Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

A FAMILY AFFAIR

In a sense, Caleb Andrews had never actually retired from the railway. He continued to turn up at Euston on an unpaid, unofficial basis in order to hear the latest gossip and to offer unsought advice to his former colleagues over a pint of beer at the pub they patronised. Andrews was a short, stringy man with a fringe beard decorating a leathery face. Known for his pugnacity, he also had a softer side and it was in evidence that evening as he listened to the harpist. A small crowd had gathered around the old man as he worked his way through his repertoire. Andrews was not the only onlooker who had to hold back a tear when he heard the strains of ‘Home, Sweet Home’. He marvelled at the way that the decrepit figure could pluck such sweet melodies from his strings. Well into his seventies, the harpist wore an ancient, ragged suit and a top hat battered into concertina shape. Beside him on the ground was a cap to collect any money from his transient audiences. Curled up asleep near the cap was a mangy dog of uncertain parentage.

The harpist’s musical taste was catholic, embracing everything from operatic arias to bawdy music hall songs and stretching to stirring marches more suited to a regimental brass band. Passers-by hovered long enough to hear a favourite tune and, in some cases, tossed a coin into the cap. Andrews did the same, then his sharp eye spotted a threat to the money. Lurking on the edge of the crowd was a ragamuffin who could be no more than nine or ten. He sidled towards the cap and was about to snatch it up when Andrews shouted a warning.

‘Watch out!’

His yell was unnecessary because the dog had already come to life to protect its master’s income and bitten the boy’s wrist. Howling in pain, the ragamuffin darted off. As he turned to look after the thief, Andrews bumped into a well-dressed man who muttered an apology then walked swiftly past him. Thinking no more of the incident, Andrews listened to the harpist for another few minutes then headed for the pub where he’d spent so many happy times with his friends over the years. They gave him a warm welcome and someone bought him a drink. He revelled in the banter. Dirk Sowerby, his erstwhile fireman, then came in. Andrews insisted on treating him and moved to the bar counter. When he reached inside his coat for his wallet, however, it was not there. He came to an immediate conclusion.

‘I’ve been robbed!’ he protested.

‘It was embarrassing, Maddy.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Instead of buying Dirk Sowerby a drink, I had to borrow money off him to pay my way. I felt such a fool.’

‘Are you absolutely sure that you had the wallet in your coat?’

‘Yes,’ replied Andrews, irritably. ‘Of course, I’m sure.’

‘I’ve known you forget things before,’ Madeleine reminded him.

‘I’ve never forgotten my wallet and my watch, Maddy. I wouldn’t leave the house without them. You know that.’

Madeleine nodded. During all the years she’d lived with her father, she couldn’t remember him forgetting anything of real importance. Andrews had a routine from which he never wavered. The truth had to be faced. Her father was the victim of a pickpocket. She was angry on his behalf but schooled herself to think calmly.

‘Do you have any idea when it might have happened, Father?’

‘I think so. It was when I listened to that harpist.’

‘Go on.’

He recounted the events at Euston station and declared that the man who’d bumped into him was the culprit. Distracted by the music, Andrews felt, he’d been targeted. He was determined to get his money back.

‘I didn’t come here to seek Robert’s help,’ he said. ‘A detective inspector has more important things to worry about than a pickpocket. I just wanted to talk it through with you so that it became clear in my mind. It’s my turn to be a detective now,’ he went on, rubbing his hands. ‘I’ll show my son-in-law that he isn’t the only clever policeman in the family.’

They were in the drawing room of the house that Madeleine shared with her husband, Robert Colbeck. She was an alert, attractive woman who had moved from a modest dwelling in Camden Town to a more luxurious home in John Islip Street in Westminster, slowly settling into the latter. Always pleased to see her father, she was sorry that he’d brought such bad news on this occasion.

‘Would you recognise the man again?’ she asked.

‘I think so. He wore a frock coat and top hat.’

‘Hundreds of men answer to that description, Father.’

‘I may only have seen him for a second but I’m sure I can pick him out.’

She was dubious. ‘Be very careful,’ she said.

‘They’re obviously in this together, Maddy.’

‘Who are?’

‘The harpist and the pickpocket,’ he told her. ‘The one holds your attention while the other moves among the crowd, looking for prey.’

‘I think that’s unlikely,’ she said. ‘An old man with a mangy dog doesn’t sound as if he’d have anything to do with a well-dressed gentleman.’

‘He was no gentleman — he was a thief!’

