Timetable of Death

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Female company was something that Madeleine Colbeck had learnt to do without. There were maidservants and a cook in the house but that was not the same as having a woman with whom she could talk on equal terms. Though her aunt paid occasional visits, the age gap between them inevitably steered the conversation in set directions. Being an artist meant that Madeleine had of necessity to spend a great deal of time on her own and she relished that solitude. It was only when she was not at work that she felt lonely. Now that she had a guest of her own age, she realised how much she had been missing.

‘It was so kind of you to offer me accommodation,’ said Lydia Quayle. ‘I’d expected to stay at a hotel.’

‘You’re very welcome here.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Colbeck.’

‘It’s a pleasure, Miss Quayle.’ Madeleine laughed. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘If we’re going to have dinner together, I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? Please use my Christian name.’

‘And you must do the same, Madeleine.’

‘I will, Lydia.’

It was a step forward and each of them appreciated it. Madeleine had not merely invited her to stay out of kindness. She wanted her visitor to have time to consider her decision to return home in the certain knowledge that there would be some domestic upheaval as a result. Lydia had been ready to set off there and then but she was persuaded to postpone the journey to Nottingham until the following day. It gave them the opportunity to get to know each other better.

‘Why didn’t you give your name when you called here?’ asked Madeleine.

‘I wasn’t sure that you’d wish to see me.’

‘But I volunteered my address.’

‘You did that out of kindness,’ said Lydia. ‘I wasn’t certain that you’d really want me to come here with my tale of woe. Because I didn’t give my name, I knew I’d at least get to see you. Curiosity would have brought you out.’

‘It did. I was puzzled.’

They were in the drawing room, awaiting the summons to dine. Lydia was relieved and reassured. In coming to the house, she’d not only found someone who’d accompany her to Nottingham, she’d made a real friend. Something else struck her. Alone with Madeleine, she was able to act and feel her own age. Looking back, she saw that life with Beatrice Myler had put unlived years on her. Lydia had dressed, thought and behaved as an older woman. Maturity had been a comforting shell into which she’d willingly climbed. Now, however, the comfort came from being with someone who made her feel younger and more alive.

‘I didn’t realise that the police employed women,’ she said.

‘They don’t,’ said Madeleine, ‘and you must never tell anyone that I came to see you. Scotland Yard would never dream of letting women become detectives. I’ve only been involved because my husband believes that I have something to offer that neither he nor Sergeant Leeming possesses.’

‘It’s true. I could never have talked as openly to the sergeant as I have to you.’

‘I take that as a compliment.’

‘I trusted you, Madeleine.’

‘Then I hope I can repay that trust,’ said Madeleine. ‘On one issue, I’m afraid, I have to disappoint you. I won’t be able to go to your home. I’m happy to accompany you to Nottingham to lend some moral support but, if I’m introduced to your family as Inspector Colbeck’s wife, it could well compromise the whole investigation.’

‘I don’t wish to get you or the inspector into any trouble.’

‘Thank you, Lydia.’

‘Would your husband lose his job as a result?’

‘Oh, I don’t think they’d be foolish enough to dismiss him altogether. He’s far too valuable a detective to cast aside. But there would be a lot of embarrassment and he might even be demoted.’

‘I don’t want that to happen,’ said Lydia, worriedly.

‘Neither do I. As it happens, I have been in a position to help with certain investigations in the past but that fact has had to be suppressed. Superintendent Tallis takes a dim view of women altogether,’ said Madeleine. ‘If he knew that my husband had actually dared to call on my services, the superintendent would roast him alive.’

Edward Tallis surprised them both. Instead of descending on them in a fit of wrath, he’d come, in the spirit of enquiry, to find out exactly what was going on. His manner was calm and his tongue lacking its usual asperity. Colbeck and Leeming could not remember the last time he’d been in such a quiescent mood. Neither of them realised that, in coming to Derby, he’d been escaping from London and from the scorn of the commissioner. At the bookstall in King’s Cross railway station, Tallis had taken the trouble to buy a copy of the offending edition of Punch and he’d chuckled at the way his superior had been pilloried, his amusement edged with relief that he hadn’t been the target this time.

Instead of being unable to touch his food, Leeming ate heartily and left the senior officers to do most of the talking. All three of them found the lamb and mint sauce to their taste. Tallis dabbed at his mouth with a napkin to remove the specks of gravy from his moustache.

‘How would you summarise this case, Colbeck?’

‘I’d do so in two words, sir.’

