Mr. Calder & Mr. Behrens (23 page)

“He said, cool them off. All we’ve got to do is drop ‘em in the river, right?”

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Harris. “For the most part they are thoroughly respectable people. You put them in the motor launch, land them on the bank, and persuade them not to return.”

“And that’s all there is to it?”

“Not quite. There are the betting shops that have to be looked after. It’s a cash trade, so no bad debts to be collected. But it does happen, sometimes, that one of the managers gets ideas. Puts the money in his pocket, not in the books. When the auditors spot anything like that, you and Selby pay the manager a visit—”

“And hold him upside down until the money runs out of his pockets.”

“You’ve got the idea exactly.”

It was nearly a fortnight before they saw the major, who’d been away on business. When he summoned them to his office, they noticed that his right hand was in a glove. He said to the Crofts, “Sit down. Harris has been giving me a good report on you. You seem to handle the work very competently.”

“Well, you see, Major, it’s the sort of job we’ve done in rougher places than this.”

“I’m sure the routine work gives you no trouble at all. What I’ve got for you now, is a special job.”

Martin looked at him speculatively. He said, “Special job, special pay?”

“Naturally.”

“If there’s someone you want done, it’ll come expensive. Selby and me are aiming to keep our noses clean just now.”

“Not someone. Something. There’s a dog I want to have destroyed. A dangerous and savage dog. It attacked me the other day.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that glove?”

“Yes.” The major removed the glove and Martin looked curiously at the hand. The print of Rasselas’ teeth showed clearly on the back. “He severed two tendons. I’ve got the use of the hand back now. But it was painful.”

“I’ll say. It sounds the wrong sort of animal to mix with.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you mix with it. I’ve been making some enquiries. The animal belongs to a Mr. Calder. He lives in a cottage, two miles from the village of Lamperdown in Kent. I suggest—”

“That’s all right, Major,” said Martin. ‘’Leave all the details to Selby. He’s the marksman. Less you know about it the better.”

At six o’clock in the morning, three days later, Mr. Behrens’ telephone rang in his bedroom at the Old Rectory, Lamperdown. Mr. Behrens sat up in bed, couldn’t find his glasses, swore, found his glasses, picked up the receiver and said, “Hullo.”

“It’s me,” said Mr. Calder.

“I guessed as much. What do you want now?”

“A little help,” said Mr. Calder. “There’s a man holed up in an oak tree on the edge of the wood opposite my front door.”

“How do you know?”

“Rasselas spotted him. He refused to let me open the front door, and he’s been ‘pointing’ him for the last five minutes.”

“But you haven’t actually seen him?”

“No. When I used my binoculars, I did think I spotted a slight movement. What I guess he’s done is knock a hole in the hollow part of the trunk, and fixed his rifle up inside. That’d give him a rest for the gun, and good cover.”

“He sounds like an old hand,” said Mr. Behrens appreciatively.

“That’s why you’ll need to take him very carefully.”

“I’ll
need.”

“Well, I can’t come out. They may have the back covered too.”

“I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“It won’t take long,” said Mr. Calder. “You know the back path through the wood. All you’ve got to do is follow it, and you’ll come out right behind this joker.”

Selby had reconnoitred the place the evening before and had fixed up his hide before it was light. He was wearing a camouflage jacket. He was a careful and experienced sniper. The range he had estimated as two hundred yards. The telescopic sight was focused on the front door of the cottage, about eighteen inches above the ground. He was happy to wait. Sooner or later the door would open.

He tensed. The door had swung half open – showing a black gap. Who would fill it first? Man or dog?

The voice behind him said, “Don’t turn round too quickly.”

Selby froze.

“Leave that rifle exactly where it is, and come out. What I’ve got here is a twenty-bore shot gun. It’s got such a comfortable spread that I couldn’t possibly miss you. Come out, and stand up.”

“I know you,” said Selby stupidly.

“We met at Tilbury, and had a short talk. I remember warning you against peddling your brand of violence in this country.”

“Violence,” said Selby. “Who’s talking about violence? I came here to shoot a fox.”

