As the Crow Flies

“Start praying,” said Charlie.

“I already have,” said Roberts.

Mrs. Campbell returned a few moments later holding an envelope, which she handed over for Charlie’s safekeeping. In a bold copperplate hand were written the words: “The Manager, Coutts and Company, The Strand, London WC2.”

“I do hope you won’t find my request too much of an imposition, Sir Charles.”

“It’s a greater pleasure than you may ever realize, Mrs. Campbell,” Charlie assured her, as he bade the matron farewell.

Once they were back in the car, Roberts said, “It would be quite unethical of me to advise you as to whether you should or should not open that letter, Sir Charles. However—”

But Charlie had already ripped open the envelope and was pulling out its contents.

A check for ninety-two pounds was attached to a detailed, itemized bill for the years 1953 to 1964: in full and final settlement for the account of Miss Rachel Benson.

“God bless the Scots and their puritan upbringing,” said Charlie, when he saw to whom the check had been made out.

CHAPTER

46

“If you were quick, Sir Charles, you could still catch the earlier flight,” said Trevor Roberts as the car pulled into the hotel forecourt.

“Then I’ll be quick,” said Charlie, “as I’d like to be back in London as soon as possible.”

“Right, I’ll check you out, then phone the airport to see if they can change your reservation.”

“Good. Although I’ve a couple of days to spare there are still some loose ends I’d like to tidy up at the London end.”

Charlie had jumped out of the car even before the driver could reach the door to open it for him. He made a dash for his room and quickly threw all his possessions into a suitcase. He was back in the lobby twelve minutes later, had settled the bill and was making a dash towards the hotel entrance within fifteen. The driver was not only standing by the car waiting for him but the boot was already open.

Once the third door had been closed, the chauffeur immediately accelerated out of the hotel forecourt and swung the car into the fast lane, as he headed towards the freeway.

“Passport and ticket?” said Roberts.

Charlie smiled and removed them both from an inside pocket like a child having his prep list checked.

“Good, now let’s hope we can still reach the airport in time.”

“You’ve done wonders,” said Charlie.

“Thank you, Sir Charles,” said Roberts. “But you must understand that despite your gathering a considerable amount of evidence to substantiate your case, most of it remains at best circumstantial. Although you and I may be convinced that Cathy Ross is in fact Margaret Ethel Trentham, with Miss Benson in her grave and Miss Ross unable to recall all the relevant details of her past there’s no way of predicting whether a court would find in your favor.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” said Charlie. “But at least I now have something to bargain with. A week ago I had nothing.”

“True. And having watched you operate over the past few days I’m bound to say that I’d give you odds of better than fifty-fifty. But whatever you do, don’t let that picture out of your sight: it’s as convincing as any fingerprint. And see that at all times you keep Mrs. Campbell’s letter in a safe place until you’ve been able to make a copy. Also be sure that the original plus the accompanying cheque are then posted on to Coutts. We don’t want you arrested for stealing ninety-two pounds. Now, is there anything else I can do for you at this end?”

“Yes, you could try to get a written statement out of Walter Slade admitting that he took Mrs. Trentham and a little girl called Margaret to St. Hilda’s, and that she left without her charge. You might also attempt to pin Slade down to a date.”

“That might not prove easy after your encounter,” suggested Roberts.

“Well, at least have a go. Then see if you can find out if Miss Benson was in receipt of any other payments from Mrs. Trentham before 1953 and if so the amounts and dates. I suspect she’s been receiving a banker’s order every quarter for over thirty-five years, which would explain why she was able to end her days in such comparative luxury.”

“Agreed, but once again it’s entirely circumstantial and there’s certainly no way that any bank would allow me to delve into Miss Benson’s private account.”

“I accept that,” said Charlie. “But Mrs. Culver should be able to let you know what Miss Benson was earning while she was principal and if she appeared to live beyond her salary. After all, you can always find out what else St. Hilda’s needs other than a minibus.”

Roberts began to make notes as Charlie rattled out a series of further suggestions.