, Mr Caldicott? No, I’ll tell you why I ask. You see, it transpires that when she slipped Grimes £100 to let her into your, flat…’
‘A measly £100! He told me £250.’
‘Yes, well he would tell you that – it puts him in a better light. But you see she never claimed to be Jenny Beevers at all. Whereas a different young lady who called at Viceroy Mansions asking for you did claim to be Jenny Beevers.’
‘Really?’ said Caldicott faintly.
‘Really. As you know.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Grimes told you. As he told me – eventually. And you advised him to keep his trap shut.’
Caldicott made a recovery. ‘I advised Grimes to keep his trap shut because he changes his story from one minute to the next. He’ll say anything to get himself off the hook.’
‘A notoriously unreliable witness, friend Grimes, Inspector,’ said Charters.
‘Yes, there’s a lot of it about, Mr Charters. Now, I won’t keep you, Mrs Mottram. I’m just wondering about this girl you’ve had staying with you.’
Margaret, shaken, seized on the fact that Snow was holding the teapot. ‘Shall I get you a clean cup, Inspector?’ she asked in an unnaturally high voice.
‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘Oh, then thank you for clearing up my tea things.’
‘I do it automatically. Drives my wife barmy, I don’t know why. You know which girl I’m talking about, Mrs Mottram? Usually in a grey suit. Until Friday when she left with a pigskin suitcase.’
Margaret winced at the mention of her case but said easily, ‘There are girls coming and going all the time, Inspector. I run a temps bureau – I prefer to interview new recruits here where it’s quiet rather than in my office with the phones ringing like Bow Bells.’
‘And do they all have pigskin suitcases?’
‘If it was Friday, that’s not so very unusual. The kind of girls I employ usually go away for the weekends.’
‘And they usually wear grey suits?’
‘Practically their uniform this season. Sloane Rangers, you know – they’re like peas in a pod.’
‘And if it came to it, I suppose you could produce the very girl who was seen leaving here with a suitcase at three-fifteen on Friday?’
/>
‘I don’t have my diary here but I expect I could – if it came to it. But you’re chasing a red herring, Inspector.’
‘I am that, Mrs Mottram,’ said Snow, preparing to take his leave. ‘And when I catch it I shall have it kippered for breakfast.’
CHAPTER 11
‘Now you guarantee this hasn’t got an eagle-eyed detective in it?’ said Margaret, settling herself into her seat in the sparsely filled cinema.
‘Firm promise,’ said Caldicott. ‘Boggle-eyed butler, yes, eagle-eyed detective, no.’
‘He’s on to us, you know.’
‘Evidently, as Grimes appears to have blown the gaff, but he isn’t on to the murderer. And so long as we keep from under Inspector Snow’s feet, that will remain his main preoccupation. Ah, good show, Charters.’
Charters pushed his way along the row carrying ice-cream tubs. ‘One chocolate chip, one raspberry ripple,’ he said, handing them out.
‘How very kind,’ said Margaret, fumbling in her handbag.
‘No, no, no.’
‘Thank you.’
‘We’ll settle up later.’
Margaret allowed her grateful expression to fade and turned back to Caldicott. ‘I know you’re the eternal optimist but you can’t seriously imagine the inspector isn’t going to bother us again?’
‘I’m quite sure he is. All the more reason why we shouldn’t bother him. Keep out of his hair and don’t concern ourselves with other people’s murders.’ Caldicott stopped abruptly, staring into his ice-cream tub as if it contained worms. ‘This is raspberry ripple!’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ said Charters. ‘On both points. A. I’ve said all along we should leave it to the police and B. I just said it was raspberry ripple.’
‘I must say I haven’t quite the appetite I had,’ said Margaret.
Caldicott turned to her eagerly. ‘You don’t want your chocolate chip? Why not swop it for my raspberry ripple?’
‘My appetite for playing Sherlock Holmes, fool! But I do wish we’d cracked that Mix Well and Serve conundrum.’
‘I shall one day, given peace of mind to concentrate,’ said Charters. ‘I’m convinced Jock Beevers wanted to tell us something or lead us somewhere. Is there anything wrong with that raspberry ripple, old chap?’
Caldicott glared at him. ‘I’m sure it’s an excellent raspberry ripple, old chap, but I asked for a strawberry ripple.’
‘You asked for a raspberry ripple.’
‘I hate raspberries. I’ve always hated raspberries, as you know.’
The lights dimmed and the music began but Charters ignored these signs that the film was about to start. ‘I do know. That’s why I was quite surprised when you asked for a raspberry ripple.’
‘Strawberry ripple.’
‘Raspberry ripple.’
A voice from a couple of rows away urged them to shut up. ‘You must have misheard, old boy,’ said Caldicott, ignoring this interruption.
‘My hearing’s perfect! You asked for a raspberry ripple!’
Other people began to glare and mutter. ‘The natives are getting restless,’ said Margaret. The pair piped down. Charters fumed and scooped up his ice-cream, Caldicott sulkily dabbed at his ripple with the spoon and Margaret smiled to herself.
The credit titles for the old black and white movie appeared on the screen. When the copyright date in roman numerals came up Charters remembered another grievance. ‘That’s something else I’m not mistaken about, Caldicott. This film was made in 1959.’
‘How do you claim to know that?’
‘It was there in black and white, man. “Copyright 1959.”’
A young couple further along their row invited them to keep their voices down. ‘You say it was 1959, old man. To me it was just MX something or other – like myxomatosis,’ said Caldicott.
The young man hissed even more angrily at them. Charters gave him an apologetic grimace, lowered his voice slightly and went on, ‘No, no no. M – that’s a thousand. CM – nine hundred. L – fifty. Then IX – Good God! I’ve licked it, Caldicott!’ The entire audience turned to glare at him.
