Charters and Caldicott by Stella Bingham Read Free Book Online Page B

missing another opportunity to unburden himself to the Law.
    â€˜By the way, I don’t suppose that’s your Jag parked on the verge back there, Mr Charters?’
    â€˜Hardly my style, Sergeant,’ said Charters. A truthful man, he hesitated before going on, ‘I don’t know whose it is.’
    â€˜Sheep rustler, could be. We’ll have a look at it on the way back, Jim,’ Bellows said to his constable.
    â€˜We’ll have to be quick, Sarge,’ said the constable, looking out of the window as the Jag went past at high speed. ‘He’s making some time up. He’ll have stopped for a leak, most like.’
    â€˜It wouldn’t be the first time my hedge has been used as an ablutions. Now about this trunk, Sergeant, I’m not at all sure I can help you,’ said Charters, reluctant to part with the trunk, even to the police, before Jenny had had a chance to search through it.
    .’The inspector said you did know the circumstances, sir.’
    â€˜Indeed I do.’
    â€˜He said the contents of the trunk might throw light on the matter under investigation.’
    â€˜I appreciate that, but there is a procedure for this sort of thing, you know, Sergeant Bellows.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. He did suggest if there was any, well, difficulty, we could always apply for a warrant.’
    â€˜From the local magistrate.’
    â€˜That’s it, sir.’
    â€˜But I’m the local magistrate.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜This is absurd.’
    â€˜Well – awkward.’ The sergeant noticed the trunk on the half-landing for the first time. ‘Is that it, Mr Charters?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Is it on its way somewhere, sir?’
    â€˜No, no – I anticipated your visit,’ Charters stammered. Trapped, he gave in. ‘Very well, Sergeant, take the thing. I shall want a receipt, mind.’
    Charters watched the police officers load the trunk into the boot of their car and drive away, then went indoors to telephone the latest news to Caldicott. Caldicott, however, was enjoying a whisky and soda and a pipe while listening to Any Questions? on the wireless and was in no hurry to answer. Only when his pipe was going to his satisfaction did he pick up the receiver.
    â€˜There you are,’ said Charters. ‘I’m at liberty to speak now.’
    â€˜Who’s that?’ Caldicott asked unnecessarily.
    â€˜Charters. Who do you think?’
    Caldicott, still smarting from Charters’ off-hand treatment of his own phone call earlier that evening, was in an unforgiving mood.
    â€˜Oh, very well,’ Charters snapped, after listening to Caldicott’s excuses. ‘What time does your wretched Any Questions? programme finish? I’ll ring you then.’
    Caldicott, smirking, turned up the volume on his radio. Charters, fuming, tuned in to Any Questions? himself and before long began to relax.
    The following morning, Caldicott stepped briskly out of Viceroy Mansions and headed for the nearby flower stall. After careful examination of its wares, he bought a bunch of flowers and continued on his way, ignoring the battery of newspaper placards bearing news of the murder in the Mansions. A young, effeminate-looking man of foreign appearance watched this transaction from a discreet distance. A compulsive eater, Cecil St Clair, as he styled himself, was working his way through a bar of chocolate he’d broken into pieces in his gloved hand. Upon Caldicott’s departure, he popped the last square into his mouth and strolled into Viceroy Mansions.
    â€˜Good morning. And I see from the board that one of the flats is for sale,’ said St Clair, in a Slavic accent, to Grimes.
    Grimes scented a tip. ‘Number ninety-one, sir. Snip. You at all interested, sir?’
    â€˜I should like to see it. Who has the keys? The agents?’
    â€˜ I have the keys, sir. Tell the truth, you don’t want to bother with the agents.