Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

THE MISSIONARY

Friendships forged in battle had the strongest bonds of all. That, at least, was what Edward Tallis believed. When his closest army comrade had committed suicide in Yorkshire, Tallis had been shocked both by his death and by the bizarre circumstances surrounding it. He had led an investigation into the case and been grateful when Colbeck had exposed a startling family secret that explained the gruesome event. As he boarded the train at Dover, Tallis recalled the incident. It was a paradox. Having gone to a funeral on the coast of Kent, he came away thinking about one in Yorkshire. He’d just paid his respects at the grave of his cousin, Raymond Tallis, who’d held a senior position in the port until his retirement. Tallis remembered playing with him when they were boys and enjoying his company. Yet they’d drifted apart as adults and had not seen each other for twenty years or more. Tallis was keenly aware of the fact. He kept asking himself why he felt no real sense of bereavement at the passing of a blood relative yet was still haunted by the death of an old army friend.

Having found an empty first-class compartment, he settled back in his seat. So preoccupied was he that he didn’t hear the door opening and shutting or realise that he now had company. Nor was he aware of the din of departure and the sudden lurch forward. It was only when he felt a consoling hand on his arm that he noticed the man opposite.

‘Please accept my sincere condolences,’ said the stranger.

Tallis blinked. ‘Oh — thank you, sir.’

‘I can see that you’re troubled and won’t intrude further.’

‘No, no, it’s not an intrusion, I assure you.’

‘You are in mourning,’ said the man. ‘I merely wanted to offer a word of comfort.’

‘It is most welcome.’

Tallis’s companion was an elderly clergyman with sparkling eyes set in a wrinkled face and a well-trimmed white beard. His voice was low, melodious and soothing. He exuded kindness and understanding. Tallis’s spirits lifted a little.

‘I’m the Reverend Paul Youngman,’ said the clergyman, smiling benignly, ‘though it’s a misnomer for someone as old as me.’

Tallis shook the hand offered to him. ‘Edward Tallis, at your service.’

‘Dover is an unlovely town. Seaports often are. What took you there?’

‘I attended a funeral.’

‘They can be harrowing events. In the course of my ministry, I’ve had the misfortune to attend hundreds. Grief can eat away at the strongest of us. I’ve seen it destroy some people.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘Was it a family member?’

‘No,’ Tallis heard himself saying. ‘It was a friend from my army days.’

‘I had a feeling you’d served Queen and Country. Military life does tend to leave its mark on a man.’

‘I was proud to wear a uniform — and so was Colonel Tarleton.’

Youngman was impressed. ‘So he was a colonel, no less!’

‘He was an example to us all.’

And before he could stop himself, Tallis began to talk about the respect and affection in which he held his former army colleague. Colonel Aubrey Tarleton was exhumed from his grave in Yorkshire and reburied in Dover in place of a dead cousin. Grief that had lain dormant for years now bubbled up inside him. He at last felt able to let it out. Living quite alone, he’d had nobody with whom he could share his sorrow and had therefore bottled up his emotions. In the presence of the Reverend Youngman, they were uncorked. There was something about the clergyman that enabled Tallis to talk freely and unselfconsciously about the loss of his friend. What he didn’t do, however, was to describe the way in which the colonel had died. A death was a death. Youngman didn’t need to be told that Tarleton had deliberately walked along a railway track so that he could be killed by a train.

It was a lengthy recitation. When Tallis finally stopped, he was overcome by a sense of gratitude. A complete stranger had helped him to pour out his heart and achieve a measure of relief. The pain inflicted by his friend’s death was no longer so sharp.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ he said.

‘All that I did was to listen.’

‘A sympathetic ear was exactly what I needed.’

‘Then I’m glad to be of service,’ said Youngman with a supportive smile. ‘It’s the only ministry I can offer at my age, you see. I’m too old to tend a flock so I look for people who might be helped by what meagre gifts I possess. It was not accident that brought me into this compartment, Mr Tallis. I saw you standing on the platform at Dover in a state of unmistakable anguish.’