‘Your raspberry ripple?’ said Caldicott acidly. ‘I told you it was foul.’
‘M-I-X, Caldicott! Mix Well and Serve! Come along! You too, Mrs Mottram.’
He stood up and pushed his way excitedly along the row, followed by a bewildered Margaret and Caldicott. Caldicott murmured ‘Excuse me,’ to the furious couple as he climbed over them, then a kind thought struck him.
He turned back and gave the young woman his raspberry ripple.
The urgency and excitement of the situation seemed to warrant a taxi to Viceroy Mansions. They paid it off, hurried into the block and across the lobby. About to enter the lift, Caldicott glanced back thoughtfully to Grimes’s desk, his recent talk with Snow coming back to him. ‘You two go up. I shan’t be a tick,’ he said, handing Charters his keys. He went back and peered over the counter, then banged the bell for attention. Grimes, who had been crouching out of sight since he’d seen the taxi unexpectedly unload Caldicott and his friends, rose obsequiously.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Caldicott. Only I was just straightening out my shelves style of thing.’
‘I thought you couldn’t bend, Grimes. On account of the slipped disc that compels you to take three afternoons a week off at your osteopath’s.’
‘Been told to exercise it, sir. Only it seizes up otherwise. See, your spinal cord, Mr Caldicott, it’s like kind of a set of interlocking…’
‘Never mind my spinal cord, Grimes. You’ve been blabbing to Inspector Snow, haven’t you?’
‘Got interviewed again, was I not! He’s a crafty devil, though, isn’t he, Mr Caldicott? I mean, the way he wriggles things out of you – you don’t know what you’ve said till you’ve said it style of thing. He’s clever, he is!’
‘I hope at least you’ve now told the sordid truth about why you let the late Helen Appleyard into my flat.’
‘Oh, I have, sir.’
‘That it was nothing to do with incriminating letters and all to do with a dirty great fistful of fivers.’
‘I was tempted and I fell, I freely admit it.’
‘What did you do with that money, Grimes?’
‘Put it to a good use, sir. That’s why I wanted it, why I was tempted. It’s gone to pay for a week in Lourdes.’
Caldicott could hardly believe his ears. ‘Lourdes?’
‘Like a pilgrimage.’
‘For a slipped disc?’
‘Worth a try, Mr Caldicott. Faith can move mountains, so they say. So you never know, sir – that grubby £250 might do some good in the world after all.’
They had reached the nub of the matter. ‘Yes, but it wasn’t £250, was it Grimes? You let that woman into my flat for a piddling £100!’
‘Is that what the inspector told you, sir?’
‘That’s what the inspector told me, Grimes. So as your 250 quid trip to Lourdes turns out to be total fiction, I’ll ask you again. What did you do with the money?’
Grimes thought fast. ‘Put it down as a deposit, sir. On a pilgrimage to Lourdes.’
‘Then it’s in a good cause after all,’ said Caldicott, heavily sarcastic.
‘Trouble is, though, if I don’t come up with the other hundred and fifty before the end of the…’
‘Grimes!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you about to ask me for £150?’
‘Only as a loan style of thing, Mr Caldicott. I mean to say, there’s a lot has to be done round Viceroy Mansions, and I can’t give complete satisfaction if I’m a martyr to a slipped disc, now can I?’
‘No, indeed, Grimes. What would give complete satisfaction is if you were a martyr to rigor mortis!’ Caldicott stormed off to the lift, leaving Grimes looking deeply wounded.
Caldicott found Charters already examining the Mix Well and Serve letter through a magnifying glass while Margaret was fixing herself a drink. ‘Do you know what that chee
ky blighter Grimes just had the nerve to…’ Caldicott burst out as soon as he was inside the flat.
‘Never mind that, Caldicott,’ said Charters. ‘Come over here. I’ve taken the liberty of unearthing your magnifying glass.’
‘And I’ve taken the liberty of unearthing your gin,’ said Margaret.
‘Now then, look at that.’
‘Jock’s letter? I know it by heart, old boy,’ said Caldicott.
‘But do you? Look at it again.’ Caldicott did as he was told. ‘Concentrate on the cryptic message, Mix Well and Serve. Now we’ve established what Mix indicates.’
Caldicott looked up, surprised. ‘Have we? When?’
‘In the cinema, Caldicott! Why do you suppose we came rushing out?’
Caldicott still looked baffled. ‘Think of a number,’ said Margaret helpfully.
‘A number? Ah, myxomatosis. Those roman numerals.’
‘Exactly,’ said Charters. ‘M-I-X. One thousand and nine.’
‘I say, that’s clever. One thousand and nine! That’s damned ingenious,’ said Caldicott, profoundly impressed by this display of learning. ‘One thousand and nine what?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to work out, ducky,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ve cracked the first word, now what about the second?’
Caldicott resumed his study of Jock’s letter. “’Well”. Now, what’s that in roman numerals?’
‘It isn’t anything in Roman numerals, Caldicott, but it isn’t “Well” either. See?’ Charters stabbed his finger at the word. Caldicott peered more closely at it through the glass. ‘I’m with you, Charters. There’s a sort of curly bit at the end of the word.’
‘What we call an S,’ said Margaret.
‘Wells. One thousand and nine wells. Which wells? Oil wells?’
‘Or perhaps Wells the place. As in Bath and. He didn’t come from that part of the world, did he?’ Margaret asked.
Charters shook his head. ‘No, no, he was a Kentish man.’
‘Man of Kent, actually,’ said Caldicott. ‘Little place called Yabble, after the river of that name.’
‘Yes, he meant to retire there. Be that as it may – Wells. What other kind of wells are there.’
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