The Silver Locomotive Mystery

‘Do you know what the item was?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It was a large silver brooch in the shape of a dragon. Hugh made it last year. He showed me a sketch of the design. It was a wonderful piece of jewellery.’

Colbeck had a strong feeling that he could confirm that. He believed that he had seen that particular brooch being worn by the beautiful woman for whom it had been made – Carys Evans.

Carys Evans alighted from the chaise and went up the steps to the front door. When she pulled the bell rope, there was a loud, jangling sound from somewhere inside the house. The door was eventually opened by the butler. He recognised the visitor at once.

‘Good morning, Miss Evans,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Glover,’ she answered. ‘Is Mrs Tomkins at home?’

‘Yes, but I’m afraid that she’s not available to callers.’

‘I’m not a caller,’ said Carys, easing him aside with a hand so that she could walk across the hall. ‘I’m a close friend and I want to know how she is.’ She knocked on the door of the drawing room and went in. ‘Ah, there you are, Winifred!’

‘Carys!’ exclaimed the other woman in surprise, leaping to her feet. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see how you were, of course. When you didn’t make an appearance at the play last night, I feared that you might be ill or something. You’d never miss an occasion like that as a rule.’

‘We didn’t feel like coming,’ said Winifred.

‘This business with the coffee pot has upset us both,’ said Clifford Tomkins, who had been reading the newspaper when they were interrupted. ‘We didn’t want to spend an evening at the theatre, fending off questions about the theft.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Carys, ‘though you missed an absolutely splendid performance. And, for once in his life, the mayor managed to provide a reception worthy of the name. You were both sorely missed.’

‘We can see the play another night.’

‘I’d recommend that you do so, Clifford.’

‘I’m not really in the mood for watching Macbeth,’ said Winifred. ‘I find it such a depressing play.’

‘It was truly inspiring at the Theatre Royal. Everyone was there. But,’ she went on, holding out the letter in her hand, ‘I’m forgetting my other duty. I’m delivering your post this morning.’

Tomkins took it from her. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘It was handed to me at the gate,’ explained Carys. ‘As we slowed down to turn into your drive, a rather rough-looking individual stepped out of the bushes and asked me to bring this up to the house. I didn’t see any harm in doing that.’ She noticed the exchange of nervous glances between them. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Tomkins.

‘I suppose I should have told that man to deliver it himself. All that he had to do was to walk up the drive and put it through the letterbox. But he lurked outside the gate as if he was frightened of doing that.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘Why was that, do you think?’

‘I really don’t know,’ said Winifred.

‘Did you get a good look at this fellow?’ asked Tomkins. ‘I mean, would you know him if you saw him again?’

Carys was uncertain. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘I remember his clothes rather than his face. They were so grubby. He wasn’t a young man and he clearly hadn’t shaved for days. Also, he was wearing a hat with the brim pulled down.’ She gave a shrug. ‘That’s all I can tell you, really. Why are you so interested in the man?’

‘No reason,’ said Tomkins, moving to the door. ‘And do forgive our manners, Carys. Come in and take a seat. Now that you’re here, I’ll organise some refreshments.’

He went off into the hall and the two women sat down. Caught off guard by the sudden visit, Winifred was obviously discomfited. Carys’s inquiry was deliberately gentle.

‘Is there any news about the coffee pot?’

‘No,’ said Winifred, ‘but the police are looking for it. There’s a detective from London in charge of the case.’

‘Yes, I had a visit from Inspector Colbeck. He’s a most engaging gentleman but I still don’t know why he felt obliged to call on me. I don’t suppose that you suggested he did so, did you?’

‘No, no,’ lied the other.

‘I was sure you wouldn’t do a thing like that. It’s the sort of thing Martha Pryde might do in the circumstances but not you.’

Winifred’s tone was vinegary. ‘I suppose that she was at the play last night, trying to get as much attention as usual. I really don’t know what I saw in Lady Pryde. She turned out to be a real monster.’

‘Those of us who know her discovered that long ago.’

‘Yet you still continue to see her.’

‘Only now and again,’ said Carys, ‘and not with any pleasure. I’d hate to be thought of as a close friend of hers. I’m more of a distant acquaintance. It’s her manner I object to – she will hector.’

She was about to pass some more remarks about Lady Pryde when they were interrupted by Tomkins. Opening the door, he thrust an anxious face into the room.

‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you in private, Winifred? Something has arisen.’

Jeremiah Stockdale arranged for the coffin to be loaded into the guard’s van of the train before Effie Kellow even arrived at the station. He felt that she would be upset if she saw her brother’s body arriving in a wooden casket. Victor Leeming was touched by his friend’s consideration and told him so. The two men stood on the platform to wave the train off. Constable Roberts, pleased to have a day that did not entail pounding his beat in Cardiff, waved back at them through the window. Effie did not even glance in their direction. As on the journey to the town, she sat motionless in deep silence.

Stockdale sighed. ‘Poor girl!’ he said. ‘She’ll never get over something like this.’

‘I fancy that she will,’ argued Leeming. ‘Miss Kellow is stronger than she looks. I saw a glimpse of her willpower when she came to Scotland Yard. I think she’ll recover in time.’

‘I hope so, Sergeant. She’s shown a lot more dignity than Mrs Tomkins. Effie Kellow loses her only brother yet somehow bears up well. Winifred Tomkins loses a silver coffee pot and carries on as if she’s just had her arms and legs amputated with a blunt axe. When all’s said and done,’ he commented, ‘a stolen coffee pot can be replaced. You can never replace a dead brother.’

‘That’s true, Superintendent.’

‘She’s in good hands on that train. Idris Roberts has a daughter of his own. He’ll look after Miss Kellow.’

As the train vanished from sight, the two men headed towards the exit. While his sympathy was with Effie, his mind was on another young woman altogether.

‘I’d like to know more about Bridget,’ he said.

‘Who’s she?’

‘A friend of Hugh Kellow – a special friend, judging by what he said about her in a letter to his sister. She showed it to us this morning. Inspector Colbeck and I had the same reaction,’ he went on, ‘but we didn’t say anything to Miss Kellow, of course.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would only have alarmed her. If you ask me, the less she knows about the details of her brother’s murder, the better.’

‘I agree – but who is this Bridget?’

‘She could – just could, perhaps – be the person we’re after,’ said Leeming, thoughtfully. ‘Someone led Mr Kellow astray and persuaded him to go into that hotel. From everything we’ve heard about him, he’s not the sort of person to fall into the clutches of a woman who accosts him for the first time in the street. No, it would have to be someone he knew and thought he could trust.’

‘Do you believe this woman befriended him on purpose?’

‘It’s a possibility, Superintendent. She could have wormed her way into his affections. It may even be that they arranged to meet here at the hotel.’

‘But the room was booked by a young man.’

‘That must have been Bridget’s accomplice – Stephen Voke.’

‘Maybe,’ said Stockdale, unconvinced, ‘and maybe not. Do you know anything about this young woman?’

‘Nothing at all beyond her name,’ confessed Leeming.

‘So you could be spitting in the wind.’

‘We shall see.’

As they left the railway station, their attention was diverted by the roll of drums. Looking resplendent in their red uniforms, a small detachment of soldiers was marching in ranks towards St Mary Street accompanied by four drummers.

‘Recruiting officers,’ said Stockdale. ‘They’re after young men to send off to fight in the Crimea. I lost one of my constables to them this week. I told him it was suicide but he was dazzled by the promise of glory. If the enemy don’t shoot him out there, he’ll die of fever.’

‘The war is happening such a long way away.’

‘Don’t you believe it, Sergeant. We very nearly had some of the action right here on our doorstep.’

‘How could that be?’

‘When the war first broke out,’ explained the other, ‘we had a Russian ship moored alongside a Turkish one in the East Dock. Back in the Crimea, of course, Russians and Turks were killing each other for the sheer love of it. I got word that the Turks were sharpening their scimitars and threatening to cut the Russians into thin slices.’

‘What did you do, Superintendent?’

‘I ordered the vessels to be berthed on opposite sides of the dock so that the crews weren’t looking into each others’ eyeballs any more. Then I made certain that the Russian ship left as soon as possible. To stop them from fighting each other at sea,’ Stockdale said, ‘I found an excuse to keep the Turks here for another three days.’

Leeming grinned. ‘That was clever of you,’ he said, admiringly. ‘It sounds as if you averted a nasty international incident.’

‘We do that all the time in Butetown. My men spend a lot of time keeping different nationalities apart. Last month a group of Spaniards started a fight in an opium den posing as a Chinese laundry. And there’s always trouble in the brothels when some foreign sailor decides he didn’t get what he paid his money for. Cardiff would be a much quieter place if only the Welsh lived here,’ he concluded, ‘but then it wouldn’t be half as interesting. I’d hate a population made up entirely of people like Archelaus Pugh and Tegwyn Rees. They’re too religious and well-behaved for my liking. I need a bit of real danger to keep me on my toes. I daresay it’s the same with you, Sergeant.’

‘It is – and there’s always plenty of danger in London.’

‘I don’t want you to think the town is out of control,’ warned Stockdale, ‘because we rule the roost here. We raided eighty brothels last year – and you’d be surprised what we found in some of them,’ he said as the image of a nude Clifford Tomkins came into his mind. ‘Most of the people here are law-abiding or I’ll want to know the reason why. And we do have our choirs, concerts and plays. There’s always something to see. Talking of which,’ he added, ‘they had a great success at the Theatre Royal last night.’

‘Inspector Colbeck was hoping to go there one evening.’

‘Make sure that you go with him.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a marvellous performance, from what I hear. Harry Probert, the Town Clerk, told me that he was thrilled by it – especially by Lady Macbeth. He said that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.’ He laughed merrily. ‘Harry’s a lecherous old devil and he’s going to the play again tonight. He’s bought a seat in the front row so that he can ogle Miss Kate Linnane.’

Seated on the couch, Kate Linnane read the card then smiled before putting it aside. A number of admirers had sent her flowers and she was surrounded by them. As she picked up another card, there was a tap on the door.

‘Yes?’ she called.

‘Ah,’ said Nigel Buckmaster, opening the door. ‘It’s not locked this morning.’ He closed the door behind him. ‘It was different last night.’

‘I was very tired and needed my sleep.’

‘You could have at least let me bid you good night.’

‘I didn’t wish to see you.’

‘Is that so?’ he said, peevishly. ‘You changed your tune quickly. When I talked to Miss Evans at the reception after the play, you dragged me away from her like a jealous lover. Yet when we returned to the hotel, you barred the door against me.’

‘It had been a long day, Nigel. I was exhausted.’

‘So was I – we could have collapsed into each other’s arms.’

‘I was not in the mood.’

He mastered his irritation. ‘Very well, let’s leave it at that. I just trust that it won’t happen again.’ He glanced around. ‘You have quite a floral display in here.’

‘Certain gentlemen seem to have enjoyed my performance,’ she said, holding up the card. ‘This one is from the Town Clerk.’

‘I, too, had my admirers.’

‘Welsh women always have such a peculiarly bovine look to them,’ she said, tartly.

‘That’s not true of Carys Evans – she was radiant.’

‘I thought her rather dowdy.’

‘Is that why you pulled me so rudely away?’

‘I felt it was time to get back to the hotel.’

‘After a triumphant performance like that,’ he reminded her, ‘we usually celebrate. You were wont to be in a more receptive mood hitherto. But,’ he said, holding up both hands, ‘I won’t dwell on that lapse. Let’s put it behind us, shall we? The important thing is that we conquered our audience. They will tell their friends and we can rely on full houses all week.’

‘The Town Clerk is coming to see us again tonight,’ she said as she put the card aside. ‘When I told him that we’d be performing Hamlet in Newport next month, he promised to come and see that as well – even though he was rather surprised.’

‘By what, pray?’

‘The fact that I’ll be playing Gertrude,’ she replied. ‘Mr Probert assumed that I’d be Ophelia. He said that I was far too young to play Hamlet’s mother whereas you were far too old to play the Prince.’

‘That’s nonsense!’ he cried, stung by the comment. ‘It’s my greatest role and it’s brought me acclaim all over the country. I expect to play Hamlet for at least another decade.’

‘At that age, you ought to be playing Claudius – if not Polonius.’

‘I need no advice about casting from you, Kate!’ he snarled. ‘I think you should remember what you were when you first came to my attention. You played non-speaking parts in that execrable touring company. I rescued you from that misery. I saw your true promise. I taught you the essence of the actor’s art. Within a year, you were playing Ophelia to my Hamlet.’

‘Yes,’ she said, pointedly, ‘a part that I’ve now yielded to Miss Tremaine. Where did you pluck that useless creature from, Nigel?’

‘Laura Tremaine has a talent.’

‘For what – it’s certainly not acting!’

He grinned wolfishly. ‘Do I detect a note of envy?’

‘I could never envy that empty-headed little baggage. Her Lady Macduff is ludicrous but it pales beside her appalling Ophelia. Be prepared, Nigel. When the audience in Newport realises that Ophelia has drowned herself, they’ll break into spontaneous applause.’

‘Let’s have more respect for a fellow-actress, please!’

‘Then cast one worthy of the name.’

‘A company must pull together, Kate.’

‘Spare me, please – I’ve heard that speech too many times.’

‘There’s no talking to when you’re in such a fevered state,’ he said, moving to the door. ‘I hope you’ll have come to your senses by the time we go on stage this evening – and when we get back here.’

‘Knock on someone else’s door,’ she advised, rising to her feet to strike a pose. ‘I daresay Miss Tremaine will leave hers unlocked for you. Lady Macduff would fawn at your feet.’

‘Stop it, Kate!’ he ordered.

‘Or perhaps Miss Carys Evans is more to your taste.’

‘I’ll have no more of it, do you understand? You’re acting like a dog in a manger – you may not want something yet you’re determined that nobody else will have it.’

‘Close the door when you go out, please.’

Buckmaster fumed. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, angrily, ‘when I trust that you will behave like a grateful member of a company that I happen to manage. Remember that.’

Storming out of the room, he left the door wide open.

* * *

Robert Colbeck studied the letter with interest. It was written by the same person who had penned the earlier ransom note. He handed it to Victor Leeming to read. Clifford and Winifred Tomkins had sent for the detectives and now watched them carefully. Winifred was excited at the prospect of getting her coffee pot back while her husband was resenting the cost involved. As a businessman, he had been used to driving a hard bargain, paying the lowest price for something he could sell at the largest profit. It appalled him that he would have to buy back something on which he had already spent fifty pounds deposit.

‘These instructions seem quite clear,’ said Colbeck. ‘The money is to be handed over this evening. Do you have it ready, sir?’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Tomkins, ‘but I’m loathe to let it out of my hands. Supposing that the thief simply grabs it and runs away?’

‘Sergeant Leeming will make sure that doesn’t happen.’

‘I’m still unhappy about the whole thing.’

