Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

ON GUARD

Jake Fullard had always wanted to be a guard. It gave him a wonderful sense of authority because he was in charge of a train. The engine driver and the fireman were subservient to him. If a train stopped for any reason other than at a signal, it was Fullard’s job to apply the brake in the brake van then walk back down the line to warn oncoming trains that there was a blockage ahead. By his count — and he was a pedantic mathematician — he had prevented fourteen potential collisions by his prompt action. Fullard was a slight man in his forties with a long neck and narrow shoulders. He had a full beard, bushy eyebrows and protruding ears. Highly efficient at his job, he was also known for the care he took in his appearance. He’d never venture outside the house unless his uniform was brushed clean and his boots polished. His preference was for acting as guard on passenger trains so he was irked when he found himself assigned to a livestock train. His wife, Hannah, bore the brunt of his annoyance.

‘I’m too good to be wasted on animals,’ he protested.

‘Yes, Jake, I’m sure you are.’

‘The noise is always deafening and you wouldn’t believe the stink.’

‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘It gets into your clothes sometimes.’

‘It’s ridiculous,’ he went on. ‘I’m the best guard in the whole company and they make me look after pigs, cattle, sheep and horses. I should be above that kind of thing. Apart from anything else, I hate farm animals. Whenever I get anywhere near one, I start coughing and wheezing.’

‘It’s not fair on you, Jake.’

Hannah was a full-bodied woman in her forties with a pleasant face framed by a mass of dark curls. Fiercely loyal to her husband, she always oozed sympathy when she felt he’d been slighted.

He gave her a token peck on the cheek before setting off for work. It was a dull morning with persistent drizzle falling from a leaden sky. Fullard walked the half-mile to the station at a brisk pace. On arriving there, he saw that the stock wagons had already been loaded and that the animals were protesting noisily at being penned up. When he was guard on a passenger train, he travelled inside the brake van and was protected from the elements. On a livestock train, however, he sat high up at the rear of the wagons so that he could keep an eye on them in transit.

Fullard went first to the engine. The driver was puffing on his pipe while the fireman was complaining about the drizzle. After moaning about the animals, Fullard chatted with them for a few minutes then walked the length of the train towards the brake van. There were thirty wagons in all, each producing its individual cacophony and giving off its distinctive reek. Fullard checked each wagon to make certain that it was secure. He found the stink of the pigs particularly offensive and held his nose when close to them. When he reached the brake van, he was about to climb up on top of it when something hit him so viciously on the back of the head that his skull split open and his career as a guard came to a premature end.

There were two things that Victor Leeming remembered about Devon. It was a long way from London and it was the scene of a hideous murder that he and Robert Colbeck had once investigated in Exeter. The county town was again involved because the death of Jake Fullard had occurred at Cullompton beside a train that was taking animals to market in Exeter. The detectives had been summoned from Scotland Yard by telegraph. Leeming was, as usual, afraid that they might be kept away from London for days. Colbeck was more sanguine.

‘Cullompton is a small town, Victor,’ he said. ‘People tend to know each other in places like that. It’s not like London where strangers can go unnoticed in a huge population. If anything out of the ordinary happened in Cullompton, somebody will have been aware of it.’

‘All we know is that the guard was trampled to death.’

‘Foul play is suspected.’

‘It could have been an accident. They happen all the time.’

‘This one is different — at least that’s what the railway company thinks.’

‘Where will you start, Inspector?’

‘I’ll view the body, examine the scene of the crime then speak to the driver and the fireman.’

‘What about me?’

‘Do you really need to ask?’ teased Colbeck. ‘You’ll be taking statements from the animals. They’ll have lots to tell you, I’m sure.’

The town was a hundred and eighty miles from London but the express train got them there speedily. They found Cullompton station in turmoil. Farmers were demanding to know why their animals were still stuck in a siding and threatening to sue the company if they weren’t on sale in Exeter market on the following morning. Passengers awaiting trains had drifted over to a position from which they could see the actual spot where the dead body had been found. Word had spread quickly in the town and dozens of people had congregated out of curiosity. Martin Rimmer, the tubby stationmaster with a walrus moustache, was besieged.

‘Thank God you’ve come,’ he said when the detectives introduced themselves. ‘It’s been like a madhouse here.’