‘Was it so obvious?’

‘It was to me, sir, because I am well acquainted with the signs.’

‘And is this what you do on the railway?’

‘It’s what I endeavour to do,’ replied Youngman. ‘You might call it my mission in life. Since my wife died, I’ve been liberated from domestic concerns so I can dedicate myself to the service of people I encounter on trains. It’s not just those in mourning who catch my attention. Sometimes I give help of a more practical nature. When a woman is travelling with more children than she can easily control, I lighten her load by diverting and entertaining them. Then again, I do offer medical help of sorts. Unlike our Lord Jesus,’ he went on, modestly, ‘I’m no miracle worker but I do know how to stem the bleeding on a wound or put salve on a bruise.’ He tapped the valise by his side. ‘I always carry bandages, ointments and a small bottle of brandy. May I offer you a tot, Mr Tallis?’

‘No, thank you.’ Tallis raised a hand. ‘You provide a comprehensive service,’ he said, admiringly. ‘I wonder that you can afford to travel so often by train. If you do so a great deal, you must incur appreciable costs.’

‘I do, Mr Tallis. Fortunately, one or two railway companies have recognised the value of my work and allowed me to travel on their lines without charge. Also, passengers I’ve been able to help have contributed to my mission. No, no,’ he protested as Tallis reached for his wallet. ‘That was not a plea for money. My service is free to all. You are under no obligation whatsoever.’

‘Even missionaries must eat.’

‘Unhappily, that’s true.’

‘Go on,’ urged Tallis, offering him a five-pound note. ‘Take it.’

‘Your generosity is overwhelming.’

‘I could never repay what you did for me, Reverend.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Youngman, taking the money. ‘This will buy me a lot of train tickets to continue my ministry on the railways of England.’ He looked up as the train began to slow. ‘Ah, this must be Ashford station. I’m getting off here to visit the former archdeacon of my diocese. Because he’s crippled with arthritis, he’s largely immobile but he does help to fund my work.’

‘I wish you every success,’ said Tallis, shaking his hand again.

‘Bless you!’

The train slowed to a halt as it came into the station and Youngman got out. Tallis was amazed at how much better he felt after the conversation. The missionary had not only softened his pain, he’d left him much more reconciled to the death of his friend. Five pounds, Tallis felt, had bought him a peace of mind that was priceless.

There was no peace of mind for Robert Colbeck. During the two days that Tallis was away in Kent, the inspector had become acting superintendent. There had been times in the past when Colbeck had been ambitious enough to want a promotion but having finally achieved it — albeit for a short time — he realised that it gave him nothing like the satisfaction of being closely involved in the hunt for criminals. He was fettered to a desk in the superintendent’s office, filtering reports, issuing orders, monitoring investigations already in motion and answering directly to the commissioner. Increased power bought greater responsibility and cut him off from the relative freedom he enjoyed as an inspector. After one hour as a superintendent, his respect for Tallis had shot up.

Victor Leeming had a parallel experience because he was temporarily the replacement for Colbeck as inspector. Contented as a sergeant, he felt hopelessly at sea when taking charge of an investigation. When he had a free moment, he seized the opportunity for a meeting with Colbeck.

‘I was never destined to be an inspector, sir,’ he admitted.

‘You may well be promoted one day, Victor.’

‘I know my limitations.’

‘They can’t be any worse than mine,’ said Colbeck. ‘A different case comes through that door every twenty minutes or so and I have to separate the wheat from the chaff. How the superintendent copes with the pressure of work, I can only guess. He must have the most remarkable constitution.’

‘I don’t think it can compare with yours, Inspector. Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ said Leeming, quickly. ‘You’re a superintendent now.’

Colbeck’s laugh was mirthless. ‘I feel more comfortable as an inspector.’

‘And — if truth be told — I feel better as a sergeant.’

‘This charade will not continue for much longer.’

In fact, it was already over. Tallis had returned to Scotland Yard, made the commissioner aware of his presence then headed for his office. When he opened the door, he was annoyed to see Leeming loitering there and Colbeck seated behind his desk. The familiar rasping tone came into his voice.