‘It’s the only way to get my coffee pot back, Clifford,’ said his wife. ‘You promised me that you’d pay anything to retrieve it.’

‘Anything within limits,’ he corrected.

‘With luck, it won’t cost you anything at all. The sergeant will arrest the thief so that the money and the coffee pot are both safe.’

‘There is one debt to discharge, Mrs Tomkins,’ said Colbeck. ‘Mr Kellow died before he could collect the balance from your husband. All that’s been paid to Mr Voke so far is the deposit. I’ll be glad to take the rest of the money to him on your behalf.’

‘Let’s make sure that we’ve still got it,’ said Tomkins.

‘I’ve no reason to doubt that, sir.’

‘According to this,’ said Leeming, handing the letter back to the inspector, ‘Mr Tomkins is supposed to hand over the money. If, as we suspect, the villain is Stephen Voke then there could be a problem. We know that he was still working for his father when Mr Tomkins went to the shop to commission the coffee pot.’

‘That was a long while ago, Sergeant,’ said Tomkins.

‘And there’s something else you should have noticed,’ said Colbeck. ‘The exchange is to be made when evening shadows are falling. In bad light, you could certainly be taken for Mr Tomkins, I fancy. Stephen Voke – if, indeed, it is him – will see little of your face.’

‘Didn’t you say you thought a woman might be there to take the money?’ asked Winifred. ‘I find that hard to countenance, I must say.’

‘Look at the handwriting, Mrs Tomkins,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘It is patently a woman’s. I think that significant. Well, you’ve both seen the instructions. Has she chosen a good place for the exchange?’

‘Yes,’ said Tomkins, grudgingly. ‘Sergeant Leeming will be seen from a long way off. If the thief has the slightest suspicion, he or she can simply vanish.’

‘That’s why the sergeant will be alone.’

Leeming grinned. ‘Carrying all that money,’ he said. ‘It will be a new experience for me to be so well off, if only for a short while.’

‘Take care of every penny,’ urged Tomkins.

‘And please bring my coffee pot back to me,’ said Winifred.

Colbeck held up the letter. ‘How was this delivered?’

‘There was a man loitering at our gate, apparently,’ she explained. ‘When a friend arrived in her chaise, he thrust it into her hand and asked her to bring it to us. All she can recall of the fellow was that he was badly dressed and was in need of a shave. Oh, and he was not young.’

‘He was probably paid to do exactly what he did. It’s unlikely that he has any connection with the murder and the theft. By the way,’ he went on, giving the letter to her, ‘who was the friend who brought this to your door?’

‘It was Carys Evans.’

‘How interesting!’ said Colbeck, thinking of a silver brooch in the shape of a dragon. ‘And were you expecting the lady to call?’

‘Oh, no,’ replied Winifred. ‘She came without warning. Carys had some flimsy excuse about being worried because my husband and I failed to attend the play last night. I think that she just came to enjoy my discomfort at losing that silver coffee pot.’

Colbeck could imagine another reason altogether for the visit.

CHAPTER NINE

Sir David Pryde stood in front of the cheval-mirror as he adjusted his bow tie then ran a palm over his thinning hair. His wife, meanwhile, was seated at her dressing table, putting the finishing touches to her appearance. She issued a command.

‘Don’t drink so much champagne this evening, David.’

‘I like it,’ he protested.

‘Sometimes, I fear, it does not like you. At the reception last night, I don’t think you realised how many glasses you had. And what was the result?’ she asked, swinging round to face him. ‘You had one of your migraines yet again.’

‘It wore off after a few hours, Martha.’

‘That may be so but it meant that you spent the night in the other room instead of beside me. I prefer to sleep with my husband.’

‘Then that’s what you’ll do tonight,’ he promised. ‘I’ll take care to drink in moderation. I missed being with you last night but my head was splitting when we got home. It was excruciating. I would not have been good company’

His recurring migraines were a useful invention. They gave him an excuse to leave the marital couch occasionally and slip away from the house for an assignation. His wife was a heavy sleeper. Once she had dozed off, she would not hear the horse’s hooves as he rode off into the darkness. When she had been awakened by her husband that morning, it never crossed her mind that he had spent the night near Llandaff Cathedral with another woman.

‘Who else is dining with the Somervilles?’ he asked.

‘I’ve no idea – as long as it’s not Winifred Tomkins and her husband. They’re such dreary people. Agnes Somerville maintains high standards at her dinner table so I think we’re safe from a brush with Winifred.’

‘At the play last night, you actually wanted to see her.’

‘That was only so that I could crow over her.’

‘Had she been there, you should have ignored her altogether. Both she and Tomkins should be ostracised,’ he said, testily. ‘I won’t have anyone speaking to my wife that way or casting aspersions on one of our children.’

‘Dorothy does not have a squint,’ declared Martha, getting to her feet like a combative speaker at a public meeting. ‘She has a way of screwing up one eye, that’s all. I’ve always thought it an endearing habit. Winifred only said that because I caught her on the raw when I told her that living in Merthyr was bound to blunt a person’s finer feelings. It’s an iron town, for heaven’s sake – there must be ash and stench and pandemonium there all day long. How can anyone of taste live in such a godless inferno?’

‘We should never have admitted them to our circle.’

‘It was not merely our daughter whom she attacked. That vicious-tongued harpy made some unkind comments about you as well, David.’

‘I don’t want to hear them,’ he said, having already done so many times. ‘Neither she nor that husband of hers are fit to consort with us, Martha. They are personae non gratae – not that I’d expect either of them to understand Latin. We should be relieved that they didn’t turn up to see Macbeth. Everyone of consequence was there.’

‘That rules out Winifred.’ They shared a brittle laugh. ‘Did you happen to notice Carys Evans at the reception?’

‘I caught a fleeing glimpse of her, I think,’ he replied, turning back to the mirror to brush some non-existent dust off his shoulder. ‘I was too busy talking to the mayor about the Council’s plans for the town. I never miss an opportunity to mix business with pleasure.’

‘She’s starting to look her age.’

‘Who is?’

‘Carys Evans,’ she said. ‘She may be pretty enough now but her looks will soon fade. She should take advantage of them while she still has them. It’s almost indecent for a woman to remain single for so long. I was barely twenty when you proposed to me.’

Pryde smiled. ‘You were only seventeen when I first saw you,’ he recalled. ‘It took me three years to pluck up the necessary courage.’ He spun round to face her. ‘And I’ve been the happiest of men ever since, Martha.’

‘You used to drink even more champagne in those days. I don’t remember it ever giving you a migraine then.’

‘I’m starting to suffer the defects of old age, my love.’

‘Fiddlesticks! You’re as hale and hearty as ever.’

‘That’s certainly true of you,’ he said, dredging up the sort of compliment she required on a regular basis. ‘You are still the lovely young bride I took to the altar.’

She was spiteful. ‘If you want to see the defects of old age, look no further than Winifred Tomkins. A stranger would take her for seventy or more. Think of those bags under her eyes, that air of decay and that dreadful, unsightly, sagging body.’

He was too diplomatic to point out that his wife was much heavier than the other woman and had even more prominent eye-bags. Lady Pryde liked to inhabit a world where she was always praised and never contradicted. Her friends understood that and indulged her accordingly. It had been Winifred Tomkins’ mistake to question the acknowledged perfection of Lady Pryde and her family. Honesty, she had learnt, had no place in any dealings with Martha Pryde.

‘David,’ she said, crossing to stand in front of him.

‘Yes, my love?’

‘How did you come to know of that silversmith – the one who made that absurd coffee pot?’

‘I’ve told you that, Martha.’

‘Tell me again,’ she pressed. ‘I’ve forgotten.’

‘Jack Somerville gave me that silver snuff box for my birthday,’ he told her. ‘When I heard that it was made by a Mr Voke of Wood Street in London, I took note of his name. It was exceptionally well-made. That’s why I engaged him to make that silver yacht for me.’

‘I remember your going to London to meet him.’

‘I was impressed by his work.’

‘So his reputation rested on that little snuff box?’

‘Of course not, Martha,’ he said. ‘I required more evidence than that before I committed myself. Jack showed me some candlesticks he got from the man. They were superb – solid silver and exquisitely fashioned. That’s why I commissioned the yacht from Voke. If you want to blame anyone for putting Winifred Tomkins in touch with that silversmith,’ he went on, ‘then the real culprit is Jack Somerville – but please don’t challenge him about it this evening.’

‘I have more tact than that, David.’

After a final look in the dressing room mirror, she was ready to leave. They went downstairs to the hall where the butler was waiting to open the front door for them, inclining his head as they passed. Pryde helped his wife into the phaeton then sat beside her. The driver cracked his whip and the vehicle lurched forward. After a prolonged silence, Martha whispered a question to her husband.

‘Do you think that Dorothy has a squint?’

Victor Leeming was in high spirits. All that he had to do was to go through the motions of handing over a substantial amount of money before apprehending someone responsible both for murder and theft. By checking the copy of Bradshaw that Colbeck always took with him when they left the capital, he had seen that there was a late train to Paddington. If the exchange went as planned, he might be able to shake the dust of Cardiff from his feet and travel back to his wife and family, basking in the fulsome praise he would unquestionably have received from Clifford and Winifred Tomkins. The crimes would be solved within the hour.

‘Do exactly as that letter told you,’ warned Colbeck.

‘I will, Inspector.’

‘They’ll be watching for any false move.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘The nearest I can get without arousing suspicion is about a quarter of a mile away.’

‘What about Superintendent Stockdale?’

‘He’s standing by at the railway station in case of mishap.’

‘There won’t be a mishap,’ said Leeming, hurt that it should even be suggested. ‘I’ve done this before, Inspector. I know what to expect.’

‘I trust you implicitly, Victor. My fear is that, when you arrest one person, his or her accomplice will take flight. The obvious way to escape the town is by rail so that’s why the superintendent will be guarding the station.’

Leeming was placated. ‘Oh, I see. It makes sense when you explain it like that.’ He put on his top hat and looked in the mirror. ‘Do you think I’ll be taken for Mr Tomkins?’

‘I’m sure that you will,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’re a far better double than me. I’m too tall and slim to fool anybody. You’re much younger than Mr Tomkins but you’re closer to his build – and your face won’t be seen in the twilight until it’s too late.’

‘I’ll have the handcuffs on him in two seconds,’ said Leeming, taking them out and dangling them in the air. ‘Stephen Voke will get the surprise of his life.’

‘What if the person you arrest is a woman named Bridget?’

‘She deserves the same treatment, sir.’

They were in the hotel room where they had spent the previous night. Leeming hoped that he would not have to stay there for the second time. It was up to him to ensure that he and Colbeck could catch the late train to Paddington. Putting the handcuffs away, he reached into a pocket to take out a thick wad of banknotes.’

‘I’ve never held this much money in my hands before.’

‘Don’t be tempted, Victor,’ teased Colbeck. ‘Crime doesn’t pay.’

‘It pays very well if this is what you get by way of a ransom. Stealing a silver coffee pot is far better than kidnapping a person. You don’t have the problem of guarding and feeding someone who’s been abducted. A coffee pot is also much easier to hide.’

‘That’s assuming that they actually have it in their possession.’

‘They must do, sir.’

‘Must they?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Allow for every eventuality, Victor. It’s not impossible that those ransom notes are part of an elaborate hoax. You saw the report in the local newspaper. Everyone in Cardiff is aware that Mrs Tomkins had her silver coffee pot stolen. What’s to stop an enterprising local villain from claiming to have it in order to squeeze some money out of a wealthy man? Instead of pursuing a killer tonight, we could be on a wild goose chase.’

Leeming was deflated. ‘Does that mean we won’t be able to catch the late train back to London?’ he asked, disconsolately.

As the evening wore slowly on, Clifford and Winifred Tomkins grew increasingly nervous. He was worried about the ransom money he had handed over and she was frightened that her silver coffee pot might have been badly damaged in some way. Doubts arose in her mind.

‘How much faith can we place in Inspector Colbeck?’

‘He seems to know what he’s doing, Winifred.’

‘I think that you should have taken the ransom.’

Tomkins spluttered. ‘And run the risk of being hurt?’ he said in alarm. ‘We’re up against a killer. I think it’s very brave of Sergeant Leeming to confront him.’

‘But the letter said that it should be you, Clifford.’

‘Nobody will know the difference in this light.’

They were in the library, a large, oak-panelled room with well-stocked bookshelves around three walls. Most of the volumes would never even be looked at but Tomkins had felt it important to have a library for show. Crossing to the window, he peered out.

‘It’s starting to get dark already.’

‘I just wish I had more confidence in Inspector Colbeck.’

‘Stockdale has been singing his praises aloud.’

‘He can’t be relied on,’ complained Winifred. ‘There’s corruption in the police force and, according to Lady Pryde, the superintendent takes bribes.’

‘That’s wicked gossip,’ said Tomkins, who had not parted with a penny to secure Stockdale’s silence about the nocturnal raid on a particular brothel. ‘One or two constables have been dismissed for drunkenness, it’s true, and others have been slack in their duties but that’s to be expected. There will always be a smattering of drunks and idlers in any organisation. Look at the problems we had with the police in Merthyr – it was far worse there. I think the superintendent is to be commended with the way he runs things here.’

‘Lady Pryde knows him better than we do.’

‘She thinks that everyone is either corrupt or untrustworthy. I’m amazed to hear you quoting her, Winifred. Lady Pryde is a ferocious snob and I’m glad we’ve severed all links with her.’

‘She said the most unforgivable things about Merthyr.’

‘That was only because she’s never been there.’

‘She called it a disgusting and uncivilised hole populated by the dregs of humanity.’

‘Sir David should take her for a walk around Butetown at night,’ he said, grimly, ‘then she’d see just how uncivilised Cardiff can be.’

‘She laughed when I told first told her about my coffee pot,’ said Winifred, still wounded by the memory. ‘That’s when I realised how much I loathed her. Well, she may laugh on the other side of her hideous face when everyone tells her what a magnificent object it is.’

‘Let’s get it back here first.’

‘What time is it, Clifford?’

He pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It’s almost time for the exchange,’ he told her. ‘In a few minutes, Sergeant Leeming will be apprehending the thief. The money and the coffee pot should be safely returned here before very long.’

From the moment he started to walk along the path, Leeming knew that he was being watched. Though he could not see anybody, he was aware of their presence. Light was fading in the park and trees and shrubs were taking on a ghostly shape. Obeying the instructions in the letter, he was carrying a small bag containing the ransom money. As he walked past a fountain, he lifted the bag up in his right hand to indicate that he was following orders. Then he strolled on, looking neither to right nor left. Heading for a stand of trees in the middle distance, he quickened his step. That was where the exchange would be made, he decided. Someone with a telescope was probably watching every step that he took.