‘What exactly happened?’ asked Colbeck.

‘We don’t rightly know, Inspector. Jake Fullard is an experienced guard who prides himself on the way he does his job. Yet he got trampled by a wagonload of bullocks. The driver and fireman only realised that something was amiss when a couple of the animals went galloping past them. Others charged off in another direction and three of them mounted the platform and caused mayhem among the passengers. Dan Ferris, the farmer who owns them, has only just finished rounding them up. I’m not looking forward to meeting him,’ said Rimmer, grimacing. ‘Dan’s language is ripe at the best of times.’

‘Were there any witnesses?’

‘None have come forward.’

‘Has there been any attempt to find them?’

‘One of the local constables has been doing the rounds in search of anyone who might be able to shed light on what happened.’

‘Where’s the guard now?’ asked Leeming.

‘He’s in my office, Sergeant. I wasn’t sure whether to leave him here or have him moved by the undertaker. In the end, I decided to keep him.’

‘Good,’ said Colbeck. ‘Has the family been informed?’

‘Yes,’ replied Rimmer, nervously. ‘Hannah Fullard and her daughter both know that Jake is dead. What they haven’t been told, however, is whether or not he was murdered. We’re hoping that you could confirm that.’

‘Let’s go and see him.’

The appearance of the detectives had aroused a lot of interest and there was a heavy murmur all round them as they walked towards the stationmaster’s office. Two uniformed railway policemen were standing outside to keep people at bay. When they realised who the newcomers were, they stepped aside. Rimmer unlocked the door to let the detectives into the office then he locked it behind them. Curtains had been drawn to keep out prying eyes, so there was diminished light.

The body of Jake Fullard was stretched out on a trestle table and covered with a blanket. Though the faces of the dead were an all too common sight to Colbeck and Leeming, both of them recoiled slightly when the blanket was peeled back. Fullard’s face had been smashed in by the impact of several hooves. Covered in gore, it lacked eyes and a nose. The black beard was now a dark red. Colbeck drew the blanket back so that the whole body was revealed. In their escape from the wagon, the bullocks had left muddy hoof marks all over the guard and had doubtless broken many of his bones in the process.

‘What makes you think he was murdered, Mr Rimmer?’ asked Colbeck.

‘It’s the wound on the back of his head, Inspector. It’s far worse than anything else. Yet he was lying on his back in the grass beside the track,’ explained Rimmer. ‘It was wet from the rain we had this morning and quite soft. As you can see, the bullocks did the damage to the face and the front of his body. How did he get that horrible gash in the back of his head?’

Colbeck removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it round his hand before gently lifting up the guard’s head. He and Leeming could see that the skull had taken a fearful blow that could not have been the work of scampering hooves.

‘Were you called to the scene, Mr Rimmer?’

‘Yes, I was, Inspector.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘Well,’ said the stationmaster, ‘I saw Jake on his back and the wagon empty. What made it worse, you see, was that they’d all jumped on top of him. When they’re unloaded, a ramp is used so that they can come down it one at a time. In this case, the bullocks each leapt three feet before they landed on top of poor Jake.’

‘I don’t think he would have felt a thing,’ said Colbeck, sadly. ‘My guess is that he was dead before the first bullock hit him. That blow to the head was lethal.’ He eased the head back down again. ‘Have you searched his pockets?’

‘No, I didn’t think it was my place to do so.’

Colbeck conducted a quick search of the dead man. Apart from a spotted handkerchief, a notebook, a pencil and a small box of lozenges, the pockets were empty. He pulled the blanket over the corpse.

‘His wallet is missing. That gives us a possible motive for murder. Also,’ said Colbeck, ‘someone has taken his watch.’

‘We don’t know that he had a watch,’ said Leeming.

‘I can see that you don’t work on the railway, Sergeant. Everything is covered by time. A guard would be certain to have a pocket watch.’

‘Perhaps it came off when the bullocks jumped on him.’

‘Then it would have been found beside him,’ said Rimmer, ‘and it wasn’t.’

‘Right,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Contact the undertaker. Mr Fullard can be moved.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rimmer with a sigh of relief. ‘I’m not squeamish as a rule but having him here is … well, unsettling. I knew Jake Fullard. He was a first-rate guard. Seeing him like this is really upsetting.’