‘What the devil are you doing in here?’ he demanded.

‘I was just going, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Then go!’

‘We are glad to see you back, Superintendent.’

‘Well, I’m not glad to see you masquerading as an inspector when you are so ill-fitted for the post. Now get out and return to a rank more suited to your scant abilities as a detective.’ Leeming fled and closed the door behind him. ‘The same goes for you, Colbeck.’

‘You are unfair on the sergeant, sir,’ said Colbeck, vacating the chair, ‘and, by the same token, I was unfair to you. I underrated the amount of work you are forced to do and can only admire the skill with which you habitually do it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Tallis, savouring the compliment.

‘Your return has brought nothing but relief to the sergeant and me.’

‘I had a feeling that you’d bitten off more than you could chew.’

‘The promotion was not sought, Superintendent.’

‘Nor was it deserved in my view,’ said Tallis, airily. ‘What were you doing before you tried to replace me?’

‘I was leading the investigation into that forgery.’

‘Then please wrest control of it from Leeming. If he’s in charge, we’d have to wait until Christmas for an arrest.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, sir,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘Victor has already made two arrests in connection with the case. By the end of the week, he and I will have brought the investigation to a conclusion.’ He opened the door then turned round. ‘Welcome back, Superintendent.’

It was ten days before the first report came in. Tallis hardly looked at it, feeling that it was too trivial a matter for the Detective Department. When there were major crimes in the capital, he could not deploy men to look into an alleged fraud committed on a train near Brighton. The second report was also ignored. If someone was foolish enough to be taken in by a confidence trickster on an excursion train to Portsmouth, it was their own fault. Tallis had far more important matters to occupy his time. It was the third report that made him sit up. Someone complained that he had been inveigled into giving money to a retired clergyman for a project that turned out to be a fake.

Tallis refused to believe that it could have been the Reverend Paul Youngman. That man had glowed with sincerity. Attuned to pick out criminals, Tallis had heard no warning bells during his time on the train from Dover. Another person, posing as a clergyman, must have been responsible for the crime. Youngman was above reproach and he remained so until someone filed a complaint that actually named the old clergyman who’d talked him into contributing to a restoration fund for the tower at a church which — on investigation — turned out never to have existed.

There was no denying the fact. Tallis had been the victim of deceit. The five pounds he handed over suddenly seemed like five hundred pounds and he felt robbed. The Reverend Paul Youngman’s mission was to line his own pockets under the guise of helping others. It pushed Tallis’s blood close to boiling point. Though his instinct was to send his detectives in search of the man, he feared that it would expose him to scorn. Of all people, a detective superintendent should not have been taken in by a plausible rogue in a dog collar. He could imagine the sniggers he’d have to endure. There was only one way to appease his fury and that was to pursue the man himself. Tallis was determined. His mission was to catch the bogus missionary.

Madeleine Colbeck had a pleasant surprise when her husband arrived home earlier than she’d expected. Abandoning work in her studio, she hurried downstairs to greet him with a kiss then ushered him into the drawing room.

‘The superintendent has let you leave early for a change,’ she said.

‘He’s quite unaware of what I did, Madeleine, because he hasn’t been at Scotland Yard today. In fact, we’ve seen very little of him since last weekend. It’s meant that Victor and I could get on with our work unimpeded.’

‘Where has Mr Tallis gone?’

‘Nobody seems to know.’

‘A building full of detectives and not one of you has any idea of his whereabouts?’ she teased. ‘What does that say about Scotland Yard?’

‘It says that we don’t question his absence — we simply relish it.’

‘Have you been taking on the superintendent’s mantle again?’

‘No, Madeleine,’ he said with a self-effacing laugh. ‘I learnt my lesson. I already have the job that I covet. Trying to rise higher would be a form of setback.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Robert.’

‘Put bluntly, Edward Tallis is better at the job than I could ever be.’

‘But you’ve just said that he’s deserted his post this week. Why?’