Halfway there, he had to go past a clump of bushes. Eyes fixed on the trees, he ignored all else. It was a serious error. No sooner had he passed a large bush than someone jumped up from behind him, knocked off his top hat then struck his head with something hard and heavy. Oblivious to what had happened, Leeming collapsed in a heap. It was some time before he began to regain consciousness. His head was pounding like a drum, the wound was smarting unbearably and blood was trailing down the back of his coat. His brain was on fire. Trying to stand, he keeled over at once. He finished on his hands and knees. When it finally dawned on him that he had fallen into a trap, the ransom money was a mile away.

Nothing that Robert Colbeck said could moderate the passion of Clifford and Winifred Tomkins. They were thoroughly outraged. Tomkins had been relieved of his money and Winifred had nothing to show for it in return. No shred of sympathy was shown towards Victor Leeming.

‘You let us both down, Inspector,’ said Tomkins, seething with fury. ‘I shall be informing your superior of this fiasco.’

‘You misled us,’ howled Winifred. ‘You assured us that we’d have that coffee pot back where it belonged before nightfall. Now I have no hope of ever seeing it here.’

‘Your conduct has been appalling, sir.’

‘We feel utterly cheated.’

‘Well?’ demanded Tomkins. ‘What have you to say?’

‘My thoughts are with Sergeant Leeming,’ said Colbeck, coolly, ‘and I’m shocked that neither of you has given him a second thought. He was the person who walked into danger on your behalf. At the very least, that might merit an ounce of gratitude.’

Tomkins was unrepentant. ‘He lost my money.’

‘No, sir – he had it taken away from him by a brutal attacker. The sergeant had no call to be there,’ Colbeck told them. ‘That letter specified that you would carry the money, Mr Tomkins. Had you not been spared that task by a brave officer, then it would have been your head that was battered with a chunk of stone.’ Tomkins put a hand protectively against the back of his skull. ‘Would you have had the courage to take part in the exchange, sir?’

‘I would not,’ conceded Tomkins, shamefacedly.

‘Then show some pity for the man who did.’

‘How is he?’ asked Winifred, much more subdued now.

‘The doctor is with him at the moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘With luck, there’ll be no permanent damage but the sergeant has a nasty scalp wound. When I spoke to him, he was still unsure what actually occurred. In the circumstances, I can understand that. If you’ll excuse me,’ he continued, ‘I’ll get back to him.’

‘Wait!’ said Tomkins.

‘I’ll disturb you no longer, sir. You’ll want to write your letter of complaint to my superior. His name is Edward Tallis, by the way. He holds the rank of superintendent.’

‘Perhaps I was being too hasty, Inspector.’

‘Selfish is the word that springs to mind, Mr Tomkins.’

‘I’m entitled to worry about losing that money.

‘And I’m entitled to feel thoroughly upset about my coffee pot,’ said Winifred, returning to the attack. ‘We’re sorry about Sergeant Leeming, of course, but we have to face facts. You promised that everything would go as planned and this happens. We’re bound to question your judgement, Inspector.’

‘Yes,’ said her husband, revived by her show of spirit, ‘we’ll not be made to feel guilty. We’re the victims here, after all. Thanks to you, we’ll never see that money or that coffee pot ever again.’

‘Then you have little insight into the criminal mind, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve not heard the last of them yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They will want every penny that they can get from you. It’s only a question of time before you get another ransom note.’

Tomkins turned puce. ‘Pay for that damned coffee pot a third time!’ he shouted. ‘I simply refuse to do that.’

‘To be precise, you’ve only paid in full for it once.’

‘Plus the fifty pounds I paid on deposit.’

‘That went to Mr Voke,’ noted Colbeck. ‘All that you sacrificed today was the full price of the item. If you have another demand – as I’m sure you soon will – it will be for a second payment.’

‘They won’t get a brass farthing from me.’

‘Clifford,’ said his wife, warningly.

‘I wish I’d never bought that confounded thing!’

Winifred bit back what she was going to say. Containing her rage with palpable difficulty, she gritted her teeth and turned to Colbeck.

‘My husband and I need to discuss this matter, Inspector.’

‘No discussion is needed!’ Tomkins blurted out.

‘Could you give us some privacy, please?’ she asked.

‘I was going to leave in any case, Mrs Tomkins,’ said Colbeck, heading for the door. ‘My place is with Sergeant Leeming. Please excuse me,’ he added with a mischievous smile. ‘I know that you and your husband have much to talk about.’

‘How does it feel now?’ asked Stockdale, bending solicitously over him.

‘As if someone is trying to bore a hole in my skull,’ said Leeming, gingerly touching the back of his bandaged head. ‘It’s like being very drunk without the pleasure of having touched alcohol.’

‘How much can you remember?’

‘Not a great deal, Superintendent – I was striding past some bushes then everything suddenly went blank. I must have walked into an ambush.’

‘I wish I’d been closer,’ said Stockdale, ‘instead of being stuck at the railway station. I should have ringed the whole area with my men.’

‘That would have scared them off completely.’

‘Maybe – but it would have saved you a nasty headache.’

‘Estelle hates it when I get injured in the line of duty.’

‘Is that your wife?’

‘She thinks that being a policeman is too hazardous. Estelle would prefer it if I worked for her father in his ironmonger’s shop. I want more out of life than selling tin baths,’ asserted Leeming. ‘I need the feeling that I’m doing something really useful.’

They were in the superintendent’s office at the police station in St Mary Street. Leeming was slumped in a chair, partially revived by the glass of brandy he had been given but still faintly groggy. The wound had been examined, cleaned and stitched by a doctor and thick bandaging tied in place. It might still be possible to catch the late train to Paddington but – not wishing to return home in that condition – he resigned himself to spending another night in Cardiff. By the next day, he hoped, the agony might have eased and the swirling fog in his mind might have cleared.

There was a tap on the door then Colbeck entered.

‘How are you now, Victor?’ he asked.

Leeming was stoical. ‘I’ll survive, sir.’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t wait until the doctor had finished. I felt that Mr and Mrs Tomkins ought to know as soon as possible what had transpired.’

‘I’d much rather you told them than me.’

‘I can’t imagine that they showed much gratitude for what the sergeant did,’ said Stockdale. ‘They’re a mean-minded pair.’

‘You’re placing too kind a construction on their behaviour,’ said Colbeck. ‘They were abominable. They ranted at me for betraying them and took no account of Victor’s injury. I don’t think he’d have elicited genuine compassion out of them if he’d been killed in the attack. It’s difficult to say which of them is worse – the blustering husband or the wrathful wife.’

‘They’re tarred with the same brush,’ said the superintendent with asperity. ‘It’s a shame they were not feathered at the same time.’

Colbeck was philosophical. ‘They’re not the most likeable human beings,’ he conceded, ‘but we have to remember that they are the victims of a crime.’

‘So is Victor Leeming – thanks to them!’

‘The culprit has so far committed murder, robbery and violent assault,’ said Leeming, ruefully, ‘and that makes me certain it’s a man. No woman could knock me cold like that.’

‘They could if you walked around the docks at night,’ warned Stockdale with a ripe chortle. ‘There are some wild creatures down there – Big Ruth, for instance. She once floored one of my constables with a belaying pin. It took four of them to arrest her.’

‘The woman we’re looking for is less of a virago,’ said Colbeck, ‘but her charm is as just as effective as a belaying pin. It’s clear that she has a male accomplice to do her dirty work. We’ll be hearing from them before too long, I daresay.’

‘Won’t they simply take the money and run?’

‘No, Superintendent – they can sniff an even bigger pay day.’

Leeming gaped. ‘Will I have to go through that again?’

‘I’ll go in your place, Sergeant,’ offered Stockdale.

‘Thank you.’

‘I look far more like Clifford Tomkins than you do.’

‘Neither of you will be called upon,’ decided Colbeck. ‘They won’t repeat the same trick again because they know we’d be ready for it next time. We tried to fox them and they outwitted us. The rules will be changed for the second exchange.’

‘I can’t wait to catch up with Stephen Voke,’ said Leeming with quiet determination. ‘He won’t find it quite so easy to get the better of me when my back isn’t turned.’

‘I look forward to meeting him as well,’ said Stockdale, harshly. ‘We’ve got an empty cell all ready for the bastard.’

Colbeck brooded. ‘The person who really interests me is the woman,’ he said at length. ‘All that we know about her so far is that she’s beautiful, persuasive and highly resourceful. She must also be utterly pitiless to condone such brutality. I’d love to know what the lady is doing right this minute.’

‘I’m terribly sorry I’m so late,’ said Carys Evans to her hosts. ‘I hope that I haven’t held you all up.’

She arrived at the Somerville residence when the other guests were still enjoying a pre-prandial glass of champagne in the drawing room. There were almost a dozen people there and she knew them all well. Everyone gave her a cordial welcome but it was Lady Pryde who bore down on her with a possessive glint. Carys was very glad that someone put a glass into her hand. She took a preparatory sip of champagne.

‘There you are!’ said Martha, taking by the elbow to guide her into a corner of the room. ‘We’d given you up, Miss Evans.’

‘I was delayed at the last moment. I’m afraid.’

‘Well, at least you’re here now. Tell me – do you have any news of that deplorable Winifred Tomkins?’

‘I do, as a matter of fact,’ said Carys. ‘I called at the house this morning to see why she and her husband were absent from the play.’

‘What did they say?’

‘That they didn’t relish the idea of spending a couple of hours being asked about the theft of that coffee pot. To listen to Winifred talk, you’d have thought there’d been a death in the family.’

Martha smirked. ‘She’s been really hurt by this, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes, Lady Pryde.’

‘That will teach her to criticise me! I hope that someone has taken that ludicrous coffee pot hundreds of miles away from here.’

‘Then I have to disappoint you,’ said Carys, ‘because I was given the firm impression that it’s still here in Cardiff.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘It was their behaviour this morning. As I arrived at their house, I was given a letter for them by a shabby-looking fellow who’d been skulking at the bottom of their drive. He asked me to deliver it then scurried off.’

‘Who was this mysterious individual?’

‘He was clearly no friend of Winifred and her husband or he’d have delivered the letter himself. When I handed the missive over,’ Carys continued, ‘Clifford Tomkins went out of the room to read it. The next minute, he put his head back into the room to summon his wife. He looked apprehensive.’

‘What did you make of it, Miss Evans?’

‘I fancy that the letter might have had some connection with the stolen coffee pot. This is mere speculation, of course, and I may be well wide of the mark but supposing the thief wishes to sell it back to Winifred?’

‘Sell it back?’ repeated Martha in annoyance.

‘At a high price, I daresay.’

‘So she may have her coffee pot, after all. This is dire news.’

‘It’s not news, Lady Pryde – it’s pure guesswork on my part.’

‘Either way, it’s still very disturbing.’

‘Good evening, Miss Evans,’ said Pryde, descending on them with a broad smile. ‘I’m so glad that you’ve joined us at last.’

‘Thank you, Sir David,’ said Carys.

‘My wife always says that being late is a lady’s privilege.’

‘I stayed at the cathedral this afternoon rather longer than I intended to – Llandaff is so beautiful in the sunshine.’

‘I agree, Miss Evans. It’s always a pleasure to visit.’ He saw the grimace of Martha’s face. ‘You look as if you’ve just eaten something very disagreeable, my dear. Has something upset you?’

‘Yes,’ grunted Martha. ‘That silver coffee pot is still in Cardiff.’

Victor Leeming was a robust man but he had still been shaken up by the attack. Spurning the offer of a meal, all that he wanted to do was to return to the hotel room to rest. Colbeck accompanied him there, leaving the sergeant propped up on pillows so that there was no pressure on the back of his head. The inspector then returned to the lounge to talk with Stockdale over a drink. They went methodically through all the facts at their disposal. Colbeck ventured one possible conclusion.

‘I keep coming back to the name of Carys Evans,’ he said.

‘No,’ argued Stockdale, ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I reckon that Carys is far too ladylike to get tangled up in serious crimes.’

‘She’s not too ladylike to become someone else’s mistress and we know that she was actually in the hotel at the time of the murder.’

‘There may be an explanation for that, Inspector. Sir David Pryde is a major shareholder in this hotel. One of his perquisites is to have a room permanently reserved for any business associate who visits the town.’

‘Are you telling me that he and Miss Evans might have made use of that hotel room on the day in question?’

‘It’s only a suggestion.’

‘Would they be quite so blatant? Why risk being seen together in broad daylight when they could arrange a rendezvous after dark in a less public place? No, I fancy she was here for another purpose.’

‘It’s the question of motive that troubles me, Inspector.’

‘Miss Evans has expensive tastes,’ said Colbeck. ‘She loves silver above all else and, I suspect, would have no scruples about stealing that coffee pot in order to cause a flutter in the Tomkins household. Though she claims to be a friend of Winifred Tomkins, she is more than ready to ridicule her.’

‘The one thing that does support the theory,’ said Stockdale, reflectively, ‘is that Carys is eminently capable of luring a man into a hotel room simply by looking into his eyes. I can tell you that I would not need a second invitation from her.’

‘She is a very striking lady and that would incline me to absolve her of any real suspicion.’

‘Why?’

‘Carys Evans is a woman of quality. She moves among the elite here in Cardiff. If – for the sake of argument – we accept that the killer is Stephen Voke, then we encounter a problem. Would someone like Miss Evans concoct a plot with a young silversmith? How did she meet him? What would she see in such a person?’

‘You answered that question earlier, Inspector. She dotes on silver. Who better to woo her than a talented silversmith?’

‘But she already seems to have all that she needs.’

‘Women always want more,’ said Stockdale, cynically.

‘She seems to live very comfortably.’

‘Much of what you saw there was provided by her admirers. Sir David is only the latest to enjoy her favours. There have been others, squeezed for what she can get out of them and then discarded. I bow to none in my esteem for her,’ said the superintendent, ‘but I never forget that she is, in essence, a heartless predator.’

‘Is she capable of being party to a murder?’

The question hung unanswered in the air. Archelaus Pugh came over to them with a letter in his hand. He gave it to Colbeck.

‘This has just arrived for you, Inspector,’ said Pugh.

‘Who brought it?’

‘I can’t tell you, sir. It was simply tossed into the foyer.’

As the manager withdrew, Colbeck opened the letter and read the message that was written in large capitals. It berated him for sending someone in place of Clifford Tomkins with the ransom money and gave strict instructions for a second exchange. When he had finished it, he passed it over to Stockdale.

‘Is it from the killer?’ asked the superintendent.

‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck. ‘He’s doubled the price of the coffee pot and insists that Mrs Tomkins hands over the money next time. As you can see from the taunts made to me, he – or she – knows exactly who I am and why I’m here. That will make things much more difficult.’

CHAPTER TEN

Clifford and Winifred Tomkins had shared a frosty breakfast during which neither of them spoke. It was only when the plates had been cleared away that she finally broke the silence.

‘I must say that I find your attitude very hurtful, Clifford.’

‘I did not get where I am by throwing money away,’ he said, pompously. ‘I’ll not be duped a second time.’

‘How little you must care for my feelings!’ she complained.