‘Where will we find the driver and the fireman?’ asked Leeming.

‘Olly had to go home — that’s Oliver Dann, the driver. He and Jake were good friends. They used to play cribbage together. Olly was so distressed when he saw what had happened that he passed out.’

‘What about the fireman?’

‘That’s Luke Upton,’ said Rimmer. ‘He’s younger and has got a stronger stomach. When he and Olly were laid off for the day, Luke went straight to the White Hart.’

‘Then that’s where you’ll find him, Sergeant,’ said Colbeck, nodding towards the door. ‘See what he has to say then meet me at the police station.’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Leeming.

The stationmaster unlocked the door and let him out. ‘Olly Dann lives only a stone’s throw away, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the address.’

‘First things first, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Since the train has been kept in the siding, I’d like to take a closer look at it.’ He stilled Rimmer’s protest with a gesture. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t take you away from your duties here. I’ll find my own way.’

‘Thank you. The wagon you want is the fifth one along from the brake van.’

Colbeck was about to leave when a thought detained him. Lifting up the other end of the blanket, he studied the guard’s boots before lifting one of the feet up to look at the heel. The stationmaster was baffled. Without a word, Colbeck lowered the foot down and covered it with the blanket. Then he opened the door and went out.

Victor Leeming had no trouble finding him. Luke Upton was sitting on a bar stool at the White Hart with a half-empty tankard of cider in front of him. As soon as the fireman spoke to him, Leeming could hear that he’d already had several drinks because he slurred his words. After explaining who he was, he bought a pint of beer for himself then took Upton to a table in a quiet corner. The fireman was a hulking man in his early thirties with an open face now darkened by the tragedy. When he was invited to make a statement, he first took a long sip from his tankard.

‘Let me be honest, Sergeant …’ he began.

‘I hope you weren’t planning to be dishonest, sir.’

‘I never liked Jake Fullard. He was Olly’s friend, not mine. I always found him too bossy. Fair’s fair,’ he went on, ‘he was good at his job. I don’t know a better guard in the whole county. But … well, I don’t like being given orders.’

‘None of us enjoys that,’ said Leeming.

‘We never had any trouble with Jake. When he was on board, we knew that we were in safe hands. Not all guards are like that.’

‘How much of him did you see today?’

‘We saw very little, really,’ said Upton. ‘As soon as he came on duty, Jake came over to see us. He couldn’t have spent more than a couple of minutes by the engine. As he walked off, we thought he was just going to the brake van. Instead, he was walking to his death. When Olly saw him, he fainted and I almost spewed up my breakfast.’

‘You have my sympathy, Mr Upton,’ said Leeming. ‘We viewed the body but we’d been warned in advance what to expect. You and the driver hadn’t.’

‘The bullocks stampeded all over him. It was only when two of them charged past us that we realised something was up.’

Leeming took out his notebook and wrote something in it. Then he tasted his beer and gave an appreciative sigh. Upton also had another drink.

‘Did the guard have any enemies?’ asked Leeming.

‘Well, he was never going to be popular, Sergeant.’

‘Was that because he was bossy?’

‘It was because he was a guard. His job is to ensure the safety of the train and, when it’s a goods train, there are special problems. You get people climbing into the wagons for a free ride, or kids playing on the line or thieves trying to steal whatever you’re carrying. Someone made off with a pig under his arm once. They’ll take anything they can get their hands on.’

‘Isn’t it the guard’s job to scare them off?’

‘Yes,’ said Upton, ‘and Jake was good at doing that. The only real trouble he’d had was with that Irishman he caught sleeping in an empty wagon.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, it was a week ago. Jake was thorough. He always checked each load before we set off to make sure that it was safe to travel. Anyway, he climbed up on this wagon full of sand and found this man fast asleep in it. That kind of thing made Jake furious,’ said Upton. ‘He not only kicked him awake, he began to yell at him. The man — he was Irish, remember — turned violent. If Jake hadn’t called a couple of railway policeman, there’d have been a fight. The man was led off.’

‘Did he make any threats to the guard?’

Upton gave a grim laugh. ‘He never stopped, Sergeant. He said he’d come back one day and get even with Jake.’

‘How did Mr Fullard react to that?’

