Charters and Caldicott (13 page)

‘Yes, we should have known it wasn't locked, Charters,' said Caldicott. ‘There was no wardrobe key in her handbag.'

‘So you have Helen Appleyard's handbag? And did it contain anything of interest?' St Clair asked, stepping out of his hiding place.

‘What's Helen Appleyard to you, St Clair?' said Charters.

‘I may as well ask what is she to you? Not to mention your friend Mrs Mottram and – I suppose one would say her sidekick, Miss Brown. Is that her name?'

‘We'll keep that young lady out of this, St Clair,' said Caldicott.

‘As you wish. And now since you have nothing you wish to tell me and I have nothing I wish to tell you, I suggest you leave.'

‘I'll be hanged if we will!' Charters exploded.

‘Then with regret I must call the management and put the problem to them. Oh, and by the way, my spare key if you please.'

‘
Your
key? Do you mean to say this is your flat?' Caldicott asked.

‘Since today. I explained to the management that I was a friend of Miss Appleyard, whom she had asked to look after her flat while she is away.'

Charters snorted. ‘Most accommodating of them.'

‘They are accommodating types. Especially when a month's rent is due. The key.'

Caldicott dropped it into his hand. ‘And
were
you a friend of Helen Appleyard?'

‘As to that, she had many friends – as you may have gathered.' St Clair opened the front door. ‘And by the way, I will set your minds at rest, gentlemen. There is nothing here for either of us. We are all looking for the same crock of gold – but so to speak this is not the end of the rainbow.' He clicked his heels. Charters and Caldicott, completely mystified, took their leave.

‘So there we are, Jenny, your story so far,' said Caldicott, delving into his steak pie in search of some elusive kidney.

‘But no happy ending in sight,' said Jenny ruefully. At the end of a successful morning's shopping, she and Margaret were taking Caldicott to lunch so that he could bring Jenny up to date with the weekend's events.

Margaret frowned at a dish of vegetables lying untouched. ‘Are you going to eat that spinach, Caldicott?'

‘No, I've got enough here, thanks.'

‘Then why did you order it?'

‘I'm sorry. I thought it was table d'hôte, like at the Club.'

‘Yes, well it isn't. Just for that you'll get no pudding.' Margaret transferred the spinach onto her own plate. ‘Jenny, assuming you won't be settling in London – and that is not a roundabout invitation to leave my house, don't think it – will you be going back to New York or have you things to tie up in Hong Kong?'

‘Margaret, without wishing to sound stubborn or melodramatic or like a potential squatter – I don't mean to go anywhere until I've found out who killed my father and why.'

‘Yes, I must confess I've rather been losing sight of our real objective, Jenny,' said Caldicott. ‘I've been exercising myself as to who killed Helen Appleyard and why and who killed Gregory and why.'

‘They all link up, though, don't they?' asked Margaret.

Jenny nodded. ‘The Hong Kong connection.'

‘I wonder why everyone who has been connected with Hong Kong denies having known your father?' said Caldicott.

‘Perhaps they didn't. It's not a tiny village, you know.'

‘But he was in the British Trade Commission and they were in trade. You would imagine paths would cross.'

‘Everybody in Hong Kong is in trade of one kind or another. And besides, I can't prove it but I'm still sure of it. His job in the Trade Commission was only a front for something else.'

‘So you say,' said Caldicott, his attention distracted by the sight of Venables, the clubman, standing by the restaurant's reception desk, reading a newspaper while he waited for a table.

‘I suppose you and Charters couldn't go out to Hong Kong yourselves and see what you can ferret out there,' said Margaret, unaware that she'd lost her audience.

Caldicott turned to her. ‘Impossible.'

‘The cost,' said Jenny.

‘It's not so much that as the fact that we're coming up to the Test season. Besides, Inspector Snow has more or less in so many words confined us to barracks.'

‘Are you still speaking to Inspector Snow?' Jenny asked.

‘All too often. Why do you ask?' Venables, Caldicott noticed unhappily, was being led by the receptionist in their direction.

‘Would you see if you can persuade him to give my father's belongings back, so that we can thoroughly examine them?'

‘I'll certainly try to jolly him along, my dear,' said Caldicott evasively. ‘But you know what the rheumatic arm of the law is like.'