‘Your well-being has been the major concern of our marriage.’

‘Then why do you turn against me now?’

‘I’m not turning against you,’ he said, trying to appease her with a flabby smile, ‘but you must see sense, Winifred. The thief has no intention of parting with the silver coffee pot. He simply wishes to grab as much money as he can from us. We’ve already had it dangled in front of our eyes once and you saw what happened.’

‘Yes,’ she rejoined, ‘Sergeant Leeming was assaulted because we did not comply with the instructions we were given. Had you handed over the money, you would almost certainly have been given that coffee pot in return.’

‘I disagree.’

‘We must do as they tell us.’

‘Then we give up all hope of capturing these villains.’

‘I’m far more interested in retrieving my coffee pot than seeing anyone arrested,’ she admitted. ‘Just pay up and have done with it.’

‘Winifred,’ he scolded, ‘these people have committed a murder.’

‘That’s a separate matter and we can leave it to Inspector Colbeck to deal with that. We mustn’t confuse the issue. All that we need worry about is our stolen property.’

‘I think that you should forget all about it.’

She was indignant. ‘I could never do that – Lady Pryde would mock me unmercifully.’

‘You no longer have anything to do with the woman.’

‘We have mutual friends, Clifford, and she would goad me through them somehow. Don’t you see? My social standing in the town is at stake. That coffee pot is not simply a memento of dear Father, it’s the one secure way of regaining my position here.’

‘That was never under threat, Winifred.’

‘I feel that it is.’

The sound of the doorbell ended the conversation. Not used to visitors at that time of the morning, they wondered who it could be. It was not long before the butler came into the dining room.

‘Inspector Colbeck is here to see you,’ he announced.

Her hopes rose. ‘Perhaps he has good news for us!’

‘Show the inspector into the drawing room, Glover,’ said Tomkins. ‘We’ll be there directly.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said the butler, going out.

‘It may be that he’s made an arrest,’ said Winifred.

‘I beg leave to doubt that.’

‘Superintendent Stockdale’s men have been searching the whole town. They might have cornered the villains. Who knows? It may even be that the inspector has brought my coffee pot with him.’

‘I think you’re being far too optimistic.’

‘Why else should he come at this hour?’

‘Let’s go and find out,’ said Tomkins, ‘but don’t bank on hearing good news. That silver coffee pot is cursed.’

‘Don’t be nonsensical.’

‘It is, Winifred. It’s caused us nothing but trouble and my guess is that there’s a lot more to come.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

‘We shall see.’

They went into the drawing room and found Robert Colbeck studying a portrait on the wall. To Winifred’s dismay, he had brought nothing with him. She looked up at the oil painting.

‘That’s my father,’ she said, proudly. ‘He was a far-sighted man. As soon as railways began to be built, he realised that they had a wonderful future ahead of them. He once brought Mr Brunel to the house. Father thought that he was a miracle-worker.’

‘I’d endorse that, Mrs Tomkins,’ said Colbeck. ‘When the notion of the Taff Vale Railway was first discussed, critics said that that it could never be constructed over such difficult terrain. Mr Brunel took up the challenge and made light of the problems.’

‘We know that, Inspector,’ said Tomkins. ‘When the line opened in 1841, I was able to transport iron and steel from Merthyr to Cardiff in less than an hour. Until then, we’d had to rely on road and canal hauliers and they moved like snails.’

‘I’d be happy to discuss the topic in more detail with you, sir, but this is not the appropriate moment, alas.’ He took out the letter. ‘This was delivered to me at the hotel yesterday.’

‘Why to you and not us?’ demanded Winifred.

‘Because the person who sent it feared that this house might be under surveillance. Also, of course, he wanted to issue a warning.’

She started. ‘He hasn’t threatened to destroy my coffee pot?’

‘No, Mrs Tomkins. The warning was aimed at me. I – and, by implication, Superintendent Stockdale – was ordered to keep out of the ransom negotiations altogether.’ He gave the letter to Tomkins. ‘See for yourself, sir. The instructions are for you and your wife alone.’

Winifred was impatient. ‘What does it say? Let me see it.’

‘Give me chance to read it first,’ said her husband.

‘Do they still have my coffee pot?’

‘Yes,’ Colbeck told her, ‘but it comes at a price.’

Tomkins was horror struck. ‘Double the cost,’ he yelled in disbelief. ‘They expect me to pay double the cost? That’s quite inconceivable. In all, it would mean paying three times the value of the item, plus the fifty pounds already paid to Mr Voke as a deposit.’

‘Give it to me,’ said Winifred, snatching the letter from him and reading it quickly. ‘At least, they do have it and they promise that they’ll hand it over next time.’ The conditions made her shiver. ‘They want me to make the exchange.’

‘Then it’s out of the question on two grounds,’ said Tomkins. ‘I would never part with the sum of money demanded and I refuse to let my wife imperil herself by handing it over.’

‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, flatly, ‘the thieves will simply vanish and try to find a buyer elsewhere. More to the point, our chance of catching them will disappear as well.’

‘You’re surely not advocating that we agree to their demands?’

‘I believe that you should consider doing so, sir.’

‘My wife could be bludgeoned to death, Inspector.’

‘If you read the letter again, Mr Tomkins, I think you’ll find there’s a firm promise that your wife will come to no harm. All that they want is the money.’

‘They can go to the devil!’

‘Clifford!’ said his wife, reproachfully.

‘I’ll not deal with blood-suckers.’

‘We have to think this through very carefully,’ she said, making a supreme effort to keep calm. ‘There has to be a way to get what we want out of this situation.’

‘Yes – we ignore this to start with,’ said Tomkins, grabbing the letter from her and scrunching it up into a ball. ‘Nobody is going to give me orders.’

Colbeck extended a hand. ‘If you don’t want that, sir,’ he said, ‘then perhaps you’d give it to me. It’s a piece of valuable evidence. I’m sure that you noticed how different this was from the two earlier ransom notes. It’s written in block capitals. There has to be a reason for that.’

‘Take the damn thing!’ said Tomkins, thrusting it at him.

‘But we may need it, Clifford,’ cried his wife.

‘The whole matter is closed.’

‘I refuse to accept that.’

‘Winifred, the demands are beyond all reason.’

‘They are to you,’ she said, ‘so I suggest that you are no longer involved in the transaction. I have money of my own. Since you are too grudging even to consider paying for my coffee pot, then I may have to do so myself. Inspector,’ she added, holding out her palm. ‘May I have it back, please?’ Colbeck gave it to her and she unscrewed the paper. ‘I need to study this in private – do excuse me.’

‘Come back!’ ordered Tomkins as she waddled out of the room. He turned to Colbeck. ‘Do something, man. We can’t have my wife exposing herself to the kind of attack that the sergeant suffered.’

‘That’s a decision only Mrs Tomkins can take,’ said Colbeck.

‘You must talk her out of it.’

‘I would have thought that was your privilege, sir.’

‘Winifred can be very headstrong at times.’

‘She’s clearly determined to get her coffee pot back.’

‘But she’s taking an enormous risk going there alone.’

‘Mrs Tomkins won’t be alone,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘She’s been told to travel by carriage so she’ll have a driver with her. That, I think, is where we can seize the advantage. If it were not for the fact that I am clearly known to them, I would suggest that I drove your wife. Instead, one of Superintendent Stockdale’s men can pose as the coachman. I’ll be concealed inside the carriage, ready to leap out when the exchange is made.’

‘The exchange is not going to take place,’ decreed Tomkins. ‘I refuse to allow it, Inspector. It’s up to you to catch these villains and reclaim my wife’s property. Don’t you have any idea who you’re up against here?’

‘We do, as a matter of fact.’

‘Then why can’t you make an arrest?’

‘We have insufficient evidence, sir.’

‘A murder is committed, a man is robbed and Sergeant Leeming is knocked unconscious – how much evidence do you want?’

‘Two possible suspects have been identified.’

‘Who are they?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Colbeck, ‘until we’re certain of our facts. As you know, we believe that we’re looking for a man and a woman. A detailed description of the man in question has been printed in the London newspapers. Sooner or later, someone is bound to come forward with the information that we need.’

Edward Tallis was disappointed with the lack of response. In a city as large as London, he felt, there had to be somebody who could give him some indication as to the whereabouts of Stephen Voke. Yet a whole day had passed without anyone coming forward. While it had not linked Voke’s name with a murder in Cardiff, the newspaper report had stressed the Detective Department’s eagerness to make contact with him. Tallis had hoped that one of his former colleagues at Solomon Stern’s shop might be able to help him but none of them appeared at Scotland Yard. Nor could Leonard Voke provide any real guidance. Demanding his son’s immediate arrest, he confessed that he did not have the faintest idea where he might be. Stephen Voke had left no discernible trail behind him.

It was not until the second morning that someone eventually answered the call. Claude Meyrick was a quiet, inoffensive, studious man of middle years with spectacles perched on a long nose and dark hair flecked with grey at the temples. Shown into the superintendent’s office, he explained that he had, until recently, been Stephen Voke’s landlord.

‘At last,’ said Tallis, rubbing his hands. ‘What can you tell me?’

‘I can tell you that Mr Voke was an exemplary lodger. We were sorry to see him go. The only time my wife had to speak to him was when the tapping noise got out of hand.’

‘What tapping noise?’

‘He was a silversmith. He used a little hammer to fashion the silver into all manner of wondrous shapes. It was not a problem during the day but our other lodgers complained when he worked on into the night. Once my wife spoke to him,’ he went on, ‘Mr Voke apologised. It never happened again.’

‘How long was he living under your roof?’

‘It must have been five or six months, Superintendent. Then, out of the blue, he announced that he was leaving us.’

‘Did he say why?’

‘Yes,’ replied Meyrick. ‘Mr Voke told us that he’d resigned from his employment so that he could strike out on his own.’

‘What – here in London?’

‘No, no, he said that there were already far too many jewellers and silversmiths here. Besides, his father was in the same profession.’

‘I know,’ said Tallis, heavily. ‘I’ve met Mr Voke. He and his son were not on the best of terms, it seems.’

‘According to young Mr Voke, his father held him back and refused to pay him a proper wage. I don’t know the truth of the matter, sir, and I make it a rule never take sides in family disputes like that. It’s foolish to do so. Whenever Mr Voke talked about his father,’ Meyrick recalled, ‘I just nodded in agreement. My wife and I knew that he would not stay with us indefinitely.’

‘Why not?’

‘He was an ambitious young man. He wanted to make a name for himself and he could never do that working for someone else.’

‘Did he ever mention a Hugh Kellow?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Meyrick, ‘that was a name that often came to his lips. He was quite bitter about him. He claimed that the worst thing his father ever did was to take on Mr Kellow as an apprentice.’

‘Would you say that your lodger was a vengeful man?’

‘Not vengeful, sir – just very determined to get what he felt were his just deserts in life. He was single-minded. I admired that.’

Tallis sat back in his chair and tried to assimilate what he had just heard about Stephen Voke. The landlord took a much kinder view of him than Voke’s own father did but that was not difficult. Tallis could see that Claude Meyrick had a tolerant and uncritical attitude towards his fellow-men. Preferring to think well of people, he would not look too closely into their faults and foibles. The young man he had known had been a welcome tenant. Meyrick did not realise that Stephen Voke had been disinherited by his father and then had deserted his employer in Hatton Garden. Only the more appealing aspects of his lodger’s life and character had been revealed to him.

‘Did he have any friends?’ asked Tallis.

‘I assume that he did, Superintendent,’ said Meyrick, ‘because he often went out in the evenings.’

‘So he brought no young men to the house?’

‘None at all, sir – the only person who ever came for him was a young lady.’

‘Do you know her name?’

‘I’m afraid not. She never actually knocked on the door. She would simply appear on the pavement opposite and Mr Voke would go off with her. Female visitors are not allowed in our lodgers’ rooms,’ said Meyrick, sternly. ‘My wife is very particular on that score. Her father is a clergyman and inculcated the highest moral standards in her. My instincts accord with hers. It’s something that all our lodgers must accept if they wish to stay under our roof.’

‘I commend that wholeheartedly,’ said Tallis, warming to the man. ‘There are far too many landlords who allow unmarried couples to cohabit on their premises and who permit all kinds of licence. It is sinful, Mr Meyrick. They are actually encouraging indecency. I’m pleased to hear that you and Mrs Meyrick are more discriminating.’

‘It’s a matter of conscience to us, Superintendent.’

‘Then I applaud you. Coming back to this young lady,’ he went on, ‘how would you describe her?’

‘I only saw her on a few occasions and always through the window, of course. She was well-dressed and looked respectable to me. I thought her attractive and agreeably wholesome.’

‘Did she and Mr Voke seem like close friends?’

‘Oh, yes – she always took his arm as they walked away.’

‘Is there anything else you can remember about her?’

‘Only my wife’s observation,’ said Meyrick, ‘and she has sharper eyes for such things.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Age and class, sir. She felt that the young lady was a little older than Mr Voke and came from a higher station in life. For all that, they seemed well-suited.’

‘When did he actually leave your house?’

‘Last Saturday – a cab came to pick him up at the door. I helped him to carry down his luggage. Mr Voke was very grateful. He thanked us for looking after him so well.’

‘Do you know where the cab was taking him?’

‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Meyrick, ‘I heard him tell the driver to take him to Paddington Station. He was leaving London altogether.’

On his way back to the hotel, Colbeck called in at the police station to keep Stockdale informed of the latest developments. When he heard of the reaction to the latest ransom demand, the superintendent was very impressed.

‘Winifred Tomkins is a braver woman than I took her for,’ he said with mild astonishment. ‘I’m not surprised that her husband refused to provide the money even though he could afford to pay fifty times that amount and not miss it. It’s the wife that I admire. There are not many women who would take such a risk.’

‘I agree,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that was before Mrs Tomkins knew that I intended to hide in the carriage with her. She will not be entirely unprotected.’

‘How was the situation left?’

‘According to that letter, the exchange will not take place until twilight. That gives them the best part of a day to decide what they’re going to do. Mr Tomkins will try to talk his wife out of what he sees as an act of madness while she, I suspect, will hold firm.’

‘Even if it means that she has to pay the ransom money herself?’

‘Appear to pay it,’ corrected Colbeck. ‘Mrs Tomkins must look as if she’s obeying the instructions. As well as keeping her from any harm, I hope to retrieve both her money and her coffee pot.’

‘We’ll catch them this time,’ said Stockdale, confidently. ‘I feel it in my bones. It’s a pity that the sergeant won’t be here to enjoy the moment.’

‘What Victor needs to enjoy is the comfort of his wife and family. That’s why I put him on the train back to London this morning. He’ll have to give a full report to Superintendent Tallis, of course, but he’ll be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. That’s important to Victor.’

‘The love of a good woman is important to any man.’

‘Too true,’ said Colbeck, thinking of Madeleine Andrews.