‘And what might they be?’

‘Confusion and error,’ muttered Leeming.

Colbeck smiled. ‘We’ve encountered both since we’ve been here,’ he agreed, ‘but I had two different words in mind — coal and silk.’

‘Explain,’ said Tallis.

‘The products define the battle for the chairmanship of the Midland Railway, sir. Mr Quayle made his fortune out of coal while Mr Haygarth lives in luxury on the profits of his silk mills. Coal is hard while silk is soft. In some ways,’ argued Colbeck, ‘they help to characterise the two men. We never knew Mr Quayle but we met his elder son who’s been likened to him in every way.’ He turned to Leeming. ‘How would you describe Stanley Quayle?’

‘Cold and hard.’

‘Just like a piece of coal. What about Mr Haygarth?’

‘Smooth and snake-like.’

‘Just like a bolster of silk.’

‘I’m trying hard to follow your reasoning,’ complained Tallis.

‘It’s quite simple, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘The one has ousted the other. From what we can gather, Mr Quayle was a natural leader, respected, strong-willed and resilient in the face of the many difficulties that have afflicted this railway company. He’s been supplanted by a more subtle, guileful and sinister rival.’

‘Are you saying that Mr Haygarth is behind the murder?’

‘He’s the one who stands to gain most out of it, sir.’

‘Then why insist on calling on you to lead the investigation?’

‘He wants to gain kudos by appearing to make every effort to solve this crime while confident that a solution is beyond me.’

‘I still think that Hockaday had a part in it,’ asserted Leeming. ‘He’s not clever enough to set the whole thing up by himself but he’d be a willing helper if there was money in it. That brings us back to the person best placed to employ the cobbler to do his dirty work for him — Superintendent Wigg.’

‘That’s a ludicrous suggestion,’ said Tallis.

‘We’ve met corrupt policemen before, sir.’

‘You hardly need to tell me that, Leeming. I’ve had to dismiss too many of them. Inspector Alban Kee was an example. I’ll have no fraudsters or bribe-takers under my command. Now, I’ve never met this Superintendent Wigg,’ he went on, ‘but I find it hard to believe that anyone in his position would condone — let alone, incite — murder. Haygarth stands to gain from the death but Wigg was bound to lose. He’d merely be replacing one person he loathed by another. What’s the point of that?’

‘The superintendent’s brother is a pharmacist, sir,’ Leeming reminded him.

‘That’s an irrelevance.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then you must learn to focus your mind, Sergeant.’

Tallis went on to give a searching analysis of the evidence so far gathered and showed that he’d been listening very carefully. While conceding that Haygarth had to be a major suspect, his instinct was that a much younger man was involved.

‘Gerard Burns is the most likely killer,’ he concluded.

‘I thought that until I met him,’ said Colbeck.

‘What changed your mind?’

‘I tried to look at him from the point of view of his employers, sir. He was well paid and given an important job by Mr Quayle. Burns clearly did it very well. It was only when he strayed away from it that the trouble started.’

‘He suffered physical injury on Quayle’s orders. An urge for revenge must still burn inside him.’

‘It does, Superintendent, and he won’t gainsay that. But think of the man who indirectly pays his wages now. Every servant and gardener at Melbourne Hall would have been subjected to rigorous scrutiny before they were taken on. Rare as his visits to Derbyshire are, the prime minister would not want potential killers among his staff. In essence,’ said Colbeck, ‘Burns is an excellent gardener so committed to his trade that he doesn’t have the time or the inclination to avenge an old slight.’

‘It was much more than a slight,’ said Tallis. ‘My money is on him.’

‘We know that Burns was in Derby on the night of the murder,’ added Leeming. ‘Why won’t he tell you where he went?’

‘Perhaps I should have a word with him.’

‘No, no, sir,’ said Colbeck, hastily, ‘that would be unwise. If Gerard Burns is our man — and I’m not convinced of that — we should leave him alone and let him think he’s got away with it. If he really is the killer, we’ll amass the evidence that will put a noose around his neck. However, I still think him innocent.’

‘You prefer to see him in terms of his work,’ said Tallis, ‘and choose to forget the scandal he caused at the Quayle household. In my opinion, that’s a more accurate reflection of his character. He’s sly, deceitful and a practised libertine.’

‘What he was drawn into was a genuine romance, sir.’

‘Burns has no moral compass.’

‘Miss Quayle doesn’t believe that, sir,’ recalled Leeming. ‘She loved him for his good qualities. I told you how well she spoke of him.’