‘Charters, my dear chap!' said Venables, stopping beside their table.

‘Caldicott,' said Caldicott automatically.

‘Of course.' Venables turned to Margaret. ‘Good morning,' he said, hovering pointedly.

Caldicott reluctantly introduced her. ‘And Miss...'

‘Brown,' said Margaret.

‘How do you do, Mrs Mottram. We met at Sandra and Jeremy Willoughby-Fox's wedding five and a half years ago. Remember?'

‘So we did,' said Margaret who didn't.

‘Miss Brown, and how are you enjoying your visit to London?'

Jenny exchanged an anxious glance with Caldicott. ‘And what makes you think I
am
a visitor?'

Jenny's jacket lay across an empty chair, its label clearly visible. Venables nodded at it. ‘Michaelo of Fifth Avenue. A Londoner would go to Michaelo of Bond Street.'

‘Miss Brown is staying with her family,' said Caldicott.

‘The Pont Square Browns?'

‘No,' said Jenny, baldly.

‘My mistake. I thought I glimpsed you in the vicinity the other day. Strong Far Eastern connections – imports and exports.'

‘No,' Jenny repeated.

The receptionist, having discovered she'd mislaid her client, had returned crossly to reclaim him. ‘I believe your table's ready, Venables,' said Caldioott with relief. ‘We don't want to lose you but we think you ought to go.'

‘Ah. A great pleasure, Miss Brown – enjoy your stay. How very well you're looking, Mrs Mottram. Charters.' Venables drifted away leaving the three of them thoroughly rattled.

‘Nosy devil, isn't he? Sharp-eyed with it,' said Margaret.

'Yes, who
is
that man?' Jenny asked.

‘Oh, I don't think we need worry about Venables, Jenny,' said Caldicott uneasily. ‘We belong to the same Club.' He picked up the menu. ‘Margaret, am I
really
not allowed pudding?'

‘Did Inspector Snow get hold of you?' Grimes called out as Caldicott crossed the lobby of Viceroy Mansions.

‘Get hold of me when?'

‘Not half an hour ago, sir. I told him to try the Club.'

‘Yes, well I wish you'd stop telling him to try the Club, Grimes. It's beginning to look like Savile Row police station.'

‘Sorry, Mr Caldicott, only he did say it was fairly urgent style of thing. He said would you give him a ring as soon as you came in.'

‘Right. Will do.' Caldicott turned towards the lift, then paused. ‘Did Inspector Snow have anything else to say, Grimes?'

‘About like what, sir?'

‘You know very well about like what. Has he been here asking questions, snooping about the flat?'

‘Not while I've been here, Mr Caldicott. I mean to say, he'd need a search warrant to get past me, Mr Caldicott.'

‘Yes?'

‘You know me, sir!'

‘Yes,' said Caldicott acidly.

When he'd spoken to Snow, Caldicott tried to contact Charters and Margaret but neither was at home. Mr Charters, Caldicott learned from his cleaning-lady, was in court playing at magistrates. After a moment's hesitation, Caldicott picked up his hat and hurried out. The news from the Inspector was too serious to wait.

Happily unaware that Caldicott was, at that moment, entering the court building, Charters, the chairman of the bench, listened attentively to a point being made by the defending solicitor. ‘Yes, we're in some difficulty here, Mr Wellbeloved. Mr Neaps admits driving his motor cycle along the pavement.'

‘Yes, your Worship.'

‘Yet he pleads not guilty to driving without due care and attention.'

‘That is true, your Worship.'

‘But surely, driving along the public pavement is as blatant a case of driving without due care and attention as one is ever likely to come across in a month of Sundays.'

‘With respect, sir, the offence with which Mr Neaps is charged refers specifically to his allegedly scraping his handlebars, or allegedly allowing his handlebars to scrape, against the fruit and vegetable stall on the comer of Butter Cross Lane. He...'

Charters, impatient with waffle, cut in, ‘Yes, yes, we know all about that, Mr Wellbeloved. But you see, he couldn't have scraped against the fruit and vegetable stall if he hadn't been driving on the pavement in the first place. Yes, Mr Charles?' The clerk to the court had risen. He whispered into Charters' ear and sat down again. ‘Mr Wellbeloved, was your client driving on the pavement carefully?'