‘Yet you’ve remained single, Inspector.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘It can’t be for want of opportunities,’ said Stockdale with grin. ‘Even someone as ugly as me has caused the odd female heart to beat faster. A handsome fellow like you could pick and choose.’

‘At the moment, I choose to devote all my energies to my work,’ said Colbeck, crisply, ‘and I know that you’re as keen as I am to solve this particular case.’

‘I am, Inspector, but these villains are proving devilishly hard to find. They must be in Cardiff somewhere,’ he said, ‘yet we’ve drawn a blank in all the hotels and boarding houses. There’s no sign of them. My men have looked into every nook and cranny.’

‘They’ve been searching for a man and woman but the chances are that the pair of them split up to avoid detection. They’ll only get back together again when they’re ready to seize the ransom money. And as we’ve discussed before,’ said Colbeck, ‘it could be that the woman in question actually lives in the town.’

‘Miss Carys Evans.’

‘We must keep watch on her, Superintendent.’

‘I’ve been doing just that,’ Stockdale told him. ‘I paid her a call this very morning. I told her that we’d become aware of the fact that she was in the hotel at roughly the time of the murder and asked her if she saw anything unusual while she was there. Miss Evans said that she did not.’

‘Did she explain what she was doing at the hotel?’

‘She was visiting a friend though she refused to give me a name. It could, as we speculated, simply have been Sir David Pryde. From the way that she rebuffed my question, however, I felt that it was not him. It may not even have been a man, of course.’

‘Then why was she so evasive?’

‘That’s in her nature, I’m afraid.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I noticed that about her.’

‘Miss Evans did admit one thing of interest.’

‘What was that?’

‘She actually visited Mr Voke’s shop in London. She went there on the recommendation of a friend – the same one, no doubt, who recommended the silversmith to Mrs Tomkins.’

‘Sir David Pryde.’

‘Surely, he can’t be involved in these crimes.’

Colbeck had no time to reply. Someone rapped on the door then it opened to disclose the figure of a burly uniformed sergeant. He told the superintendent that someone was demanding to see him.

‘Who is it?’ asked Stockdale.

‘That actor from the Theatre Royal, sir,’ said the man. ‘He seems very upset.’

Colbeck’s curiosity was aroused. He followed the superintendent through into the outer office where a distracted Nigel Buckmaster was pacing restlessly up and down. When he saw Colbeck, the actor rushed impulsively forward to grab him by the shoulders.

‘You must help me, Inspector!’ he cried, shaking him. ‘We are facing calamity – Miss Linnane has been abducted.’

* * *

It was a new weapon and it was used to great effect. During their long marriage, Winifred Tomkins had always got her way either by nagging her husband incessantly or resorting to a fit of temper. He had usually bowed to her will. She deployed none of her customary tactics now. Retreating into silence, she simply ignored him. Clifford Tomkins did not know how to cope with such treatment. He reasoned, he shouted, he threatened and he even pleaded but all in vain. Her mind was made up and nothing could dissuade her. As she was putting on her coat to leave the house, he made one last intervention.

‘This is insane, Winifred!’ he cried.

‘Out of my way, please,’ she said, coolly.

‘The bank manager will tell you the same thing.’

‘It’s my money and I can do what I wish with it.’

‘Before he’ll sanction it, he’ll want to know why you’re withdrawing such a large amount of capital at short notice.’

‘Then I’ll tell him the truth,’ she replied. ‘The money is to meet an emergency and my husband has declined to help me.’

Tomkins flushed. ‘Think how that will make me look!’

‘It makes you look like the miserly and unloving husband that you are, Clifford.’

‘Now that’s unfair!’

‘When I really need you, I’m badly let down.’

‘Everything I own is at your disposal,’ he said, recklessly, ‘as long as it’s for a worthy purpose, that is. In this case, you’re proposing to throw away a large sum on a whim and it’s my duty to stop you.’

‘It’s your duty to support me,’ she snapped. ‘Were Lady Pryde in this position, I’m sure that Sir David would come to her aid without any delay or prevarication.’

‘That’s a false comparison and you know it. Lady Pryde would never dare to risk her life for a silver coffee pot.’

‘You heard what Inspector Colbeck told you – the exchange must go ahead.’

‘That’s only because he expects to catch the villain when it takes place. His priority is to safeguard you. I’m not sure that he can.’

‘You saw what that letter said. On no account must the police be involved at all. Remember what happened to Sergeant Leeming. It will be far easier if I just hand over the money and get what I want.’

‘At three times its original price!’ he exclaimed.

‘It would be worth it, Clifford.’

‘That coffee pot was supposed to be a gift from me.’

‘You seem to have forgotten that,’ she said, icily. ‘When I visit the bank, I will be withdrawing enough money to reimburse you for your loss. That way I’ll have paid the full price for it so it will be truly mine. You’ll have no cause to harass me then.’

‘I’m not harassing you.’

‘Then please step out of my way.’

‘At least, talk this over sensibly.’

‘You’re incapable of understanding my point of view.’

‘I’m trying to stop you doing something you’ll afterwards regret.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, nostrils flaring. ‘What I regret is that I believed you’d stand by me in a situation like this. We are not really talking about a silver coffee pot, Clifford. Much more is at issue here. The whole basis of our marriage has been rocked. When I look for your uncritical support in a crisis, I find you wanting. Goodbye.’

Sweeping past him, she went into the hall and headed for the front door. The butler was at hand to open it for her and give an obsequious bow. The phaeton stood ready outside. Winifred was about to walk across to it when she noticed a letter on the doormat in the porch. Written across it in bold capitals was her name.

It took Colbeck several minutes to calm the actor down so that he could relate the facts of the case. Taken into Stockdale’s office, Nigel Buckmaster went through his full range of dramatic gestures. He explained that he had gone to Kate Linnane’s room to take her down to a late breakfast, only to find the door wide open and the room in disarray. Buckmaster reported his findings to the manager and Pugh had immediately questioned his staff. A waiter remembered seeing a woman being hustled down the back stairs by a man in a cloak. One of the cooks had seen the couple leaving by the rear entrance. Both of the witnesses agreed that the woman had looked in distress.

‘Kate has been kidnapped!’ howled Buckmaster.

‘It certainly looks that way,’ said Colbeck, ‘though I wonder that she didn’t cry for help as she was taken past those witnesses.’

‘Some kind of weapon must have been held on her under the man’s cloak – a knife, perhaps, even a pistol.’

‘Who could want to do such a thing?’ asked Stockdale. ‘I’m sure that she has many admirers but they’d hardly go to those lengths.’

‘I don’t think we’re looking for someone who reveres Kate,’ said Buckmaster, ‘but a rival who detests and envies me. He’s determined to wreck my company because it’s had such resounding success. What lies behind this crime is artistic jealousy of the worst kind.’

‘That’s one possible explanation,’ said Colbeck.

‘What other one is there, Inspector?’

‘The answer to that must lie in Miss Linnane’s private life, sir. She’s a very beautiful woman. Has there been an entanglement in her past that left someone feeling vengeful towards her?’

Buckmaster was peremptory. ‘There’s been no such thing.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘Kate has no secrets from me.’

‘Then she’s unlike any woman I’ve known,’ said Stockdale with a dry laugh. ‘Women are secretive creatures – it adds to their allure.’

‘I’m not interested in your opinions, Superintendent,’ said the actor, treating him to a glare. ‘Kate Linnane has been my leading lady for some years now and the trust between us is complete. If there had been any dark shadows in her past, she would surely have told me about them.’

Colbeck remembered the figure he had seen flitting into Kate’s room earlier that week. It had obviously not been Buckmaster or there would have been no need for stealth. Colbeck sensed that she had not felt obliged to tell the actor-manager about her furtive caller. What else had she decided not to confide?

‘Kate’s safety is paramount, of course,’ said Buckmaster, ‘but the fate of the whole company now hangs in the balance. We have a full house for this evening’s performance. It will be a catastrophe if we have to cancel it. The damage to my reputation will be irreparable.’

‘We’ll do our best to find the lady,’ promised Stockdale. ‘Any woman as striking as Miss Linnane will surely have been seen after she left the hotel. I’ll organise a search for her at once, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ As Stockdale went out, the actor turned to Colbeck. ‘I was hoping that you’d take charge of the case, Inspector.’

‘I already have my hands full, Mr Buckmaster.’

‘This could prove disastrous for us.’

‘I sympathise with you,’ said Colbeck with unfeigned sincerity. ‘Accounts of Miss Linnane’s performance have been uniformly glowing. It’s been a source of great annoyance to me that I’ve been unable to see the two of you in Macbeth. Unfortunately,’ he went on, ‘I have no jurisdiction beyond the case that brought me to Cardiff. The superintendent is responsible for law-enforcement in the town and he is known for his tenacity. There is one crumb of comfort, however.’

‘I fail to see it.’

‘When she was taken from the hotel, Miss Linnane was apparently unharmed. If someone had meant to injure her in order to prevent her from appearing onstage, they could have done that in her room. I would expect her to be found in good health.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘I trust that it will be in the very near future.’

‘I need Kate now,’ insisted Buckmaster. ‘She is more than just our leading lady, Inspector, she is our good luck charm. Without her, we face potential ruin.’

‘I think you exaggerate a little, sir.’

‘She’s a vital part of the company.’

‘That goes without saying,’ conceded Colbeck, ‘but you would not have had such continuous success in your profession if you had cancelled a performance because someone was indisposed. For a role like Lady Macbeth, you must surely have an understudy.’

‘I do and I do not,’ said Buckmaster, uneasily. ‘There is someone who could step into Kate’s shoes but she’s young and untried. What if she lets us down? How can I scale the heights if I am held back by a Lady Macbeth who is floundering in the part?’

‘Would the understudy happen to be Miss Tremaine?’

Buckmaster blinked. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I had the good fortune to meet the young lady when she gave me a playbill in the street,’ said Colbeck, smiling at the memory. ‘I was taken with her patent dedication. To lose Miss Linnane in this manner is very troubling but your predicament may not be as serious as you fear. I have a feeling that Miss Tremaine will rise to the occasion.’

Laura Tremaine was torn between delight and quiet terror. The message had simply told her to come at once to the actor-manager’s hotel for a rehearsal of her role as an understudy. The thought that she might actually play Lady Macbeth opposite Nigel Buckmaster gave her a dizzying thrill. It was beyond anything she had ever dreamt about, expecting to occupy lesser parts for many years before even being considered for a leading role. Yet it now seemed possible. There had been no explanation as to why Kate Linnane was unable to repeat her triumph that evening but Laura knew that she would never yield up a part lightly, especially to someone she openly despised. She tried to put the other actress from her mind. Kate’s loss was Laura’s gain. She needed to seize the unexpected chance of greatness.

With opportunity, however, came fear and uncertainty. Was she ready? Did she have enough talent to be an adequate substitute for such an experienced actress? Would she let everyone down? Could she remember the lines and repeat the correct moves? She had watched Kate Linnane play the part often enough but that was not the same as taking it on herself. Would Laura Tremaine – whatever her fantasies about theatrical glory– be able to hold her own against a titan of the stage like Nigel Buckmaster? The challenge was both exhilarating and daunting. She would not simply be fulfilling her ambition of taking a leading role, she would be doing so as one of the most famous wives in world drama. In the course of that evening, pretty, young, shapely, well-spoken, respectable Laura Tremaine had to undergo a veritable transformation. Shedding the sweetness of Lady Macduff, she had to turn herself into a murderous fiend.

As she sat patiently in the hotel foyer, she felt the sheer weight of expectation. The whole company would depend on her. Her friends would will her to succeed while her enemies – and she had one or two in the company – would pray for her to fail. Every move she made and every gesture she gave would be subjected to intense scrutiny. And what would happen when Kate Linnane came back to reclaim her rightful role? However well she had played it, Laura would get neither thanks nor praise. Once the imperious leading lady had returned, her understudy would have to slink back into obscurity. It was a thought that made Laura resolve to make the most of her opportunity. She would play Lady Macbeth as if the part had been expressly written for her.

Nigel Buckmaster strode into the hotel and she jumped to her feet obediently. He did not even look at her as he went past.

‘Come to my room,’ he said. ‘We have much work to do.’

Laura followed him up the stairs as if floating on air.

Jeremiah Stockdale did not have a large force at his disposal but he managed to deploy over a dozen men in the search for the missing actress. They questioned anybody who lived or worked in the vicinity of the hotel. It was when one of the constables went to the railway station that firm evidence was at last obtained. Stockdale passed on the information to Colbeck at the police station.

‘They caught a train to London.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ said Colbeck.

‘The stationmaster remembered them clearly – a startling young woman and a man in a cloak who had her by the arm. They got into a first class carriage.’

‘That sounds like Miss Linnane.’

‘One of the porters saw them as well. He thought they were a husband and wife who’d just had a quarrel because the woman was very tense and the man brusque.’

‘I’m still surprised that she made no resistance, Superintendent. Miss Linnane is very self-possessed. I can’t imagine her letting anyone make her do something against her will.’

‘Maybe the porter was right,’ suggested Stockdale. ‘The man could have been a jealous husband who suddenly leapt out of her past. Or it might have been someone who was blackmailing her. He didn’t need to have a weapon because he was holding some guilty secret over her. That’s why she went with him. Forget what Mr Buckmaster told us,’ he said, airily. ‘In my experience, an actress is a lady with a very colourful history.’

‘It’s not a profession renowned for its saints.’

Stockdale chuckled. ‘Sinners are far more interesting.’

‘What steps have you taken?’

‘I sent two of my men after them on the next train. They can make enquiries at Paddington. It’s the second time Idris Roberts has been there this week.’

‘Of course,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was the constable who took Effie Kellow back to London. Was the body delivered to Mr Voke?’

‘Yes, Inspector – Idris saw to that. After they’d talked about funeral arrangements, he escorted Miss Kellow to her brother’s lodgings and made sure that she got the books she was after.’

‘What then?’

‘He gave her money for a cab to Mayfair and caught the train back to Cardiff. He was sad to leave her. She was so downcast.’

‘The only thing that will lift her spirits is if we catch those responsible for her brother’s murder. With luck and with the active cooperation of Mrs Tomkins,’ added Colbeck, hopefully, ‘I expect to do that this very evening.’

Winifred Tomkins did not even tell her husband that there had been a change of plan. The letter she had found outside her house had given her fresh instructions and she was determined to obey them. Her husband would only have tried to stop her or insisted that she showed the latest missive to Inspector Colbeck. She refused to do that. She had an inner conviction that the only way to get her hands on the silver coffee pot was to pay the excessive amount of money demanded. Her father had bequeathed her over eighty thousand pounds. It seemed appropriate that some of that inheritance should be spent on an item that would keep his memory fresh in her mind.

Clifford Tomkins was surprised when she ordered the carriage that afternoon. He followed her out of the house.

‘Where are you going, Winifred?’

‘I thought I’d call on Carys Evans,’ she said.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘I promised to take tea with her one day this week.’