‘What do you propose to do?’

‘I’ll go back to the station tomorrow to see if the harpist is there. If he is, I’ll watch from a distance to see if the dipper is there with him.’

Madeleine was alarmed. ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ she said. ‘It might be better if I came with you tomorrow.’

‘I can manage on my own,’ he insisted. ‘I don’t need you and I don’t need the famous Railway Detective. This is my case, Maddy, and I mean to solve it.’

Early next morning, Andrews was part of the hustle and bustle of a major railway station once again. People queued for tickets then went in search of the appropriate platforms. There was constant noise and movement. From a vantage point near the main entrance, Andrews kept his eyes peeled. Hours oozed past but there was no sign of the harpist. What he did see were several men who looked vaguely like the one who’d bumped into him the previous evening. Madeleine had been right. His loose description of the supposed pickpocket fitted any number of male passengers. During their brief encounter, Andrews had had no time to register the man’s height, age or colouring. He couldn’t even decide if he’d heard an educated voice or a Cockney twang. Detective work was not as straightforward as he’d imagined.

The musician finally arrived around noon. Covered by a piece of cloth, his Irish harp was small enough to be carried under his arm. The mangy dog trailed after him. He took up a different position this time, squatting down on the ground near a cloakroom where luggage could be deposited. Music soon filled the air. Andrews drifted across so that he could keep the old man under surveillance. Busy people rushed past but there were small groups that loitered for short periods to listen. The first few coins clinked into the cap. The dog fell asleep.

After an hour or so, the harpist stopped for refreshment. From inside his coat, he pulled out a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. His audience vanished instantly. Once he resumed, however, more and more people moved across to hear him. When the crowd thickened, an impeccably tailored man walked slowly towards the cluster. Andrews watched him like a hawk. As he eased his way to the front of the queue, the man rubbed against several other people with gestures of apology. Andrews recalled the polite gentleman who’d bumped into him. Was he looking at the same man? It was a strong possibility. Indeed, the more he studied the newcomer, the more certain he became that he’d identified a pickpocket.

When the man broke away from the crowd, he bumped accidentally into a woman and immediately raised his hat to her before striding off. It was exactly what had happened to Andrews. What looked like a chance collision was, in fact, an opportunity for the pickpocket to claim another victim. The evidence, Andrews decided, was now overwhelming. It was him.

Disregarding the fact that he had no power of arrest, Andrews ran after the man and clutched at his arm. The stranger turned to face him.

‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Andrews, ‘you can return my wallet for a start. You stole it from me yesterday evening when I was listening to your accomplice playing his harp.’

‘What the devil are you talking about?’

‘You’re a pickpocket. I’ve been watching you at work.’

‘I work in a bank,’ said the man, testily, ‘and I’ll be late if I miss my train.’

‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Andrews, tightening his grip.

‘Leave go of me,’ ordered the man, ‘or I’ll call a policeman.’

‘That’s exactly what I wish to do.’

Train passengers were treated to the extraordinary sight of a wiry old character, clinging like a limpet to the arm of an elegant gentleman who was doing everything he could to shake him off. Both were yelling simultaneously for a policeman. It was only a minute before one came over to see what the commotion was. He was a hefty individual in his thirties with rubicund cheeks.

‘What’s going on here, then?’ he asked.

‘Get this imbecile off me!’ pleaded the man.

Andrews released him. ‘Arrest him, constable,’ he said. ‘He’s the pickpocket who stole my wallet yesterday. That harpist is his accomplice.’

‘I’ve never set eyes on the fellow before.’

‘The two of you work hand in glove.’

‘Now calm down, the pair of you!’ said the policeman. ‘We’ll get nowhere if you both jabber away.’ He turned to the man. ‘You tell me your story first, sir.’

Angered by the deference in his tone, Andrews tried to complain but he was silenced by the policeman with the threat of arrest. The man gave his account of what had happened then opened his frock coat wide.

‘If you think I stole anything,’ he challenged, ‘search me.’

Andrews had the unsettling feeling that he may have been mistaken, after all.

‘Go on,’ urged the man. ‘You called me a pickpocket. Prove it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Andrews. ‘I took you for someone else.’

‘You assaulted me, you ruffian. Dozens of witnesses will testify to that.’ He appealed to people standing by. ‘You all saw him, didn’t you?’

Several of them nodded their heads. An unprovoked assault had occurred.

The policeman put a hand on Andrews’ shoulder. ‘You’d better come with me,’ he said, trying to lead him away.