‘The fellow was bent on deflowering her.’

An awkward pause ensured. When he realised that he was talking about a gardener, Tallis was embarrassed that he’d chosen that particular word. Colbeck and Leeming traded a glance but said nothing, all too conscious that romance had passed the superintendent by. Tallis neither understood nor approved of relations between the two sexes. If the subject came up, therefore, it was better to let him rehearse his prejudices without challenging them.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked.

‘There’s a rather tempting dessert menu in front of you,’ Colbeck pointed out.

‘I’m asking whom you will question tomorrow.’

‘Well, I’m going to see that pharmacist in Belper,’ said Leeming.

‘Save yourself the trouble. Colbeck?’

‘I plan to visit the Quayle family again, sir.’

‘Good,’ said Tallis. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Colbeck sighed. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t impose on you, sir.’

‘Never spurn the assistance of your superior. Besides, a second opinion is always wise.’ He stroked his moustache. ‘Now pass that menu and I’ll see if it contains anything to tempt my palate.’

Jed Hockaday was a different man in uniform. He looked bigger, broader and more upright. His swagger became more pronounced. Having finished work at his shop, he’d closed it up, eaten a frugal meal then stepped out into the streets of Spondon as a police constable. His footsteps took him in the direction of the railway station. Long before he reached it, he heard the train that he was supposed to meet arriving with its customary pandemonium. The cobbler soon saw a uniformed figure leaving the station amid a knot of other passengers. He waited until Elijah Wigg reached him.

‘I expected you on the station platform,’ said Wigg.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I was late closing up.’

‘Punctuality matters. It’s a mark of respect.’

‘It won’t happen again, Superintendent.’

Wigg fell in beside him and they walked back towards the village.

‘What do you have to report?’

‘They’ve found nothing.’

‘Are they still burrowing away?’

‘Yes,’ said Hockaday, ‘but it won’t do them any good.’

‘I hope that’s the case, Constable.’

‘It is, sir. What I don’t see with my own eyes, other people tell me about. They’ve both been here — Inspector Colbeck and the sergeant — but they don’t know where to look.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘The real nuisance is that reporter from the Mercury.’

‘Do you mean Conway?’

‘That’s him,’ said Hockaday with a malevolent smile. ‘He’s too clever for his own good. Ever since it happened, he’s been here like a bloodhound in search of a scent. And he’s more likely to find one than the detectives.’

‘Has Conway been bothering you?’

‘Yes, sir — do you know him?’

‘I make it my business to know all the staff on the Mercury. Most of them are well-intentioned bumblers but Conway sticks out. Young men with ambitions are always dangerous.’

‘He and Sergeant Leeming are becoming good friends.’

‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ said Wigg, caressing both of his side whiskers simultaneously. ‘We don’t want them to get too close.’

‘No,’ said the other, ‘Conway is enough of a nuisance as it is.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I’ll have a word with the editor and see if he can move Conway away from Spondon.’

‘I tried to frighten him off, Superintendent.’

‘Did it work?’

‘That’s the trouble. I’m not sure.’

They were almost late for their train. As the cab was about to set off, Madeleine Colbeck remembered something she’d forgotten and rushed back into the house. During the long minutes her friend was away, Lydia Quayle was fretting, afraid that their train would go without them and that they’d be forced to wait for a later one. As it was, Madeleine came out with a flurry of apologies, clambered into the cab and asked the driver to take them to King’s Cross. In spite of heavy traffic, they got there with plenty of time to spare. Since they shared a first-class compartment with other travellers, the two women found it impossible to have a proper conversation. It was only when their companions got off at Bedford that they were able to talk properly.

‘You look uneasy,’ said Madeleine.

‘I’m very nervous,’ admitted Lydia.

‘That’s understandable.’

‘I don’t know what sort of a reception I’ll get.’

‘You know that your younger brother will welcome you and your mother is sure to be pleased that you’ve come home.’

‘It’s not my home any longer, Madeleine. I’m going there to make a gesture and not to move in again. That’s out of the question.’ She smiled gratefully. ‘I couldn’t do this without you. It’s so kind of you to come all the way to Nottingham with me. It would have been much easier for you to stay on this train to Derby where you’d have a chance of seeing your husband.’

‘I can do that afterwards, Lydia. We’ll change at Kettering and catch the train to Nottingham. It’s the least I can do.’