‘Would you like me to come with you?’

‘Don’t be silly, Clifford. You’d only be in the way.’

‘We haven’t really spoken since you came back from the bank,’ he said, worriedly. ‘What did the manager say?’

She shot him a withering look. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’

‘I hope you said nothing to my detriment. I’m held in high regard at the bank.’ She climbed into the carriage and closed the door after her. ‘Do you still mean to go through with the exchange this evening?’

‘I’ll see you later, Clifford.’

‘When shall I expect you back?’

Ignoring his question, she gave the coachman a signal and they pulled away. Once clear of the house, she felt strangely elated. There was an element of danger but it was offset by a sense of adventure. Everything she had done in her adult life had been guided by her relationship with her husband. For once she was doing something entirely of her own volition, something that he would have strongly opposed. It was a small victory and the coffee pot would forever be an emblem of that victory. She was content.

They went for a mile before they reached the designated spot, a stand of trees on the road to Fairwater. Winifred ordered the coachman to stop and the carriage rolled to a halt. Though she could see nobody, she was certain that she was being watched. She suddenly began to tremble with fear, realising how vulnerable she was. The coachman was with her but he was a slight man and unarmed. He would be no match for a desperate criminal ready to commit murder.

‘Mrs Tomkins?’ called a man’s voice.

‘Yes, yes,’ she answered aloud. ‘It’s me.’

‘Please get out of the carriage.’ She did as she was told. ‘Do you have the money with you?’

‘I do – every penny of it.’

A young man stepped out from behind a tree, his face largely obscured by the brim of his hat. Winifred gasped when she saw that he was holding a pistol in his hand.

‘Let me have the money,’ he said.

‘I want to see my coffee pot first,’ she insisted, amazed that she had the courage to say the words. ‘I’m ready to pay for it.’

‘Then here it is.’

He reached behind the tree and pulled out a large leather bag. Opening it up, he tilted it towards her so that she could see the silver locomotive nestling inside. It glinted in the late afternoon sunshine. Winifred was overwhelmed with joy.

‘Here, here,’ she said, holding out the money. ‘Count it if you must but please let me have my coffee pot.’

‘All in good time, Mrs Tomkins,’ he said, closing the bag. ‘I’ll want rather more than the money from you.’ He turned the pistol on the coachman and barked a command. ‘Get down before I shoot you!’

The coachman jumped down instantly to the ground. The man used the weapon to motion them off behind the trees then he ordered Winifred to give him the money. When she did so, her hands were shaking so much that she dropped some of the banknotes. She scrambled to pick them up. Without bothering to count them, he thrust the money into his pocket then told her and the driver to turn their backs. The next thing they heard was the departing carriage.

‘We’ll have to walk back,’ protested the coachman.

‘No matter,’ she said, hurrying over to the leather bag. ‘We have what we came for – I’d have walked a hundred miles to get this.’

Opening the bag, she took out the silver locomotive to gloat over it but the moment she felt the object, she knew that it could not be silver. It was far too light. Now that she could see it properly, she observed that the workmanship was poor and the detail wanting.

‘We’ve been tricked!’ she bellowed. ‘This is made of tin!’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nigel Buckmaster was impaled on the horns of a dilemma. He had always planned to entice Laura Tremaine into bed at some time in the future yet, now that they were alone in a hotel room, he held back from taking advantage of her. Recognising her obvious talent, he felt that he could develop her potential to the point where she was capable of taking on major roles. Eventually, he had hoped, she would replace Kate Linnane as his leading lady and as his mistress. Laura had the same freshness, the same burning ambition and the same eagerness to work hard at her craft that Kate had once possessed. She also had two things that the older woman now lacked – a readiness to obey his every wish and the incomparable beauty of youth.

As he looked at her now, beaming up at him with undisguised infatuation, he had a fierce urge to take her. What held him back was the thought that a large audience would be gathering that evening to watch him repeat his magical performance as Macbeth. An hour’s pleasure with Laura Tremaine was an hour’s less rehearsal time. It might also stir up her emotions in a way that would adversely affect her performance onstage. Buckmaster was in a quandary. Should he surrender to lust or put the needs of the company first? Should he drown his anxieties in sensual abandon or prepare a young actress for the biggest test of her career?

While not understanding its implications, Laura could see the indecision dancing in his eyes. She was troubled.

‘Is something wrong, Mr Buckmaster?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied with a deep sigh. ‘I’m afraid that there is, alas.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I must tell you this in the strictest confidence. I know that I can rely on your discretion.’

‘I won’t breathe a word, sir.’

‘I will give out that Miss Linnane is indisposed but the truth of the matter is that she has been abducted.’

‘Abducted!’ she echoed in alarm.

‘Have no fear,’ he said, allowing himself to take her reassuringly by the shoulders. ‘You are not in any danger. I’ll see to that. A search is being conducted for Miss Linnane and I have every confidence that she will return to us. Until then,’ he said, letting his hands slide gently down her arms, ‘you must step into the breach. We owe it to our audience to carry on and we owe it to ourselves to rise above this temporary setback.’

Laura was resolute. ‘I am ready, Mr Buckmaster,’ she said. ‘I’ll do anything you ask of me.’

Desire coursed through him again and he had to fight an impulse to enfold her in his arms and enjoy that first, long, tender, exploratory kiss. She was ready to play Lady Macbeth but was she ready to be his? Buckmaster controlled himself. The time to make that decision was after that evening’s performance and not before. If they could wrest success out of misfortune, they could celebrate together. He became businesslike, moving the furniture to the margins of the room to create a space.

‘Are you nervous?’ he asked.

‘A little,’ she confessed.

‘There’s no need to be. If we can harness your talent properly, you will play the part to perfection. I have no qualms.’

‘Thank you, Mr Buckmaster.’

‘You know the lines – I’ve been through them with you often enough – but what we do need to address are the deeper aspects of the character. Lady Macbeth is no mere monster. She’s a complex woman whose emotions need to be understood and communicated to the audience.’

‘Miss Linnane does that superbly.’

‘I mean this as no disrespect to a fine actress,’ he said, ‘but we must dismiss Kate Linnane from our minds. It is Laura Tremaine who will play Lady Macbeth now. That and that alone is all that concerns us. This afternoon, we’ll rehearse at the theatre with the rest of the company. What I wish to do now in the privacy of this room is to go through your scenes line by line. Think of me as Macbeth, your loving husband. I want you to grow towards me in every way.’

‘Yes, Mr Buckmaster.’

‘You must convince everyone that you are truly my wife.’

Laura quivered with pleasure. Under his direction, she was ready to throw herself body and soul into a role she had always coveted. Aspiration momentarily got the better of her. She was glad that Kate Linnane had been abducted and had no sympathy for her. If anything, she felt a suppressed glee. Laura believed that it was her destiny to replace the other actress and she intended to do it on a permanent basis.

‘Here I am, sir,’ she said, spreading her arms in a gesture of submission. ‘Instruct me.’

Winifred Tomkins was inconsolable. The humiliation of having paid out a substantial amount of money for a worthless object was like a stake through the heart. After trudging all the way back home, she took to her bed. Her husband was infuriated by what he heard. He sent immediate word to the police station. Colbeck and Stockdale arrived to find him still aflame with righteous indignation.

‘It’s not my fault!’ he asserted, arms flailing. ‘I take no blame at all for this, gentlemen. I did warn my wife. I did caution her against rash behaviour.’

‘Then why didn’t you stop Mrs Tomkins going?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I was deceived, Inspector. I was never shown that second letter. How was I to know that the instructions had been changed?’

‘You would surely have been told of the new arrangements had you provided the money required, sir. That seems to be the crux of the matter here. Mrs Tomkins only acted on her own because you refused to supply the sum demanded.’

Tomkins reddened. ‘I won’t be criticised in my own house!’

‘Inspector Colbeck is only pointing out the true facts of the situation, sir,’ said Stockdale. ‘There was a loss of trust between you and Mrs Tomkins. She was driven to act unilaterally and has paid the penalty. The financial loss incurred is hers.’

‘And mine,’ insisted Tomkins. ‘Who do you think paid for the carriage and horses? I’m the victim of a robbery as well.’

‘But you did not have to face a loaded pistol.’

‘That’s beside the point, man.’

‘I don’t agree, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Mrs Tomkins has lost more than her money. She underwent a frightening ordeal. That was why it was imperative for trained police officers to be with her at the time of the exchange. Had I been hidden in the carriage, I could have waited for the moment to catch the man off guard and overpower him. Nothing would have been stolen then and Mrs Tomkins would not have been tricked by this.’

He indicated the coffee pot locomotive that stood on the table. It had a clear resemblance to the item commissioned but could never withstand close inspection. Made of tin, it looked cheap and hastily finished. There were sharp edges on it everywhere.

‘Look at it,’ said Tomkins, trying to grab the locomotive and pricking his finger in the process. ‘It’s utterly useless.’

‘Not to me,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s further proof that the man we’re looking for is a silversmith. This was deliberately fashioned so that it could be used as a decoy. Mrs Tomkins, I daresay, was only given a glimpse of it from a distance.’

‘The villains have made quite a haul,’ noted Stockdale. ‘They not only pocketed three times the value of the coffee pot, they still have the object themselves.’

‘Don’t forget the contents of Mr Voke’s safe in London,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘The thief now has enough stock and capital to set himself up in business as a silversmith. That makes me even more convinced of his identity.’

‘Who is he, Inspector?’ demanded Tomkins.

‘We believe that he may be Mr Voke’s son and that he has a female accomplice with some knowledge of the town. He’s a clever man, Mr Tomkins. He exploited your wife’s determination to have that coffee pot at all costs and it may even be that she was not the only victim of a decoy. The superintendent and I discussed this on the way here,’ said Colbeck. ‘At the time when Mrs Tomkins was handing over that money, the police force was distracted.’

‘Yes,’ explained Stockdale. ‘The leading lady from the theatre company has been kidnapped. It’s a possibility that the crime was committed in order to divert our attention away from events here. Only time will tell.’

‘My feeling is that the two things are unrelated,’ said Colbeck, ‘but the coincidence is strange. The abduction needed immediate attention from the superintendent and his men.’

‘Why me?’ cried Tomkins. ‘What have I done to deserve it? Why has all this disaster been visited upon me?’

‘I’d say that you’ve come off rather lightly, sir,’ remarked Stockdale. ‘It’s Mrs Tomkins who’s really suffered here.’

‘Then there’s Sergeant Leeming,’ added Colbeck, ‘who was assaulted in your place. As for Miss Linnane, victim of a kidnap, we can only guess at the horrors she has been put through. Compared to others, sir, your problems have been relatively small.’

‘That’s all you know!’ said Tomkins under his breath.

He was thinking of the difficulties that lay ahead, of the reproaches that were to come when his wife recovered and of the permanent damage done to their marriage. Winifred thought his behaviour had been unforgivable and she was a woman who harboured grudges forever. In failing to support her at a time of need, he had guaranteed himself years of bitter recrimination. Only the restitution of his wife’s money and of the silver coffee pot could save him from sustained misery.

‘We must catch these devils!’ he shouted.

‘We’ll endeavour to do so, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but, in losing your wife’s confidence, you made our task much more difficult. Had I been present at the exchange, there was a good chance of catching the man we’re after.’

‘You can’t be certain of that outcome.’

‘I accept that, Mr Tomkins. That’s why I had another line of defence. If the killer had escaped from me, he and his accomplice might well have tried to leave the town by train with their booty.’

‘I’d have been waiting for them at the railway station,’ said Stockdale, ‘and I was expecting to do just that this evening. I was unaware that the exchange would take place so soon.’

‘It all comes back to your failure to stand by your wife, sir. You forced her to take independent action and two dangerous criminals have slipped through our fingers as a result.’

‘I refuse to acknowledge any responsibility,’ insisted Tomkins.

‘I can only tell you how we view it,’ said Colbeck, looking him in the eye, ‘and I venture to suggest that your wife will see it in exactly the same way.’ Tomkins swallowed hard. ‘Now could I please trouble you to give me the second letter that arrived here today? It might just confirm a worrying little thought I have at the back of my mind.’

It was much more testing than Laura Tremaine had thought. When she had rehearsed the role of Lady Macbeth before, she had simply copied the way that Kate Linnane had played the part. Now that it was hers, Nigel Buckmaster insisted that she put her individual stamp on it and he worked hard to bring that about. She did the letter-reading scene over twenty times before he was satisfied with the interpretation and he went over every syllable of her famous speeches to tease out their meaning and emotional impact. Laura was humbled and exhausted by the exercise but she was also uplifted. Somewhere inside her was the performance of her lifetime and Buckmaster was slowly bringing it out of her. Hours glided by as they exchanged iambic pentameters.

‘That’s enough!’ he decreed at last. ‘I think we have earned some refreshment. It is time for the royal couple to feast.’

‘Thank you!’ she said, overjoyed at his approval.

‘We have made great strides and we’ll make even more when we rehearse with the full company. I am beginning to have a real sense of you as my wife, my lady, my lover.’

‘My performance owes everything to you.’

‘We must complement each other in every possible way.’

‘Yes, Mr Buckmaster.’

‘Oh, I think we can dispense with formalities in private,’ he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Feel free to use my Christian name, Laura.’

‘I will, sir – I mean…Nigel.’

After a late luncheon, they adjourned to the theatre to meet the rest of the company. Actors thrived on rumour and superstition and the place was buzzing. Opinions varied as to whether Kate Linnane had been killed, wounded, dismissed, abducted or struck down by a crippling disease. What everyone knew for certain was that she would not be taking part in the play that evening. Conducting Laura to the stage, Buckmaster clapped his hands to silence the hubbub.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, scanning the faces below him, ‘I want no more idle speculation about Miss Linnane. All that you need to know is that she is unable to be here this evening. In her place,’ he went on, ‘I am delighted to tell you that we will have Miss Tremaine.’

There was a burst of spontaneous applause from most of the actors though one or two were less enthusiastic. Laura did not mind. Later that evening, she would be enjoying an ovation from a full audience, signalling the arrival of a new star in the firmament of British theatre. The moment for which she had secretly yearned had finally come. She would shine in one of the greatest tragic roles ever devised for an actress and she would do so in the company of the legendary Nigel Buckmaster. It was true bliss.

The euphoria lasted until she reached her dressing room. Cold reality then set in. As she looked at her costume, she knew that she could never hope to fill it with the same distinction as Kitty Linnane, especially at such short notice. Many of the things that Buckmaster taught her in his hotel room had already vanished from her brain. There was simply too much to learn. Declaiming lines in private had been thrilling. Adapting her performance to those of the other characters in the play would be far more difficult. She suddenly felt her immaturity. Buoyed up by ambition, she had thought herself ready for anything. Now that she was there, now that she was in a dressing room that had so many vestiges of Kate Linnane, now that she took full measure of the challenge she faced, Laura was forced to admit that she was too young, inexperienced and ill-equipped for the role. Her mouth went dry, her stomach heaved and her heart was like a galloping horse. She was in the iron grip of stage fright.