‘He will say that he was, your Worship.'

‘Then that may very well put a different complexion on the matter. Now you say you wish to call an expert witness on a particular aspect of this case?'

‘If your Worship pleases. That is, if he has arrived from London.'

‘He's either arrived or he hasn't. We can't be kept hanging about, Mr Wellbeloved.'

‘Of course not, your Worship.' Mr Wellbeloved murmured to a police sergeant who nodded and left the court, boots squeaking.

‘Now, what is this particular aspect in which your witness is an expert, Mr Wellbeloved?' Charters asked.

‘Sir, the witness is a trained beekeeper...'

Caldicott, who had been staring blankly at the noticeboard in the lobby for some time, greeted the sergeant with relief. ‘Ah, officer! Is that Mr Charters' court?'

‘It is that. Been sitting two hours or more, so he has.'

‘Thank you,' said Caldicott, heading for the door.

‘Oy, where do you think you're going?'

‘In there. You said the court was sitting.'

‘So it is, but you can't just go barging in when you think fit.'

Caldicott stopped, surprised. ‘Can't I?'

‘You just park yourself on that bench and wait till I calls you.'

‘Oh, that's the form, is it?' Caldicott did as he was told while the sergeant tiptoed back into court.

‘You see, Mr Wellbeloved,' Charters was saying, 'this swarm of bees should have been brought up earlier.'

‘I agree entirely, your Worship. I apologise that my client didn't mention it under examination.'

‘If he was driving carefully along the pavement, then the swarm of bees could well be a mitigating factor.'

‘That is what I aim to establish with the help of my expert witness, your Worship.' Mr Wellbeloved bent his head to listen to the sergeant. ‘I've just learned that he has in fact arrived.'

‘Then for goodness sake have him called and let's get on with the case. I have a flower and produce show to judge in half an hour.'

The sergeant went outside and beckoned to Caldicott. ‘Right. Let's be having you.' Caldicott followed him into court.

‘Now it may very well be in law, Mr Wellbeloved, if Mr Neaps was attacked by a swarm of bees at the point where he was approaching the fruit and vegetable stall, then he was no longer in control of the machine and technically not driving at all.'

‘I believe that could be the case, your Worship.'

‘If you can establish to the court's satisfaction that bees, if sufficiently angry, would...'

Caldicott's circuit of the court in the squeaking steps of the sergeant had been invisible from the bench. Seeing his old friend popping up in the witness-box out of nowhere, Charters' eloquence deserted him.

‘What are you doing in my witness-box, Caldicott?' he demanded, suspecting a practical joke.

‘I was put here, Charters,' said Caldicott, thoroughly bemused.

‘Sir!' said the sergeant.

‘Yes, officer?'

‘You call his Worship “sir”! Or “your Worship”.'

Caldicott was happy to oblige. ‘Oh sorry. Sorry Charters, sir – your Worship. Didn't know the drill.'

Charters knew that it was up to him to bring the giggling courtroom back to a state of magisterial dignity. He did his best. ‘Now look here, Mr Wellbeloved, I doubt whether I can continue this case. I have to declare an interest in this – that is to say, this gentleman is known to me. Besides, I thought you were calling an expert witness?'

‘Indeed, your Worship, but...'

‘He's not an expert on anything.'

‘Thank you very much!' said Caldicott from the witness-box.

‘You're not a trained beekeeper, are you, Caldicott?
Mr
Caldicott, I should say.'

‘You know very well I'm not – Mr Charters. Sir. Your Worship.'

‘There's evidently some mistake here. Step down, Mr Caldicott.'

Charters exchanged a few murmured words with his colleagues on the bench. ‘In the absence of your witness, Mr Wellbeloved, I shall have to take precedents into account in the matter of these bees. Case adjourned until Wednesday.'

The magistrates began to shuffle out. ‘All rise,' the sergeant called.

Caldicott, who had stepped down, as instructed, popped back into sight in the witness-box like a jack-in-the-box.

Charters was putting his papers in order when a policeman showed Caldicott into his anteroom. ‘Now, what's the meaning of this, Caldicott? You've just interrupted a most involved and intricate case.'

‘You don't have to tell me that, old chap. I couldn't make head nor tail of it.'