“In some parts of the country, that’s regarded as worse than murder. Have you got a licence for that rifle?”

“What’s it got to do with you?”

Keep him talking.

“Look,” he said, “let’s be reasonable about this, shall we?”

Get one step closer, then duck under the barrel and collar him round the legs. Would the old coot have the nerve to pull the trigger?

“I didn’t mean any harm to you. Right? It’s just a job I’m doing for a friend. As a matter of fact, it isn’t a fox. It’s a dog. A nasty dangerous animal.”

“I shouldn’t say anything to upset him,” said Mr. Behrens.

Selby heard a slight sound and swung round.

Rasselas was standing just behind him. His nose was a few inches from Selby’s leg, and he was grinning.

“Listen,” said Martin Croft. “You’ve
got
to get him out.”

He was trying to speak reasonably, but there was an undercurrent in his voice which Major Porter found disturbing. He had employed rough people before, but never anyone of quite this calibre.

He said, “They can’t pin anything on him except the licence business. It’ll only be a fine. I’ll see it’s paid.”

“You don’t understand, do you? You’re not trying to understand. The way we’ve always worked is not to get mixed up with the law. Once they convict you of
anything
you’ve got a record. They’ve got your prints. You’re pegged.”

“Selby ought to have thought of that before he let himself be caught.”

“Let himself?” Martin’s voice went up. “Let himself nothing. He was doing your dirty work. A private grudge job.”

“I chose him because I thought he could do a simple job. Not make a mess of it.”

“When you talk like that,” said Martin slowly, “I don’t like you.”

The major was not a fool. He knew when he had gone too far. He said, “There’s no point in quarrelling. That won’t get us anywhere. Tell me what you want me to do, and if it’s reasonable, I’ll do it.”

“What you’ve got to do, is buy Selby out.”

“Buy him?”

“That’s right. Slip what’s necessary to the top policeman or judge, and kill the case.”

“You can’t do it. Not in this country.”

“Let me tell you,” said Martin, “I’ve bought my way out of trouble in every bloody country I’ve ever operated in. The only difference is, some cost more and some cost less. Don’t tell me they’re so snotty-nosed in this country they don’t know folding money when they see it.”

The major considered the matter. Then he said, “First things first. Your brother’s been committed for trial by the magistrates. They refused him bail. But they don’t have the last word. There’s an appeal to a judge in Chambers. We’ll do that next Monday. Get the best lawyers – a QC if necessary. It’ll take a bit of organising. We’ll have to put up two sureties. You can be one. I’ll be the other.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Martin.

“Fortescue doubts if we can hold him,” said Mr. Behrens.

Mr. Calder said, “As soon as he gets bail, he and his brother will skip. They’ve probably got half a dozen different passports, and as many ways out.”

“Which is exactly what we want.”

“It’s not what I want,” said Mr. Calder, coldly. “I want Major Porter.”

“You’re taking this very personally.”

“You seem to forget that he arranged to have Rasselas murdered.”

Later that day he had a word with Superintendent Hadow, with whom he was on friendly terms, having known him when he was attached to the Special Branch.

“Certainly I’ve heard stories about this club,” said Hadow. “Crooked play, and people being roughed up when they wouldn’t pay up. The trouble is, nobody’s ever been prepared to stand up in court and say so.”

“But you’d like to shut the place up?”

“Certainly. Give me an excuse to take away its gaming licence, or even its drink licence, and it’d be dead.”

“A bad case of disorderly conduct? Fighting? Use of firearms? Would that do it?”

“If it was reported to us.”

“Suppose you actually heard it. You’ve got two police launches which make regular patrols. Next Monday, suppose one of them put me quietly on shore at the end of the island? Let’s say at half past eight. Then they both cruise downstream, turn round and come back timing their arrival for exactly nine o’clock.”

“And you think,” said the Superintendent, “that if they did that, they might, at nine o’clock, just by coincidence, hear enough evidence of disorderly conduct to justify them investigating?”

“I’m a great believer in coincidences,” said Mr. Calder.

At half past four on Monday afternoon Martin Croft came out of the High Court, into the Strand. He was accompanied by his solicitor and Mr. Mortleman, QC. He said, “Well, what do we do next?”