They were true. All those stories about bad luck attending any production of Macbeth had some foundation. Laura had never believed the tales before but the facts were inescapable. They were doomed. The company had been struck by a triple disaster. Murder had greeted their arrival in the town, their leading lady had been kidnapped and Laura Tremaine had been cast as Lady Macbeth. She could turn out to be the biggest disaster of them all.

Robert Colbeck wanted to eliminate one possible suspect before he left Cardiff. Though he doubted if she would condone a murder, he still wondered if Carys Evans was in some way linked to the series of crimes. Accordingly, he paid another call on her cottage. The servant who answered the door was reluctant to admit him.

‘Miss Evans is not expecting you, sir,’ she said.

‘I won’t trouble her for long,’ promised Colbeck.

‘Perhaps you could come back at another time.’

‘I need to speak with her now.’

‘It’s not really convenient.’

‘Then I’ll stand out here until it is.’

‘Miss Evans is rather busy at the moment.’

‘I’m never too busy to spare the Inspector a few minutes,’ said Carys, appearing in the hall with a welcoming smile. ‘Let him in, Maisie.’

‘Yes, Miss Evans,’ said the servant, dutifully.

She opened the door fully then stood back so that Colbeck could step into the hall. Carys led her visitor into the drawing room. He thought he detected the faintest hint of cigar smoke. It was from the same brand of cigar favoured by Edward Tallis so it was familiar to his nostrils. Offered a chair, he sat down beside the fireplace. Carys, he noted, was still wearing her silver brooch in the shape of a dragon.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting you, Miss Evans,’ he said.

‘Not at all,’ she replied, sitting opposite him.

‘I had the feeling that you had a guest.’

‘I did, Inspector.’ She picked up a book from a side table. ‘A very special guest, as it happens – Lady Charlotte Guest. I’ve been reading her translation of the Mabinogion.’

‘Have you read it in the original Welsh?’

‘Of course,’ she said, putting it aside again. ‘But let’s not pretend that you came to discuss my literary tastes. You have infinitely more charm than Superintendent Stockdale but you are here for precisely the same reason that brought him to my door. It appears – for some unknown reason – that I am under suspicion. Please don’t talk in circles like the superintendent. Ask me bluntly what you wish to know.’

‘Very well,’ he said, ‘how have you spent the day?’

‘I awoke early, went for my usual walk after breakfast then called on Lady Pryde to take coffee from a silver coffee pot that did not pretend to be anything else. Then I returned home and have been here ever since. Maisie will vouch for that.’

‘I’m sure that she will.’

‘Now you can ask me about the day of the murder.’

‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ he said with a disarming smile. ‘If a lady does not wish to disclose whom she was visiting in the privacy of a hotel room, I respect her right to do so. No, Miss Evans, what I’d like to touch on is a visit you made to a silversmith in London.’

She became more guarded. ‘Go on, Inspector.’

‘You called at Mr Voke’s shop in Wood Street, I hear.’

‘Is there any law against that?’

‘None at all, Miss Evans,’ he said. ‘I just wondered if this was before or after you acquired that beautiful brooch you’re wearing.’

‘It was afterwards, Inspector. I was so impressed with it that I wanted to meet the silversmith who made it. Mr Voke introduced me to his assistant, Mr Kellow, a very pleasant young man.’

Colbeck thought of the corpse at the hotel. ‘I met Mr Kellow under more distressing circumstances.’

‘I was not in London specifically to visit to the shop,’ she explained. ‘I have friends with whom I stay occasionally. While I was with them, I took the opportunity to seek out Mr Voke.’

‘Did you commission anything else from him?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact – it was a silver bracelet.’

‘And who was instructed to make it?’

‘I asked for Mr Kellow to work on it.’

‘Were you pleased with the result?’

‘I was very pleased,’ she said, ‘but I had no further dealings with the firm. After my first visit, I was approached by Mr Voke’s son who was working at his father’s shop at the time. He told me that he could make me jewellery of the same high quality but at a lower price. When he showed me examples of his work, I could see that he was a good craftsman. So I commissioned a silver necklace from him.’

‘Are you telling me that you knew Stephen Voke?’

‘Yes, Inspector, we had a business arrangement.’

‘Was the necklace satisfactory?’

‘It was a fine piece of work at a bargain price.’

‘Then you must have gone to his new place of employment in Hatton Garden to collect it from him.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Young Mr Voke delivered it by hand.’

Colbeck was alerted. ‘Stephen Voke actually came to Cardiff?’

‘This is not the end of the world, Inspector,’ she said with a teasing laugh. ‘As you discovered, we are only a train ride away from London. And I was very grateful to have the necklace brought to my door. I know that your visit to the town has been very disagreeable but young Mr Voke liked what he saw of Cardiff. He appreciated that it was a place with a future.’

‘I share that view. It’s patently set to grow and grow.’

‘He even talked about moving here one day because he was anxious to get away from London. He likes Wales.’

‘Have you commissioned anything else from him?’

‘Not in person, Inspector,’ she said, extending a hand, ‘but a friend of mine was kind enough to purchase this ring for me. None of our local silversmiths could have made anything like this.’

The ruby ring set in silver had the same delicate workmanship as her brooch even though the two items had been made by different craftsman. Both of them had been apprenticed to Leonard Voke and he had schooled them well in the trade. The ring was created by a son who was disowned and the brooch by the young man who had taken his place. In looking at the two pieces together, Colbeck felt that he was studying a motive for murder.

Jeremiah Stockdale was writing a report in his office when she called in to see him. Winifred Tomkins was an unexpected visitor and it had obviously taken an effort of will for her to be there. She looked weary, hurt and repentant. He held a chair for her to sit down then resumed his own seat. Since she had difficulty finding the right words, he tried to prompt her.

‘Is there anything that I can do, Mrs Tomkins?’

‘Yes, Superintendent, there is.’

‘Well?’

There was another long pause. Her tongue moistened her lips.

‘I’d like you to accept my apology,’ she said.

‘To be honest, I’m not sure that one is in order.’

‘I believe that it is.’

‘In that case,’ he said, ‘perhaps it’s I who should be apologising to you. We did our best to reclaim your stolen property and we failed.’

‘The failure was on my side,’ she confessed. ‘I was so eager to have my coffee pot back that I was blind to everything else. What could I – a weak and defenceless woman – hope to do against a ruthless criminal? It was madness. I can see that now. You must think me very silly.’

‘I think you acted with more bravery than sense, maybe, but I would never describe your actions as silly.’

‘I feel so foolish, Superintendent.’

‘The villains took advantage of your innocence, that’s all. You were an easy prey. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs Tomkins. A criminal will always look to exploit the unwary,’ he told her. ‘That was why you were ordered to have no more dealings with the police.’

‘I was too reckless.’

‘Luckily, you survived the ordeal.’

‘I thought I knew better,’ she said, morosely. ‘And all I was doing was exposing myself to danger and letting myself be robbed of a great deal of money. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I feel.’ She produced a handkerchief to wipe away a stray tear. ‘My enemies will never let me forget this. I’ll be the butt of their derision for years.’

‘That’s not true at all, Mrs Tomkins.’

‘I’ve made myself look totally ridiculous.’

‘That may be your opinion,’ he said, ‘but it’s certainly not mine. Besides, who outside a tiny circle is going to know what happened? I will not be voicing it abroad and nor will Inspector Colbeck. Apart from you, your husband and the coachman, of course, nobody else has any knowledge of what took place and there’s no earthly reason why they should.’

Winifred brightened. ‘Do you mean that, Superintendent?’

‘You are unlikely to tell anyone and your husband will hardly want to draw attention to the fact that he refused to provide the money for the exchange. As for your coachman, I daresay you’ve made sure of his silence.’

‘On pain of dismissal,’ she said, firmly. ‘He’ll say nothing.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’ Stockdale gave a sly smile. ‘There is, however, one other person who knows the full details of what occurred on the road to Fairwater and that’s the young man who relieved you of that money.’

Her fear returned. ‘Do you think that he’ll spread the word?’

‘No, Mrs Tomkins, I don’t. No criminal with any sense will boast about a crafty scheme he devised or the public will be forewarned. That would make it difficult for him to use the same stratagem quite so easily again. You are safe from your enemies,’ he assured her. ‘They will never hear of this unfortunate episode.’

Stockdale had never believed that he would ever feel sorry for Winifred Tomkins. She was a bossy, selfish, odious, pampered woman with a sharp tongue and he could well understand why her husband sought pleasure elsewhere, even to the extent of paying for it. Seeing her now in such distress, however, the superintendent softened towards her. Her real fault had been her gullibility. Driven to possess the silver coffee pot, she had been coaxed into a situation where she was robbed, tricked and mortified beyond endurance. It was a private wound that would never heal. Notwithstanding that, she had somehow found the courage to come to the police station to offer an apology to someone she feared would join in the general mockery of her. Stockdale was glad that he could give her some peace of mind.

‘Will I ever get my coffee pot back?’ she asked, meekly.

‘Oh, yes,’ he affirmed.

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘Inspector Colbeck will pursue them until he finally runs them to ground. He never gives up, Mrs Tomkins. The chase will continue for as long as necessary and your property will be retrieved.’

‘All that my husband can talk about is our carriage.’

‘That, too, will be recovered and so will your money.’

She bit her lip. ‘I should have trusted Inspector Colbeck,’ she said with regret. ‘You and he deal with criminals all the time. I was stupid to ignore your help.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Tomkins.’

‘The person who really deserves an apology is the inspector.’

‘I’d agree with that.’

‘Where can I find him, Superintendent?’

‘I wouldn’t advise you to go in search of him just now.’

‘Oh – why not?’

‘Because he’s on a train somewhere between here and London,’ said Stockdale, wryly. ‘Inspector Colbeck thought that the man we want might have a female accomplice here but he’s now satisfied that that is not the case. Having no reason to stay on in Cardiff, he’s gone back to Scotland Yard. He’ll continue the investigation from there.’

* * *

In spite of his reputation for being a hard taskmaster, Edward Tallis was not entirely without compassion. When Victor Leeming had returned that morning, the superintendent had listened to his report with interest then sent him home to reassure his wife that his head injury was not as serious as the heavy bandaging suggested. Though he had been given the rest of the day off, the sergeant insisted on going back to Scotland Yard to take part in the investigation. He was pleased to hear from his superior that progress had been made.

‘The most helpful person was Claude Meyrick,’ said Tallis. ‘He was Stephen Voke’s landlord here in London. Mr Meyrick was able to tell me the day and time of his lodger’s departure from the house. Given that information, I was able to work out an approximate time of arrival at Paddington Station.’

‘That was clever of you, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s worthy of Inspector Colbeck.’

Tallis frowned. ‘I can act on my own initiative, you know,’ he said, tartly. ‘Because I knew when he’d be at the station, I was able to make a list of the trains he was most likely to catch.’

‘How many of them were there?’

‘They were four in number – two of them went to Cardiff.’

‘That puts Stephen Voke exactly where we thought he would be.’

‘There’s more, sergeant,’ said Tallis, fingering his moustache. ‘I wanted confirmation so I despatched men to the station to talk to the porters. Mr Voke was not alone. He was travelling with an attractive young lady. Since they were quitting London, they would have had a lot of luggage with them and needed the assistance of a porter.’

‘Did anyone remember them?’

‘They did, fortunately. Thousands of people go to and fro every day and very few of them stand out. But one sharp-eyed porter did recall two people who fitted the description he was given and who caught a train on the day stipulated. The man – I’m certain that it must have been Mr Voke – gave the porter a generous tip.’

‘I can see why it stuck in his memory, sir.’

‘He stacked their luggage on the roof of the carriage.’

‘I think I can guess where the train was going.’

‘To Cardiff,’ said Tallis, ‘and on the day before the murder.’

‘It all fits, Superintendent,’ decided Leeming. ‘However, while we know a lot about Stephen Voke, we know precious little about his companion and Inspector Colbeck feels that she was crucial to the whole scheme. It was the young woman who led Hugh Kellow astray in the first place. I’d love to know who she is.’

‘Mr Meyrick could not help us there. Neither could anyone at Solomon Stern’s shop. I visited the place myself. Mr Stern and his staff told me that they all knew the young lady by sight but not by name. What they did recall was Stephen Voke’s eagerness to leave the shop whenever she appeared.’

‘Could it be that she is the real culprit here?’ said Leeming.

‘The two of them are clearly in this together.’

‘Yes, I know, but I’m wondering if she is like Lady Macbeth, urging him on to a deed he might not otherwise have committed. As far as I know, Stephen Voke had no record of breaking the law before this happened. This young woman may have been the catalyst.’

Tallis was astounded to hear mention of a Shakespeare play on the lips of his sergeant and his use of the word ‘catalyst’ had also been arresting. Leeming was not known for his cultural interests. Tallis doubted if he had ever seen a Shakespearean tragedy performed. Yet here he was, making an interesting point with a valid cross-reference from the world of drama. Having impressed the superintendent, Leeming immediately gave the game away.

‘At least,’ he said, ‘that’s what Inspector Colbeck mentioned at one point but only because Macbeth was being staged at the theatre in Cardiff. Two members of the company actually travelled to the town in the same carriage as the murder victim.’

‘Evil is not solely a characteristic of the male sex,’ said Tallis, solemnly. ‘Women can be equally corrupt, if not more so. Stephen Voke would not be the first man driven to commit a murder at the behest of a scheming female. That’s not to excuse anything he’s done, mark you,’ he added, ‘but this accomplice of his may bear the greater part of the blame.’

Edward Tallis had a distrust of the opposite sex that sometimes threatened to spill over into misogyny. Leeming had heard his views on the subject a number of times. He feared that he was about to do so again but he was spared another lecture. There was a firm tap on the door. In response to Tallis’s command, Robert Colbeck entered. After an exchange of greetings, the newcomer put a friendly hand on Leeming’s shoulder.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘You should be at home, resting and being spoilt by your wife.’

‘That’s exactly what I told him,’ said Tallis.

‘He’s earned it, sir. Being so modest, he’ll not have told you about the bravery that he showed in Cardiff. In pursuit of a killer, the sergeant risked his life.’

‘Then he deserves congratulation.’

‘I want to be here,’ said Leeming, ‘taking part in the search for the man who gave me such a headache. When we catch up with him, I have a score to settle.’

‘That time will soon come,’ Colbeck told him.

He took a seat and delivered a succinct report on events in Cardiff. The other men were shocked to hear that Winifred Tomkins had spurned the assistance of the police and tried to deal directly with the thief. They both felt that she had been lucky to escape without physical injury and were angry that she had prevented Colbeck from being present at the exchange and therefore in a position to make an arrest. The report provoked Tallis into a familiar tirade.