He took her into his arms. ‘It is a mystery, my love.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘And I don’t propose to let it come between me and my dinner.’

Tallis became more and more frustrated. He made such little progress that he began to doubt his abilities as a detective. Time away from Scotland Yard meant that unread reports piled up on his desk. More to the point, requests from the commissioner were ignored. That was unforgivable. When he finally did turn up, he was summoned by the commissioner to explain himself and had to resort to a series of unconvincing white lies. Once he’d survived a withering reprimand, he went to his office and worked hard to clear the accumulated reports and correspondence. He then sent for Robert Colbeck.

When the inspector knocked on his door, Tallis snatched it open and drew him in. Closing the door, he eased his visitor into the middle of the room.

‘I have an important assignment for you, Colbeck.’

‘Would you like me to fetch Sergeant Leeming?’

‘No,’ said Tallis with emphasis. ‘What I have to tell you is for your ears only and I won’t proceed until you give me your word that you will be utterly discreet.’

‘I give it freely, Superintendent.’

‘Thank you — take a seat.’

While Colbeck sat on an upright chair, Tallis went behind his desk, took out a cigar from the box and bit a piece of it off before lighting it. The first few clouds of smoke climbed up to the ceiling.

Colbeck was intrigued. ‘What seems to be the problem, sir?’

‘Don’t you dare have a laugh at my expense,’ warned Tallis.

‘I had no intention of doing so.’

‘Then be quiet and listen.’

Tallis was succinct. He explained his dilemma and made no excuses for lowering his guard in the wake of the funeral. He showed Colbeck the reports of crimes committed by the same man.

‘I felt humiliated,’ he confessed. ‘I am supposed to be leading the fight against crime yet I was a hapless victim of it in a railway carriage. I don’t know how I could be so gullible.’

‘You were in mourning, sir,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘That made you vulnerable. The one person you would not suspect of dissembling was a clergyman.’

‘It was his voice, Inspector. It was so convincing.’

‘Then he might at one time have actually been in holy orders.’

‘No,’ said Tallis. ‘That much is certain. When I foolishly imagined that I could track him down, the first place I went was to Lambeth Palace. They had no record of a Reverend Paul Youngman in the Anglican Church. The man is a fraud.’

‘What else did your researches reveal?’

‘In essence, I discovered that everything he told me was a downright lie. As you can see from those reports, his activities seem to be limited to the south of England. I checked with every railway company operating in the region and not one of them was granting free travel to a self-appointed missionary.’

‘Also, of course,’ said Colbeck, ‘he is not always operating in the guise of a clergyman. In the case near Brighton, he claimed to be a retired bank manager who’d grown rich by making astute investments. As for the excursion train to Portsmouth,’ he continued, glancing at the report, ‘he posed as a jeweller and managed to extract a deposit out of someone for a necklace that never existed.’

‘Yet it’s the same man every time,’ said Tallis. ‘I’m certain of it. In each case, the description of him tallies.’

‘And these are the only instances of fraud that have come to light, sir. There are doubtless other victims who feel too ashamed to come forward and admit what happened.’

‘I’m one of them. I feel so embarrassed that he chanced on me.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that it was entirely a case of chance, sir. A man like that would comb the obituary columns for details of funerals. In the case of the one in Dover, it’s a reasonable supposition that some of those attending would come by train. He waited on the platform for someone in mourning apparel to turn up.’

‘I’m a detective superintendent,’ roared Tallis. ‘Couldn’t he see that?’

‘What he saw was a man in distress, sir. You were defenceless.’

‘Catch him, Colbeck.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘And say nothing of what I’ve told you to Leeming.’

‘All that the sergeant needs to know is that we are after a confidence trickster.’

‘Where will you start?’

Colbeck smiled to himself. ‘I believe that I know just the place.’