‘He just shrugged his shoulders and got on with his job. That was the kind of man he was. Jake was fearless. He’s had hundreds of threats over the years and always ignored them. Why should he worry any more about this one?’

Colbeck got to the train just in time because it was due to leave fairly soon. The escaped bullocks had been caught and put back in their wagon. As he walked past the brake van, he saw that the first four wagons contained sheep, smaller animals who would have done far less damage to the guard had they jumped on top of him. Evidently, he was placed beside the bullocks so that his death could be seen as the result of an accident. Yet when he examined the narrow wooden gate that held the animals in, Colbeck saw that it was sound. The bullocks had been deliberately let out by someone. The ground was covered with the imprint of their hooves but it was something else that claimed his interest. Colbeck could see two runnels in the mud, going all the way back to the brake van. He thought about the heels on the boots of the murder victim.

Having identified a potential suspect, Leeming went straight to the little police station and asked if anyone had been aware of an Irish visitor to the town. Sergeant Rogers, a hefty, pockmarked individual, recalled the man immediately because he had hauled him out of the White Hart for causing an affray. His name, it transpired, was Gerard Devlin and he’d spent the night in custody.

‘Has he been hanging around the area?’ asked Leeming.

‘Yes,’ replied the other, ‘but he’s been keeping out of my way. Someone spotted him in Hele, only four miles away, and we had reports of an intruder who slept in a barn near here — that might well have been Devlin.’

‘We need to find him.’

Rogers gave a wry chuckle. ‘Then I need more men,’ he said. ‘There are over three thousand people in this town, Sergeant, and I have only two constables to help me uphold the law here. I can’t spare either of them to conduct a manhunt. What I can do is to ask them to keep their eyes peeled for any sign of Devlin.’

‘Do you think he’s likely to come back?’

‘That’s what he threatened to do. When I gave him a black eye, he swore that he’d be back to settle a score with me. I told him he was welcome. It would give me a chance to black the other eye for him.’

He let out a peal of laughter and exposed a row of tiny blackened teeth.

‘Do you have much trouble here?’ asked Leeming.

‘It’s mostly petty crime. You know the sort of thing — thieves who steal an apple or two on market day, youths who get into a fight over a girl and noisy drunks who piss in people’s gardens. Oh, and we had a spate of breaking windows by some children with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. We never have anything really serious,’ said the sergeant, complacently. ‘I make sure of that.’

‘Then it’s a pity you weren’t at the railway station this morning,’ said Leeming, pointedly, ‘or you might have stopped a guard from being murdered.’

Oliver Dann was still stunned by what he’d seen. When his wife admitted the visitor, Colbeck found the engine driver, still in his working clothes, perched on the edge of an armchair and staring gloomily into the empty fireplace. It was a full minute before he came out of his reverie to be introduced to the detective. Colbeck refused the offer from Margery Dann of refreshment and she left the room so that he could talk alone with her husband. Dann took time to collect his thoughts.

‘You have my sympathy, sir,’ said Colbeck, sitting opposite him. ‘I gather that you and Mr Fullard were close friends.’

‘Jake was good company, Inspector. Most people found him a bit dry but they didn’t know him as well as I did. We played cribbage together two or three times a week. I’ll miss him terribly.’

‘I’m told that he was an outstanding guard.’

‘I’ve never met one better,’ said Dann. ‘For this to happen to Jake of all people — well, it’s cruel. I mean, he was always so careful. He’d have checked every wagon to see that the livestock was securely penned in.’

‘It was, Mr Dann.’

‘Obviously not — those bullocks got loose.’

‘That wasn’t what happened, sir,’ said Colbeck, softly. ‘They didn’t get loose of their own volition, I’m afraid. Somebody opened the gate so that the animals could leap out on top of Mr Fullard.’ Dann drew back in horror as if from a blow. ‘My belief is that he was killed by the brake van then dragged alongside that wagon.’

‘Killed?’ The engine driver looked as if he was about to pass out again. ‘Are you saying that Jake was murdered?’

‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’

‘I thought that …’

Eyes moist and mouth agape, Dann went off into another reverie. When he finally came out of it, his voice was solemn and serious.

‘The truth is that I didn’t think,’ he confessed. ‘I saw him on the ground and everything went blank. If I had thought about it, I’d have known that it couldn’t have been an accident.’