“Better come back to my Chambers and talk about it,” said Mr. Mortleman.

The Chambers were in Queen Elizabeth Buildings and overlooked the Embankment.

“I’ve never known an application for bail more strenuously resisted,” said Mr. Mortleman. “The charge is trespass when armed with a rifle for which no licence had been obtained. In simpler terms, you might call it poaching. A first offence, too. We offer them two sound sureties, who are prepared to deposit the money in court if necessary. If it had been you alone, Mr. Croft, if you’ll excuse me saying so, they might have hesitated. You’re no longer, I believe, a national of this country, and have no fixed residence here. But Major Porter is quite different. He’s a substantial citizen, with a house, and a business.”

“Then why did the beak say no?”

“He didn’t say no. He agreed to adjourn the matter for a week so that the police could complete their enquiries. He didn’t like doing it. And I’m quite certain that when we do come up next week he’ll grant the application.”

“That means Selby’s got to stay inside.”

“But only for a week.”

“As long as that’s all it is,” said Martin.

When he came out of the building two men were waiting for him. They introduced themselves as detective sergeants and invited Martin, very politely, to accompany them back to Scotland Yard.

“What’s it all about?” said Martin.

“Superintendent Knox would like to have a word with you.”

“And who the hell is Superintendent Knox?”

“He’s in charge of the police proceedings against your brother.”

Martin thought about it. It occurred to him that possibly a deal was going to be offered.

Superintendent Knox came straight to the point. He said, “In court this afternoon your Counsel informed the Judge that the owner of the Island Club, Major Porter, was prepared to stand bail for your brother.”

“That’s right.”

“We thought you ought to know that he’s changed his mind.”

“He’s done
what
?” said Martin, his face going first red and then white.

“The message from the local station simply says that he’s withdrawn his offer of bail. We thought you ought to know this, so that you can go down at once and sort it out.”

“I’ll sort it out,” said Martin thickly. He looked at his watch. If he could find a taxi, he could just make the seven-fifty from Paddington.

On a fine summer evening business started early at the Island Club. When Martin got there just before nine o’clock, dusk had fallen. The lights were shining from the glassed-in balcony which looked downstream, and there was already a sizeable crowd round the gaming tables.

Martin came storming into the club. Leo Harris took one look at his face, and said, “What’s up, Martin? How did it go up in court?”

“Never mind about the bloody court,” said Martin. “I want a word with the major.”

“I’m not sure—”

“And I want it
now.”

Harris could see that it was not a moment for argument. He said curtly, “You’ll find him in his office,” and went back into the gaming room.

Mr. Calder, who had been standing unobtrusively by the door, saw his chance. The moment that Harris’s back was turned, he slipped into the passage way and followed Martin. As he did so, he looked down at the watch on his wrist. It showed two minutes to nine. The timing could not have been more exact.

As he reached the door of the office he heard the first explosion of anger from Martin and the Major’s voice, also raised in answer.

He opened the door a few inches. The two men in the room were too engrossed to take any notice.

“If the police hadn’t blown the gaff, I’d never have known, would I? Or not until next week. Then what was supposed to happen?”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Who am I supposed to believe? Them or you? You double- crossing bastard.”

“Personally,” said Mr. Calder, “I should believe the police. They’re much more reliable.”

Both men swung round. Mr. Calder had shut the door carefully behind him and was standing there, holding a gun in his gloved right hand.

The major said, “Who the hell are you? That’s my gun. Put it down and get out.”

He seemed more angry than frightened.

Mr. Calder said, “We’ve met before. If I’d brought my dog along, I imagine you’d recognise him. He became quite—er—attached to you.”

The major said, “Take the gun from him, Croft. He’s not got the guts to use it.”

“No?” said Mr. Calder. His head was cocked, and he seemed to be listening. “I shouldn’t bank on it.” He raised the gun and took careful aim.

The first shot went through the glass of the window overlooking the river. The next shot hit Martin Croft in the upper part of his right arm. The third shot went into the ceiling.

The next moment the whole place seemed to be full of policemen.