Madeleine was not just prompted by sympathy. At their first encounter, Lydia had given her a privileged insight into the Quayle family and, after her visit home, might be able to furnish other details that had a bearing on the investigation. While acting as a friend, therefore, Madeleine had not entirely shed her role as a detective.

‘How long will you stay?’ she asked.

‘They may not wish me to stay.’

‘It’s your home, Lydia. They’ll insist on it.’

‘Stanley won’t, that’s certain, and I don’t know how Agnes will react.’

‘Blood is thicker than water. You’ll all be drawn together.’

Lydia was dubious. ‘Will we?’

They were passing through open countryside and they took time off to admire the landscape that was speeding past. The rural serenity was a sharp contrast to the tumult of the capital with its urban sprawl and constant smoke. Lydia had grown up in such surroundings but Madeleine could only yearn for them.

‘What will you do afterwards?’ she asked.

‘Well, I hope to see you at some stage, Madeleine.’

‘I’ll be staying at the Royal Hotel — if my husband permits that, of course.’

‘He’s hardly likely to turn you away,’ said Lydia with a laugh. ‘Judging by what you’ve told me about him, I’d say that he’d be thrilled to see you.’

‘And your family will be equally thrilled to see you.’

Lydia grimaced. ‘I’ve no illusions on that score.’

‘You reached out to them — that’s the main thing.’

‘I could only do that when I knew that my father was dead.’

Madeleine wanted to ask her about her plans for the future but felt that it would be too intrusive. Lydia was in a fragile state. While she was prepared to talk about her family, she’d said almost nothing about the woman with whom she’d been living. Madeleine recalled how Beatrice Myler had done her best to send her and Victor Leeming on their way when they called, and how resentful she’d been when they were invited into the house by Lydia. There must have been tension in the wake of their departure. Madeleine wondered if and how it had been resolved.

It was almost as if Lydia could hear the question that her friend was posing.

‘The answer is that I don’t know, Madeleine,’ she said.

‘You don’t know what?’

‘The situation in London became increasingly difficult. I had to leave.’

‘But you haven’t left for good, surely?’

‘I may have done.’

‘I thought you’d be going back eventually to Miss Myler’s house.’

‘Beatrice may not want me there.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

‘I’m an orphan,’ said Lydia. ‘I’m travelling between two homes that each may rebuff me in turn. My family may well find that what I did in walking out was unforgivable and Beatrice is entitled to feel the same. I’m just a poor orphan, Madeleine. I don’t belong anywhere.’

Robert Colbeck opted for the lesser of two evils. Determined to keep Edward Tallis away from the Quayle family, he agreed that the superintendent could instead confront Gerard Burns. It would keep him out of the way and give him the feeling that he was helping in the investigation. It might also make him less certain that Burns was the killer. Had he accompanied Colbeck, he would have been a real hindrance. Tallis had intervened before and not always with beneficial effect. In the previous year, he’d insisted on being involved in a case of abduction and got in Colbeck’s way. On another occasion, he’d thrust himself into a murder investigation in Exeter and been injured in the process. His most troublesome intervention had been in a case involving the death of an old army friend in Yorkshire. Because his emotions had got the better of him, Tallis had been a severe handicap and it was only when he’d been persuaded to return to London that Colbeck and Leeming had been able to solve what turned out to be a complex crime.

Arriving on his own at the Quayle residence, Colbeck was able to have a free hand. For the first time, he met the brothers together. Lucas was pleased to see him but Stanley was more reserved. After an exchange of niceties, Colbeck gave them a brief account of the progress of the investigation.

‘When will you make an arrest?’ demanded Stanley.

‘When we have sufficient evidence, sir,’ replied Colbeck.

‘You must have some idea who the villain is.’

‘As the sergeant explained to you, we have more than one suspect.’

‘Haygarth is behind it somehow,’ decided Lucas.

‘It’s either him or Burns,’ said his brother. ‘Have you considered that the two of them may have been acting together, Inspector?’

‘We’ve considered every permutation, sir,’ replied Colbeck. ‘The one you’ve suggested is the least likely. The only connection between the two individuals is that Mr Haygarth once tried to coax Mr Burns away from you.’

‘They’re two of a kind.’

‘I fail to see any likeness. They come from the opposing worlds of masters and servants. Mr Haygarth is an entrepreneur with soaring aspirations while the other man has secured what is for him the perfect post.’

‘Except that he can’t play cricket for this county any more,’ said Lucas, sadly.

‘He’s bound to regret that.’