‘You can’t arrest me!’ howled Andrews, brushing him off. ‘My son-in-law is a detective inspector at Scotland Yard.’

‘I don’t care if he’s the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ said the policeman, taking a firmer grip. ‘I’m taking you into custody to face charges of assault and resisting an arrest.’

To a round of applause from onlookers, Andrews was marched away.

It was late afternoon before Colbeck was able to get across to the police station near Euston. By that time, his father-in-law had been cooling his heels in a dank and cheerless cell for hours. When he was released by the duty sergeant, Andrews made wild threats about suing the police for wrongful arrest. Colbeck hustled him out of the building.

‘You don’t need to tell me the story,’ he said. ‘I read the report. Because I was ready to vouch for you, all charges have been dropped. Please don’t antagonise the police, Mr Andrews, or you may get yourself into a situation from which I’m unable to rescue you.’

Andrews took a deep breath and tried to master his sense of humiliation.

‘Thank you, Robert,’ he said at length. ‘They laughed at me when I said that the Railway Detective was my son-in-law. Now they know better.’

‘Forget what happened at Euston station today. Go back to the events of yesterday. Madeleine told me that a pickpocket had stolen your wallet. How exactly did it happen?’

Andrews gave a vivid account, describing both the pickpocket and his alleged accomplice. Colbeck was not persuaded that either of the men was guilty of the crime or that they were in any way connected.

‘What did the man do after he’d apologised?’ he asked.

‘He rushed straight off towards the platforms.’

‘Then the logical supposition is that he was about to catch a train.’

‘Yes,’ said Andrews, peevishly, ‘and he’d have had my wallet in his pocket.’

‘I beg leave to doubt that, Mr Andrews. Dippers are after rich pickings. With respect, you don’t look like the sort of person who might be carrying a large amount of money.’

‘That doesn’t matter. It still hurt when he took the little I had on me.’

‘In my view,’ said Colbeck, ‘the fact that this man went off to catch a train absolves him of the crime. If Euston was his patch, he’d have stayed there in search of more victims. There’s another point. Pickpockets often have an accomplice to whom they can slip what they’ve stolen. If they’re confronted by a policeman, they’re happy to be searched because they have nothing on them that they don’t legitimately own.’

‘This man did have an accomplice,’ said Andrews. ‘It was the harpist.’

‘Did you actually see him pass any wallets or purses to the old man?’

‘Well, no …’

‘What gave you the impression that they worked together?’

‘I was distracted by the music, Robert.’

‘All that the harpist was doing was to earn a few pennies,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Pickpockets expect more than that. The one who stole your wallet simply seized a moment when your mind was elsewhere. But let me ask you another question,’ he added. ‘Why did you try to solve the crime yourself instead of reporting it to the police the moment you became aware that you’d been robbed?’

Andrews was shamefaced. ‘I thought I could do your job for you,’ he said before thrusting out his chest. ‘And I still might.’

Colbeck asserted his authority and told his father-in-law that his days as an amateur detective were over. A professional criminal would only be caught by those with the requisite experience. He had a surprise for Andrews.

‘I appreciate how you must feel,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘Being the victim of theft is always unpleasant but you were not the only one. There were six other reports yesterday of money being stolen by a pickpocket at Euston. However, no less than fifteen victims came forward at Paddington with the same complaint and the harpist was not playing there. Where crowds gather, there’ll always be dippers on the prowl. Railway stations are their natural habitat.’

Andrews was dejected. ‘Have I lost that money forever, then?’

‘Not necessarily,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’ll ask Sergeant Leeming to look into the case. When he was in uniform, he had a reputation for being able to spot pickpockets at work. Let’s see if he can still do it.’

When she heard what had occurred, Madeleine was torn between sympathy and amusement, sorry that her father had suffered the indignity of arrest yet able to see the irony of a self-appointed detective ending up behind bars. Over dinner with her husband, she thanked him for his intervention.

‘It was very kind of you to step in, Robert.’

‘I couldn’t let my father-in-law get an undeserved criminal record. He was his own worst enemy, Madeleine. He should have come to us right away,’ said Colbeck. ‘How would he feel if I tried to drive a train without any qualifications for doing so?’

‘That’s an unfair comparison.’

‘I fancy that I’d make a better job of it than he did of being a detective.’

‘But you’d have the sense not even to try. Father, on the other hand, couldn’t be held back. He was determined that it would be his case. He’s always been rather impulsive. This is only the latest example.’