As he enjoyed a glass of whisky in his lodging, he ran his eye down the obituary column and used a pencil to circle the details of two funerals in Brighton. Since they were on the same day, he had to choose between them and opted for the one that concerned the death of a former Member of Parliament. It would be an event of some significance with many visitors coming and leaving by train. Grief-stricken and off guard, they would be susceptible to his unique gifts of persuasion. After finishing the whisky with a last gulp, he crossed to the wardrobe and opened the door.

‘I think it’s time for the Reverend Youngman to make another appearance,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Or perhaps I should elevate him. Yes,’ he decided, ‘Paul, former Bishop of Chichester, has a pleasing ring to it. Having retired as a prelate, I’ll garner praise for taking on the humbler duties of a railway missionary.’

Victor Leeming was given a task he enjoyed least, that of travelling on trains to a series of destinations. He went to a number of towns along the south coast, talking to station employees and giving them a description of the man known as the Reverend Youngman. In most cases, he came away empty-handed. Such were the crowds that thronged the platforms, it was impossible to pick out individuals. He had more success at Dover and Brighton. A stationmaster at one and a porter at the other remembered the clergyman clearly. They said that he always carried a valise and travelled first class. Enquiries at police stations in both places yielded no additional information. The confidence trickster was not known to the police either in Dover or Brighton. Yet he was patently in the area. Having established where the man’s primary territory was, Leeming felt able to catch a train back to London.

Colbeck’s search also involved a number of blind alleys. Though the man he sought was reportedly in the capital, it took him the best part of the day to track him down. When he finally did so, he discovered that Nigel Buckmaster was holding a private rehearsal with a beautiful young actress in a room at an exclusive hotel. It was not Colbeck’s business to probe too deeply into the nature of the instruction that she had received but he knew from experience that the actor-manager always mingled work and pleasure in a way that made them indistinguishable.

When they met in the bar, Buckmaster was as flamboyant as ever.

‘Well met, Inspector,’ he said, pumping Colbeck’s hand. ‘I’m glad to see you again. Life has been good to me since our first encounter.’

‘I have followed your career with interest.’

‘Then you will know that I now dominate the London stage like a Titan. I am at the pinnacle of my profession. Gone are the days when I had to peddle my talent around dingy theatres in the provinces.’

‘Your success is well deserved, Mr Buckmaster.’

Colbeck knew that a combination of flattery and a free drink always made the actor more amenable. They had first met years earlier in Cardiff when the inspector was investigating a murder and when the actor was playing the title role in Macbeth. Events had thrown them close together and — because he was a genuine admirer of Buckmaster’s work — Colbeck and he had become friends.

Over a drink in the bar, the conversation began with the theatre.

‘Your Hamlet was without compare.’

‘Thank you, Inspector. I intend to revive my production. The young lady you saw leaving just now has made an excellent impression on me. I auditioned her for the role of Ophelia.’

‘I hope that you will soon revive your Othello as well.’

‘The public clamour for it is very heartening.’

Buckmaster was a tall, lean man with a face that was at once handsome and sinister and long dark hair that fell to his shoulders. Noted for his dandyism, Colbeck felt invisible beside his friend’s ostentatious attire.

‘I am looking for an actor,’ he said.

‘One sits before you, sir,’ said Buckmaster, arms spread wide.

‘This gentleman’s performances are of a more criminal nature. In short, he preys on gullible people in various guises and draws money out of them. What every victim has commented on is his voice. It is low and beguiling. My belief is that the fellow must have had training on the stage.’

‘That’s a reasonable assumption.’

‘We need to catch him before others fall into his clutches.’

‘In what guises does he appear?’

‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘his favourite seems to be that of a clergyman. He claims to be a missionary on the railways and is, by all accounts, highly plausible.’

‘The world is full of actors who’ve fallen on hard times and turned to crime. It will be difficult for me to pluck one out of the hundreds with whom I worked.’

‘In this case, we have a name.’

‘Then it’s certainly a false one. We thespians love to hide our true selves.’

‘That’s why I came to you, Mr Buckmaster. When I first heard the name, I was ready to dismiss it as an invention but it has tickled something in my memory. I have heard it before somewhere but I cannot, for the life of me, remember where. Actors — I need hardly tell you — are superstitious creatures. I begin to wonder,’ said Colbeck, thoughtfully, ‘whether the man I seek has perhaps fastened on the name of a character he once played on the boards.’