Stanley was irritated. ‘Let’s not talk about that despicable man,’ he said, peevishly. ‘We’re well rid of him. I want to know why it is taking you so infernally long to gather evidence.’

‘The killer left no discernible trail, sir.’

‘Have you come all the way from Derby to tell us that?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘I came to ask you a favour.’

‘If we can be of any assistance,’ said Lucas, helpfully, ‘we will.’

‘That depends what you want,’ added Stanley. ‘We can’t have you poking around here at a time like this. I’m sure you understand that.’

‘I do, sir.’

‘So what is it that you’re after?’

‘I need permission to speak to your coachman.’ The brothers were baffled. ‘I assume that he used to drive your father to and from the station on a regular basis. Who, therefore, is in a better position to tell me about his movements?’

‘Cleary can’t help you,’ said Stanley.

‘You never know,’ argued Lucas.

‘I’ve spoken to him myself. He has no idea where Father was going on the day of the murder. Talking to him would be pointless.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’d value a word with him.’

‘I have no objection,’ said Lucas. ‘Stanley?’

‘Is it really necessary?’ asked his brother.

‘It’s what brought me here, sir. You’re welcome to be present, of course, and that goes for both of you. Well?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Do I have your permission?’

Leeming’s rooted dislike of train journeys was intensified by the fact that he had to share a compartment with a garrulous farmer whose clothing gave off such powerful agricultural vapours that the sergeant had a fit of coughing. Fortunately, the man gave him no opportunity to speak and that was a blessing because Leeming found his broad Derbyshire dialect almost impenetrable. What he did gather was that the major landowners were the Strutt family, who owned the local cotton mills, and that they’d complained about the projected railway line so strongly that its direction was radically altered. Leeming could see through the window that the construction must have been a highly expensive process because the train passed through a long, deep cutting and passed no less than eleven bridges within a mile. The Strutt family, he suspected, would not have been popular with the North Midland Railway, as it was at the time.

Glad to escape the stench of the soil and the interminable lecture in a foreign language, Leeming made his way towards the centre of Belper. It didn’t take him long to find the shop owned by Reuben Wigg. When he stepped into it, he was greeted by a blend of bewitching aromas. Superintendent Wigg and his brother bore little resemblance to each other. While the policeman was hirsute, the pharmacist was singularly lacking in hair. Bald-headed and clean-shaven, Reuben Wigg wore a white coat and an expression of severe disapproval. His brother had patently monopolised all of the arrogance allotted to the family and left a residue of umbrage for the pharmacist.

Before Leeming could speak, a customer came into the shop and was served first. After his departure, the sergeant was able to introduce himself and state his business, only to be interrupted by two more customers. When it happened for a third time, he asked if he could speak to Wigg in private. The pharmacist reluctantly called his assistant into the shop before taking his visitor into a back room with an even more pleasing pungency. Leeming asked the question that had brought him there.

‘Have you ever sold poison to your brother?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Is that the truth?’

‘I haven’t sold anything to Elijah,’ said the other, ‘for one simple reason. He doesn’t think he’d have to pay. Because I’m his brother, he expects to get everything free. You can’t run a business like that.’

‘How often do you see him?’

‘We see precious little of him.’

‘I have the feeling that you’re rather glad about that.’

‘Elijah and I are not the best of friends, Sergeant.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It’s a personal matter.’

‘Has he ever asked you for advice about poisons?’

‘Why should he? There are pharmacists in Derby.’

‘Yes, but you’re his brother.’

‘Only in name,’ said Wigg, sourly. ‘In answer to your question, I’ve never sold Elijah any poison but there have been many times when I’ve been tempted to administer some to him.’ The bell tinkled as someone else came into the shop. ‘I’ll have to go, Sergeant. My customers rely on me.’

Leeming was deflated. All that he’d gained from his visit was the news that the Wigg brothers were hostile to each other. Trudging back towards the railway station, he hoped that Colbeck and Tallis would have more productive encounters.

John Cleary was cleaning some harnesses when Lucas Quayle arrived with Colbeck in tow. After introducing the two men to each other, Lucas left them alone. Cleary put the harness aside and wiped his hands on a cloth.

‘I’m told that you’re a good cricketer,’ said Colbeck.

Cleary smiled. ‘I do my best, sir.’

‘You and Gerard Burns were outstanding.’

‘Ah, well, we’ve lost him, I’m afraid.’

‘Are you sorry about that?’

‘Very sorry.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Gerard was a friend. There are not too many of those around here.’

‘Have you played any cricket matches since he left?’