‘I came to the same conclusion, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘I stood beside that wagon earlier on. If the gate had suddenly opened and a bullock had jumped out, I’d have leapt instinctively to the side. One animal might have caught me a glancing blow but not the dozen or more I saw penned up. Mr Fullard was placed there like a sacrifice.’

Dann was roused. ‘Then I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who put him there,’ he shouted. ‘I’d tie him to the rails and drive the engine over him again and again. Yes, then I’d feed the pieces to the pigs.’

‘I can understand how you feel, Mr Dann,’ said Colbeck, trying to calm him with upraised palms ‘You’ve a right to feel angry but anger won’t help us to bring the villain to justice. That takes cool, clear, logical deduction. What I’d like you to do, please, is to help us. You were fond of Mr Fullard but his job might have made him enemies. Can you think of anyone — anyone at all — whom he might have upset sufficiently for them to want revenge?’

As he tried to master his emotions, Oliver Dann sat back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Colbeck could hear the man’s teeth grinding. There was a long wait but it was productive. When he finally came out of his trance, Dann was cold and decisive.

‘Yes, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I can suggest two or three people.’

Sergeant Rogers had been sobered by the information that a murder had occurred in Cullompton. Never having had to deal with a heinous crime, he had no idea how to react. His main concern was how he would be portrayed in the newspapers. Once the word got out, reporters from Exeter — perhaps even from London — would converge on the town. What sort of role should the sergeant pretend that he’d played? He was still trying to decide when Colbeck arrived. Leeming introduced him to the sergeant then told him about Gerard Devlin.

‘He’s still in the area, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I think he’s our man.’

‘That depends how strong he is,’ argued Colbeck.

‘I can tell you that, Inspector,’ said Rogers, trying to ingratiate himself. ‘He’s as strong as an ox. I had to take some hard punches from him before I knocked him out. Devlin is your killer, no doubt about that. I’m glad that I’m the one who pointed you in his direction.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ observed Leeming. ‘It was Luke Upton who first mentioned the Irishman.’

‘It doesn’t matter who it was,’ said Colbeck, ‘because Mr Devlin is not the killer. Jake Fullard was dragged along the ground by someone who was not strong enough to lift him. That rules out the Irishman. Besides,’ he continued, ‘Devlin lives on his wits, by the sound of it. He’s used to dodging policemen and taking his chances where he finds them. He’s a petty criminal by nature. The person we’re after is an amateur. He actually believed that we’d be fooled by the scene he set up beside that wagon. If we accepted that it had been a grotesque accident, then he’d be in the clear.’ Colbeck smiled thinly. ‘As it happens, he is not.’

Leeming was excited. ‘You know who he is, sir?’

‘I can make an educated guess who they are, Sergeant, because an accomplice was involved. Something troubled me from the outset, you see. When the gate was opened on that wagon,’ said Colbeck, ‘why did the bullocks charge out? They’d have shown curiosity, of course, but would the first one have jumped down three feet unless he’d have cause to do so? A gunshot would have frightened them into a panic-stricken escape but that would have given the game away. They must have used something else — a stone, for instance. If it hit an animal hard enough, it would make it burst into life.’

‘Those children on the line,’ said Leeming, as the truth dawned on him. ‘Upton told me about them.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, they were a real nuisance, apparently. No matter what the guard did, they kept coming back. Then he caught one of them and gave him a hiding.’

‘Jed Lavery,’ declared Rogers.

‘Who’s he?’ asked Leeming.

‘He and his brother, Harry, are thorns in my flesh. They’re always causing trouble. I’m fairly certain they were the ones responsible for breaking those windows and it only stopped when I took them aside and boxed their ears.’

‘How old are they?’ wondered Colbeck.

‘Jed is twelve or so and he’s the nasty one. Harry is a year or two younger and does what his brother tells him. They’re rotten to the core, Inspector.’

‘How did they break windows?’

‘Oh, they were very clever,’ said Rogers. ‘They did it from a distance so they could run away without being seen. They used catapults.’

The brothers lived with their widowed mother in a smallholding on the outskirts of the town. The detectives hired a trap to drive there. Leeming was shocked by what they’d discovered. He still found it beyond belief.

‘Can children of that age really be killers, sir?’

‘I’m afraid so, Victor.’