‘In principle, I admire what he did but I deplore the way he went about it.’

‘He’ll be terribly upset. I’d better go and see him tomorrow.’

‘That’s an excellent idea, Madeleine,’ said Colbeck. ‘Apart from anything else, it will keep him away from Euston. I don’t want him going there and stepping on Victor Leeming’s toes.’

‘What will the sergeant be doing there?’

‘He’ll be on the lookout for an old harpist and a cunning pickpocket.’

Victor Leeming was very unhappy about being sent to Euston on what he perceived as a rather demeaning errand. As a detective, he dealt with dangerous criminals and helped to solve major crimes. In his eyes, looking for a pickpocket was in the nature of a demotion. The harpist arrived and selected a spot near the ticket office. Dog and cap lay beside him. As the old man began his recital, Leeming rolled his eyes and turned to the uniformed policeman next to him.

‘I hate street musicians,’ he said, bitterly. ‘When I set off for work this morning, there was a hurdy-gurdy man outside my front door. I turned the corner and almost walked into a barrel organ. Farther down the street, someone was playing a violin — it sounded as if he was trying to strangle a cat. But the worst of all was these two lads in kilts,’ he went on with a groan. ‘They were playing bagpipes and going from house to house in search of Scotsmen. The noise was deafening. People gave them money just to get rid of them.’

‘I quite like the harpist,’ said the policeman, defensively.

‘Then you shouldn’t be listening. You’re on duty.’

‘I could say the same of you, sir.’

‘Point towards the waiting room,’ suggested Leeming. ‘If anyone is watching me, I don’t want them to think I’m a policeman. Let them believe I just asked you for directions.’

The policeman obeyed. Leeming pretended to thank him before walking over to the waiting room. Once inside, he stood by the window so that he could see the ever-changing crowd around the harpist. Nothing remotely suspicious occurred. After a barren half an hour, he stamped his foot in irritation and went outside again, making for the bookstall where he bought a newspaper. While opening it up as if reading it, he kept one eye firmly fixed on the people enjoying the music.

By early afternoon, Leeming was becoming increasingly annoyed. He was even tempted to abandon his vigil and return to more important duties at Scotland Yard. Then something of interest finally took place. A man came out of the ticket office in obvious distress. He scuttled across to the policeman to whom Leeming had spoken earlier. From the way that he patted one side of his chest and pointed towards the harpist, the sergeant deduced that the man’s wallet had been stolen and that the crime had only come to light when he went to buy a ticket. The policeman nodded soulfully as he heard the tale of woe but he didn’t walk towards the harpist to investigate. Having been warned why Leeming was there, he kept well away from the harpist for fear of frightening the pickpocket and accomplice — if such a person existed — away from the station altogether. But at least it was clear that a deft hand was at work. Leeming cheered up. His presence might be justified, after all.

Drifting towards the harpist, he stood a few yards away from the crowd around him, blocking out the music so that he could concentrate solely on watching them. The long wait eventually yielded a reward but it was an unexpected one. Having been certain that he was looking for a man, he was astonished when his chief suspect was a buxom woman of middle years with an expensive dressmaker. She looked altogether too grand to bother with an itinerant musician yet she produced a purse and took out a handful of coins to drop into his cap. The dog yawned in gratitude. What she did next alerted Leeming at once. She bumped into someone, apologised profusely to him then pushed her way gently through the crowd and headed for the exit. Leeming was after her immediately. Though she had a good start on him, he soon overhauled her.

‘Good day to you, madam,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I may have a word.’

‘I’m in rather a hurry,’ she said, sizing him up at a glance and deciding that he was not fit company. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’

Leeming stood in her path. ‘I’m afraid that I can’t do that.’

‘If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll summon a policeman.’

‘I am a policeman,’ he told her, ‘and I’m here to arrest pickpockets. I’ve every reason to believe that you stole a man’s wallet earlier on and have just deprived another victim of his money. You’ll have to accompany me to the police station.’

‘I’ll be delighted to do so,’ she said, angrily, ‘because I wish to complain about the sheer impertinence of one of their officers. When he was alive — you may be interested to know — my late husband was an archdeacon. We led lives of absolute piety. Arthur would have been outraged to hear of the monstrous accusation that I was a criminal.’

She glared angrily at Leeming but he stood his ground resolutely.

‘I saw what I saw, madam,’ he said.