‘Yes, sir — we lost them all.’

Cleary was saddened rather than embittered. Since he excelled at cricket, the game was important to him and he’d enjoyed a run of success in the past. Without Gerard Burns in the side, the team was condemned to a series of losses.

‘What I’m trying to find out,’ explained Colbeck, ‘is where Mr Quayle went on the day of his murder. You drive him to the railway station, I understand.’

‘That’s true, Inspector, but he never said where he was going that day.’

‘Where did he usually go?’

‘Oh, he went to his office in Derby, even on Sundays sometimes.’

‘Did he catch a particular train?’

‘Yes, he kept to a strict timetable,’ replied Cleary. ‘Mr Quayle always caught the same train in the morning and if he needed me to meet him in the evening he’d tell me what time to be there.’

Colbeck warmed to the man. The coachman answered questions without hesitation and looked him in the eye as he did so. There was no hint of the evasion he’d met elsewhere. Cleary wanted to help.

‘What sort of a man was Mr Quayle?’

‘I’m not the best person to ask that, sir.’

‘Why not? You saw him almost every day.’

‘Yes, but all he did was to give me my orders. In all the years I’ve been here, we never talked properly. Don’t misunderstand me,’ he went on, ‘I had the greatest respect for Mr Quayle. He was a good employer and treated me well but I never really got to know him as a person.’ He waved an arm that took in the stable yard. ‘This is where I belong, sir.’

‘I’m not asking you to tell tales about him, Mr Cleary.’

‘There are none to tell.’

‘What about his row with Mr Burns? I’d call that a tale worth hearing.’

‘All I know is that we lost a good gardener and a decent man. Not that I’m taking sides,’ said Cleary, quickly. ‘Mr Quayle did what he felt was right. I’ve no argument with that.’ He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I do miss Gerard on the cricket field. I’ve never seen a bowler like him.’

‘Has he ever been back here?’

‘No, Inspector.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He told me he was going for good.’

‘Was that before or after he was beaten up?’

Cleary was surprised. ‘You know about that?’ he asked, replacing his cap.

‘I’ve spoken to him twice.’

‘What happened to him was bad. Gerard could hardly walk.’

‘Did that make you look at Mr Quayle in a different way?’

‘I do what I’m paid to do,’ said Cleary, levelly.

Colbeck studied him. He could see why the coachman had befriended the gardener. Apart from cricket, they had much in common. They were younger than most of the servants and had positions that they cherished. In his mind’s eye, Colbeck could see them slipping off to a local inn together after the day’s work was done.

‘Did he ever talk to you about Miss Lydia Quayle?’

Cleary was emphatic. ‘No — it was none of my business.’

‘Were you shocked when the truth came out?’

‘We all were, Inspector.’

‘Did it cause a lot of upset here?’

‘Yes, it did. But that’s all in the past.’

‘The murder of Mr Quayle has brought it alive again,’ said Colbeck, ‘because Mr Burns is bound to be viewed as someone with a strong motive to kill his former employer.’ Cleary shook his head violently. ‘You disagree?’

‘Gerard would never do such a thing, sir.’

‘Have you seen him since he moved away from here?’

‘Only once — but I don’t need to see him. I know him. He’s not a killer.’

‘People can change, Mr Cleary.’

‘Our sort stay the same,’ said the other, steadfastly.

His identification with the gardener was complete. Cleary and Burns were kindred spirits. The coachman refused to believe that his friend was capable of murder. While he admired the man’s loyalty, Colbeck doubted his judgement.

‘Did Mr Quayle ever stay away from home?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir — he often went to London on business.’

‘Where else did he go?’

‘I don’t know. All I was told was when he was coming back.’

‘Let me ask you a final question, Mr Cleary,’ he said, ‘and I want you to take all the time you need before answering it. On the day of the murder, you took Mr Quayle to the railway station at the usual time. Presumably, he caught the usual train but you are in no position to confirm that. Was there anything — anything at all — that was different that day? Did Mr Quayle say or do anything out of the ordinary? Now, please — think carefully.’

The coachman needed only a few seconds to recall something unusual.

‘I could be wrong, of course,’ he warned.

‘What do you remember?’

‘Well, Mr Quayle took very little notice of me as a rule. When he got out of the carriage, he just muttered his thanks.’

‘Was there something different on the last day you saw him?’

‘Yes,’ replied Cleary, ‘there was. He didn’t say a single word to me at the railway station and … I had a feeling that he’d been crying.’