‘But they’re not much older than my two boys. David and Albert would never do anything like that.’

‘That’s because you’ve brought them up properly,’ said Colbeck. ‘Yet even at their age, they’re physically capable of murder. If you put a hammer or an axe in their hands, they’d be strong enough to knock someone out if not able to lift them up afterwards. In any case,’ he added, ‘we don’t know that murder was intended here. It’s conceivable that the guard was supposed to be wounded in payment for the hiding he gave the two boys. When he was hit hard, he died unexpectedly so that his killer had to drag his body beside that wagon. He and his brother — if they really are the culprits — then used their catapults to scare the bullocks into life.’

Leeming was saddened. ‘We’ve never arrested anyone so young before.’

‘Criminals have to answer for their crimes.’

When they reached the little cottage, they saw that it had an air of neglect about it. The fence outside it was also in need of repair. Chickens squawked and fled out of the way as the wheels of the trap rolled towards them. After giving Leeming his orders, Colbeck went to the front door and knocked. It was opened by a thin, hard-faced woman in her forties. She put her hand on her hips.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, pugnaciously.

‘Are you Mrs Lavery?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘My name is Detective Inspector Colbeck and I’d like to speak to your sons, if I may. I will, of course, only do so with you there.’

Her truculence vanished at once and she became more respectful.

‘Don’t believe what people tell you about Jed and Harry,’ she said. ‘They’ve been wonderful to me since my husband died. Without them to help, this place would have been impossible to keep on. My sons are my salvation.’

Colbeck felt a fleeting sympathy for her. The loss of her husband had clearly thrown her into a dire predicament. It had also had a visible effect on her health. She was pale and utterly exhausted. Yet he couldn’t let compassion get in the way of duty.

‘Where are your sons now, Mrs Lavery?’

‘They’re feeding the horses,’ she replied.

‘Then I’d like to talk to them, please.’

She was defensive. ‘Is it about those windows that were smashed?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘In one way, I suppose that it is.’

‘It wasn’t them. I’d take my oath on it. Jed and Harry were here all the time.’

Colbeck pretended to accept her word. ‘I’m sure that they were.’

He was invited into the kitchen, a small, bare, cheerless place with a rickety table and whitewashed walls. The paved floor had undulations. An unpleasant smell hovered. She waved him to a chair but he preferred to stand. Because she went out for several minutes, Colbeck decided that she was rehearsing what she wanted her sons to say. When they came in with bowed heads, they looked meek and obedient. Jed Lavery was a wiry lad in rough clothes in desperate need of washing. Harry was shorter and even skinnier, wearing a pair of trousers that were too big for him and which had obviously been handed down to him by his brother. There were patches badly sewn on both knees.

Colbeck got both of them to sit down before he fired his question at them.

‘Which one of you has the catapult?’

Caught unawares by what amounted to an accusation, they looked guiltily at each other. It was their mother who provided the answer.

‘They both have one, Inspector. They use them to kill pigeons.’

‘I think they used them for something else today, Mrs Lavery.’ He stood over the two boys. ‘Isn’t that true?’

They avoided his searching eyes and were patently discomfited. For once in their lives, Jed and Harry were out of their depth. Defying the local police had been easy and they’d baited a railway guard without fear. Colbeck represented a different problem altogether. His status, height, authoritative manner and impeccable tailoring combined to unnerve them completely. He pressed home his advantage.

‘Now that we know you both have catapults,’ he said, quietly, ‘which one of you stole Mr Fullard’s watch?’

The sheer directness of the question made the pair of them twitch noticeably. Harry’s eyes flicked to and fro but it was his brother, Jed, who was under the most intense pressure. He began to fidget. After trying and failing to concoct a lie, Jed gave up and jumped to his feet. To his mother’s horror, he pushed Colbeck aside and ran to the back door, hurtling through it in a frantic bid to get away. All that he managed to do, however, was to bounce off the formidable frame of Victor Leeming who, at Colbeck’s suggestion, had worked his way round to the rear of the cottage so that he could block a potential escape route.

The force of the collision knocked something out of the boy’s pocket and it fell to the ground. Holding him firmly by his collar, Leeming bent down to retrieve a large pocket watch. He flicked it open to look at the dial.

‘I think your time is up, son,’ he said.