‘Then take me to the police station and search me,’ she said, defiantly. ‘You’ll find nothing incriminating.’

‘I don’t expect to — someone as intelligent as you would never risk being caught with any of the stolen items on you. An accomplice was at hand so that you could slip him wallets and purses as and when you lifted them from their owners. As soon as he sees me hauling you off,’ explained Leeming, ‘he’ll follow in order to rescue you. When he spots someone breaking away from the crowd, the policeman I alerted earlier will intercept him.’

The woman drew herself up to her full height. ‘This is absolute lunacy.’

‘Come this way, madam,’ he said, taking her arm.

She shook him off. ‘Unhand me, sir! Don’t you dare touch me!’

‘If you don’t do as I say, I’ll be forced to handcuff you.’

‘I’m a respectable woman and — on my word of honour — I’ve done nothing wrong. Surely, that’s all you need to hear, man.’

‘That excuse may have worked on the archdeacon — if that’s what your late husband really was — but it will not do for me. Every person I’ve ever arrested has pleaded innocence.’

‘If you don’t believe me, ask my sister.’

‘Yes,’ said a voice behind him, ‘I’ll vouch for Maud.’

Leeming turned to see a much smaller woman of similar age. Her benign appearance belied her character because she suddenly pushed him hard in the chest with both hands. As he staggered backwards, the other woman stuck out a leg and tripped him up. Both of them then lifted up their skirts and showed a surprising turn of speed. Before Leeming could drag himself up, they’d got to the exit and headed for the cab rank. He sprinted after them and gained ground at once. But he was too late to stop them reaching a cab and climbing into it. Before it could be driven away, however, a sprightly old man jumped into the road and grabbed the horse’s bridle to prevent it moving.

As Leeming came running up, Caleb Andrews cackled in triumph.

‘I was watching you all the time, Sergeant,’ he explained, ‘in case you needed help. Maddy tried to stop me coming here but I was determined to get that wallet of mine back.’

Maud and Lilian Grieves were indeed sisters and they lived in a fine house in a street just off Park Lane. Now that they’d been caught, they showed neither fear nor remorse. They insisted on taking the two men to their home and handing back the stolen property they’d accumulated. When they entered the premises, Leeming and Andrews were taken to a room that was filled with the spoils of the two pickpockets. Laid out on tables like museum exhibits were dozens and dozens of wallets, purses, handbags and other assorted items. Andrews spotted his wallet and dived forward to reclaim it.

‘The money is still inside,’ said Maud, piously. ‘We’re not thieves. We just like the thrill of relieving people of whatever they have in their pockets and handbags.’

‘It’s a sort of hobby,’ said Lilian, stroking a stolen cigar case. ‘Maud and I are well provided for, as you can see, but our lives lack excitement. Since our husbands died, life became very dull until we discovered how light-fingered we were. We take it in turns to pick pockets then pass it on for safekeeping to whoever is acting as a lookout. You’ve no idea how careless people are in a crowd.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Leeming. ‘I’ve seen too many examples of it.’

‘I was careless,’ admitted Andrews. ‘I never felt a thing.’

Maud beamed. ‘That’s because I lifted your wallet when you were listening to that old man on the harp. Unbeknownst to him, he’s been very helpful to us.’

‘All this will be advertised,’ said Leeming, indicating the display. ‘A lot of people are going to be very glad that we’ve recovered what was stolen from them.’

‘I’m one of them,’ said Andrews, holding up his wallet. ‘It never crossed my mind that I’d been robbed by a woman.’

‘Nor me,’ confessed the sergeant. ‘You fooled me completely. I was looking for two hardened criminals, not a pair of respectable ladies who happened to be sisters.’

‘That was our disguise,’ boasted Lilian. ‘Nobody suspected us.’

‘It was wonderful while it lasted,’ added Maud. ‘It was a family business, so to speak. I’m sorry that it’s over but we always knew it would have to end one day.’

‘It’s finished for good,’ said Leeming, bluntly. ‘You’ll have to come with me to the police station. Oh,’ he went on, turning to Maud. ‘There’s one thing I’m curious to know. Was your husband really an archdeacon?’

‘That’s exactly what Arthur was,’ replied Maud with a nostalgic smile, ‘and Lilian will confirm it. He was the light of my life in every way. I would never lie to you about his eminent position in the church. There was, however, some deception involved,’ she conceded. ‘Unfortunately, Arthur was not my husband. We simply pretended that he was.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He and I had an understanding, you see.’