‘That would not surprise me in the least,’ said Buckmaster. ‘I have met several actors who have stolen names from elsewhere. In my own company, for instance, I have a Romeo Armstrong and a Mark Antony Williamson. Unfortunately, in both cases, their ambition far outruns their talents and neither will ever play the parts in which they cast themselves. What is the name of the villain you are after?’

‘He calls himself the Reverend Paul Youngman.’

Buckmaster slapped his thigh. ‘Then he gives himself away.’

‘You know the name?’

‘I know the part and I know the rogue who played it. I was unlucky enough to engage him. The Reverend Youngman appears in a trifling comedy by Tom Taylor called A Love Denied, an early work rarely performed now. I had the misfortune to take the lead and play opposite one of the greatest scoundrels ever to infect our profession. Hell’s teeth!’ exclaimed Buckmaster. ‘He had the nerve to steal a scene from me. And his thievery did not end there. When I dismissed him from the company, he robbed the rest of the cast and made off with my valise.’

Colbeck was delighted. ‘Who played the Reverend Paul Youngman?’

‘His real name is Douglas Aird.’

‘I owe you a thousand thanks, Mr Buckmaster. When I run him down, I’ll see if I can’t retrieve your valise.’

‘He is a disgrace to the profession.’

Buckmaster emptied his glass then rose to his feet. Colbeck offered to buy him another drink but the actor dismissed the offer with a lordly wave.

‘Alas, I may not tarry,’ he said. ‘Another young hopeful is to audition for the part of Ophelia. She may well be tapping on the door of my room right now.’

Armed with a name, the detectives found it much easier to pick up the scent. Having first tried Dover, they moved to Brighton and, by dint of making an endless series of enquiries, finally got an address on the seafront. Appropriately, Aird’s lodging was only four doors away from a costume-hire shop. Before they reached the place, the man himself stepped into view disguised as a bishop with a large pectoral cross dangling on his chest. In his hand, he was carrying a valise. He fitted the detailed description that Tallis had provided. Colbeck and Leeming followed him all the way to the railway station. When he stood alone on the platform, the detectives moved in.

‘Are you the Reverend Paul Youngman?’ asked Colbeck, politely.

‘I was,’ replied Aird, loftily. ‘In its wisdom, the Anglican Church saw fit to transform me into the Bishop of Chichester.’

‘And do you intend to continue missionary work on the railways?’

Aird was unruffled. ‘God will not be mocked, sir. I’d be grateful if you and your friend will leave me alone or I will have to summon a policeman.’

‘I’m a policeman,’ said Leeming, stepping forward. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Leeming of Scotland Yard and this gentleman is Inspector Colbeck.’ Aird was very ruffled now. ‘Our superintendent would value a word with you, sir. I believe you owe him five pounds.’

‘When you’ve returned that,’ said Colbeck with a steely smile, ‘you can hand back the valise you stole from Nigel Buckmaster. It’s my sad duty to report that he does not speak well of you. And, while we’re on the subject of reparation, I daresay that Tom Taylor, the playwright, would like you to surrender the name of the clergyman you purloined from A Love Denied.’ He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Not to put too fine a point upon it, sir, you and your false identity are both under arrest.’

Douglas Aird gave a carefree laugh and tried to bluff his way out of the situation. When his charm failed, and when Colbeck produced a pair of handcuffs, the Bishop of Chichester swung the valise like an incense burner and knocked the inspector aside. He then lifted his cassock and took to his heels, sprinting along the platform as if the hounds of Hell were on his tail. In fact, it was Leeming who went in pursuit and who caught him without undue difficulty. Diving on Aird’s back, he brought him crashing down. As he hit the hard stone, Aird yelled out in pain.

‘If you think that hurt,’ said Leeming with a wolfish grin, ‘wait until you meet Superintendent Tallis again.’