‘That’s another aspect of the female character that appals me,’ he said, reaching for a cigar from the box on his desk. ‘Women do have a propensity to meddle, to get involved in things over which they can never have any control. Mrs Tomkins is a perfect example. With help on offer in the shape of Inspector Colbeck, she blithely decided to take matters into her own hands. She thought, in effect, that she could do what a policeman is trained to do and she learnt that she had severe shortcomings.’ He bit off the end of the cigar. ‘When will women learn that they have no place whatsoever in the fight against crime? They’d only get in the way and invite injury.’ He lit the cigar and puffed hard on it. ‘Thank heaven we don’t have them here in the Detective Department to hinder us.’

‘I’ve never found that women hinder us,’ said Leeming, loyally. ‘If anything, my wife does the opposite. Estelle is a great help.’

‘Yes,’ added Colbeck, ‘and I disagree that they have no place in the fight against crime. The time will surely come when we are glad to welcome women into the police service.’

‘It had better not come in my time,’ grumbled Tallis.

Colbeck could have told him that, in a sense, it already had because he had enlisted the aid of Madeleine Andrews on a number of cases and her contribution had always been valuable. Knowing that the information would only bring certain condemnation from Tallis, he held his peace and inhaled the aroma of the cigar. It reminded him of the faint whiff he had sniffed at Carys Evans’s cottage, evidence that Sir David Pryde was also a cigar smoker.

‘What has been happening while we’ve been away?’ he asked.

‘We’ve not been sitting on our hands,’ replied Tallis.

‘Do you have any news of Stephen Voke?’

The superintendent repeated what he had earlier told Leeming. Colbeck absorbed the intelligence before reaching a decision.

‘I’ll leave from Paddington first thing in the morning,’ he said.

Leeming was puzzled. ‘Are you going back to Cardiff, sir?’

‘No, that’s the one place he wouldn’t dare to show his face after all that’s happened. Stephen Voke left London with the intention of starting up in business elsewhere. One of the towns he considered,’ Colbeck went on, ‘was Cardiff. My guess is that he chose somewhere within relatively easy reach of Wales by rail. On the day that he and his accomplice left London, they would have needed to unload their luggage at the new abode before going on to Cardiff unencumbered.’

Tallis braced himself. ‘I fear that you’re about to spring another of your infamous theories on me, Inspector.’

‘It’s less of a theory than a piece of intuition, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘I think that Stephen Voke would choose a town with a railway station so that he could be easily reached by potential customers. I know for a fact that he travelled to Cardiff to deliver an item he made for a client. If he’s in a small town, he’ll need custom from a wider circle. The search for him must therefore begin on the Great Western and on the South Wales Railways. Somewhere between here and Cardiff, I think we’ll find Stephen Voke settling into a new life.’

‘He could be in a different part of the country altogether,’ argued Tallis. ‘Railways go everywhere.’

‘I happen to know that he’s especially fond of Wales.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Leeming. ‘Wales has been very good to him. It’s given him a silver coffee pot, a large amount of money, a carriage and two horses. Those are rich pickings for a few days’ work. I’ve learnt to rely on your intuition, Inspector,’ he declared, ‘so I’ll come with you tomorrow.’

‘You’re looking for a needle in a haystack,’ complained Tallis.

‘Perhaps, sir,’ returned Colbeck, ‘but it will be a very large needle in a very small haystack. When two people move into a new community for the first time, they are bound to get noticed, especially if one of them opens a shop as a silversmith. Mr Voke’s occupation narrows the search immediately. We’ll find them.’

‘It’s a pity we can’t call on the assistance of Superintendent Stockdale,’ said Leeming, wistfully. ‘He was a tremendous help to us in Cardiff and would like to see this case through to the end.’

‘No doubting that, Sergeant. Unfortunately, he’s preoccupied with another crime at the moment – a kidnapping.’

‘Oh – who was kidnapped?’

‘Miss Kate Linnane,’ said Colbeck, ‘the celebrated actress. She was due to play Lady Macbeth this evening. I sincerely hope that they manage to cope without her.’

They all knew. Laura Tremaine had given a competent performance at the rehearsal but it never took wing. Unable to conquer her nerves, she managed nothing more than a brave stab at the part. Nigel Buckmaster was the first to congratulate her afterwards but he knew that she was no Kate Linnane. He assured her that she would grow fully into the role in front of the audience but that prospect only served to increase her dread. Laura was going to take the stage as the unworthy substitute of an actress who had brought real venom to the part. All that the new Lady Macbeth had achieved was petulance. While everyone in the company knew her deficiencies, they tried to ignore them. Laura received nothing but praise and encouragement.

As the time of performance drew near, her feelings of sheer inadequacy were intensified. Her dresser burbled away happily about the triumph awaiting her but Laura was not persuaded. Even during the rehearsal, when Buckmaster had given a deliberately muted version of Macbeth, she had been totally eclipsed by him. When he released his full power that evening, she would trail helplessly in his wake. Panic set in once again. Buckmaster tried to rally her, coming into her dressing room in his costume and false beard.

‘You can do it, Laura,’ he told her. ‘I know that you struggled this afternoon but that was your first attempt. Put those troubles behind you now. Destiny beckons. This is your moment.’

‘I feel sick,’ she admitted.

‘So do I and so do all of us. It’s one of the perennial hazards of this profession. The moment you step on to that stage, the discomfort will vanish in a flash. You’ll be Lady Macbeth in every particular.’

His words gave her enough confidence to believe that she might get through the performance without any real mishap but there was no question of matching him. Instead of being a steely wife exhorting him to commit murder, she would be making a polite request for him to assassinate a king. Her Lady Macbeth would have surface value but no depth. Nigel Buckmaster, the man she looked upon as a theatrical paragon, would never forgive her. Instead of being the start of a brilliant career for her, Macbeth would bring her dreams to an end.

In the event, she never even got to utter a single word of her new role. With barely twenty minutes before the curtain was raised, Kate Linnane flung open the door of the dressing room and stormed in like an avenging angel. She eyed Laura with contempt.

‘How dare you!’ she exclaimed, eyes blazing. ‘What on earth are you doing in my costume?’

Afflicted by a blend of horror and relief, Laura was speechless.

‘Get this person out of my dressing room,’ ordered Kate, ‘and bring me my costume back.’

Laura was hustled out by the dresser and Kate slammed the door after them. Arms akimbo, she confronted the staring Macbeth.

‘Stop looking at me as if I’m Banquo at the feast,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Nigel. Do you really think I’d let some ambitious minx replace me as Lady Macbeth – never in a hundred years!’

‘We thought you’d been abducted,’ he gasped.

‘What ever gave you that absurd idea?’

‘I expected you for breakfast.’

‘I had an invitation to eat elsewhere,’ she explained, ‘and I could hardly refuse to see my brother.’

‘You went off with brother?’

‘Michael was in Cardiff for a few days on business and wanted to spend time with me. He’s in the audience right now. Oh, by the way,’ she added, ‘don’t worry about the time. I told them to hold the curtain for half an hour so that I have some leeway to change.’

‘You did this on purpose, Kate,’ he said, glowering at her. ‘You staged the whole thing to give us a fright. According to the police, you were seen getting on to a train to London with a man in a cloak.’

‘It was my brother and we only went as far as Gloucester. That’s where he lives now. I always intended to return for the performance. Unless, that is,’ she went on, throwing down the challenge, ‘you’d prefer that little baggage, Miss Tremaine, to play Lady Macbeth. If that’s what you wish, Nigel, you can have her.’

It was a defining moment and he was quick to recognise it as such. Kate Linnane was too shrewd not to notice the designs he had on Laura Tremaine but she was not ready to be supplanted yet. To show her resentment and to let Buckmaster see how indispensable she was to the company, Kate had conspired with her brother to prove her point. In pretending to be abducted, she had produced all manner of alarums and excursions in the company. Buckmaster had been forced to promote Laura Tremaine into a role for which she was plainly not yet ready. The new Lady Macbeth would have marred the evening’s performance. At least, they had been rescued from that. Wanting to throttle Kate for the trouble and anxiety she had inflicted on him, Buckmaster instead embraced her warmly.

‘Welcome back, my love!’ he said, effusively. ‘I knew in my heart that you’d never let us down. I was rightly chastised. Let’s put all that behind us and give the audience a performance to remember.’

‘Are we friends again?’

‘We are and always will be, Kate, you wondrous creature!’

‘Good,’ she said, kissing him passionately. ‘If you kill Duncan for me, you may find the door of my hotel room unlocked again tonight. That’s the best place for us to settle our differences.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Her friendship with Robert Colbeck had not only brought her intense pleasure, it had also broadened the mind of Madeleine Andrews in every way. Even before she met him, she had been interested in books but had never been able to find enough suitable reading matter. Colbeck solved that problem. From his own extensive library, he loaned her a whole series of volumes. While many were related to the history of railways, he took care to provide her with a variety of novels as well. As she sat at home that evening, reading by the light of the lamp, she realised why Colbeck had urged her to read Dombey and Son. Two of the scenes in Dickens’ novel had been set in Camden and depicted the upheaval caused when the London to Birmingham line cut right through it. Madeleine had been a child when the railway had been built nearby but her father, who now travelled on it daily as an engine driver, had vivid recollections of the clamour and disruption. Charles Dickens was recreating it for her.

Because she expected to hear Caleb Andrews’ footsteps at any minute, she read on with her ears pricked. When a cab rattled down the street and stopped outside, her first thought, therefore, was that he had been injured at work and sent home. Putting the novel aside, she rushed to open the door only to see Colbeck paying the cab driver. Madeleine let out a cry of joy. Doffing his top hat, he gave her a kiss then followed her into the house. He noticed the book immediately.

‘Ah, you’ve started it, have you?’

‘Yes, Robert. It’s wonderful to see Camden portrayed in a novel. Thank you so much for recommending it.’

‘There are four railway scenes in all,’ he said, ‘and they’re very well-written. However, I’m not going to let Dickens come between us. I came here to see you and not to talk about him.’

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, squeezing his hands. ‘What have you been doing and where have you been?’

‘I’ve been hunting a killer in Cardiff and he’s proving to be extremely elusive – so is the young lady, for that matter.’

‘What young lady?’

‘The one involved in the murder.’

They sat close to each other and he gave her a carefully edited version of the crimes he was investigating. Though she was intrigued to hear details of the case, Madeleine was also interested in the mention of Nigel Buckmaster’s theatre company.

‘You took me to see him playing Othello,’ she recalled. ‘I didn’t understand everything that was going on but I was deeply moved by Desdemona’s plight. She was such a helpless victim.’

‘Miss Kate Linnane excelled herself in the role,’ he said, ‘and, by all accounts, has been magnificent as Lady Macbeth. I only wish that I could have taken you to see it at Saturday’s matinee performance.’

‘Is there no hope of that, Robert?’

‘Probably not – this investigation may occupy me for some time. Besides, we might not, in any case, be able to see Miss Linnane in person. Before I left the town, we had a report that she’d been kidnapped and the police are still looking for her.’

Colbeck was unaware that the leading lady had now rejoined the company and he had been wondering how the young understudy had fared in her place. Madeleine was distressed to hear about the abduction and hoped that the actress would soon be found. She was also worried for Colbeck’s safety.

‘Murder, robbery and kidnap,’ she said in dismay. ‘Cardiff sounds like a very dangerous place.’

‘It pales into insignificance beside the rookeries of St Giles or Seven Dials,’ he told her, ‘and, though it could do with more men, it has an efficient police force. You’d feel quite secure walking alone down the main thoroughfares of Cardiff. With regard to the murder, of course, we’re not dealing with local criminals. The two people we have in mind came into the town from England to commit their crimes.’

‘What about the kidnap?’

‘I’m not in charge of that case, Madeleine.’

‘You must know something of the details.’

‘I’ve been too preoccupied with my own investigation to pay much attention to the fate of Miss Linnane,’ he admitted, ‘but I have the feeling that she’ll soon be found. Jeremiah Stockdale, the police superintendent, is very capable. It will not be long before he tracks the lady down.’

Stockdale simmered with anger. Having paid a rare visit to the Theatre Royal to watch Macbeth, he had expected Nigel Buckmaster to be playing opposite an understudy. Instead, he was startled to see Kate Linnane appearing as Lady Macbeth at a time when Stockdale’s men were still out searching for her. It spoilt the performance completely for him. While the rest of the audience was captivated by the swirling drama, he remained wholly uninvolved. When rapturous applause echoed around the theatre at the end of the play, Stockdale did not join in. Instead of clapping together, his hands were bunched tight like those of a prize fighter. He was livid.

There was no point in accosting them there. Nigel Buckmaster and Kate Linnane would be surrounded by admirers the moment they stepped out of the building. Among those rushing to the stage door would be the Town Clerk, who had come to worship at the feet of the leading lady yet again. There would be dozens like him, lonely and impressionable men enthralled by the beauty, passion and nobility of Lady Macbeth. Stockdale had to bide his time. Pushing his way through the milling crowd outside, he strode purposefully back in the direction of St Mary Street. He had a lengthy wait. It was almost two hours before the actor-manager and his leading lady finally returned to the Railway Hotel. Stockdale ambushed them in the foyer.

‘I wonder if I could have a word with you?’ he asked in a voice that made it clear they had no alternative.

‘Why, it’s you, superintendent,’ said Buckmaster with a flamboyant gesture. ‘I didn’t recognise you out of your uniform. You cut a fine figure in evening wear, I must say. Was this transformation brought about for any particular occasion?’

‘Yes, sir – I attended a performance of Macbeth.’ The others traded an uneasy glance and began to mouth excuses. ‘Perhaps we should discuss this in private,’ Stockdale said, interrupting them. ‘I promised the manager that I wouldn’t arrest you in public.’

Buckmaster goggled. ‘Arrest!’

‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ protested Kate.

‘That’s exactly the point, Miss Linnane,’ said Stockdale. ‘Nothing wrong was done. I have been investigating a crime that never actually took place.’ His smile was glacial. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

Followed by the superintendent, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth went up to Buckmaster’s room. They were not acknowledging an ecstatic audience now nor were they garnering praise from their enthusiastic well-wishers at the stage door. They were compelled to produce a very different performance and it was one they had never rehearsed. When they reached the room, Buckmaster unlocked the door with his key. After helping Kate remove her cape, he took off his top hat and cloak before turning up the gaslight to brighten the room. Taking a stance in the middle of the carpet, he launched into his defence.

‘We are deeply sorry, Superintendent,’ he said, one hand to his breast. ‘Common courtesy dictated that we should have told you of Miss Linnane’s miraculous escape from her kidnapper. The truth of the matter is that we simply didn’t have the time. Twenty minutes before the curtain was due to rise, Miss Linnane burst into the theatre and announced that – in spite of the appalling trial she’d had to undergo – she would honour her commitment to the company and take on her role. I’m sure you’ll agree that she did so with the brilliance we’ve come to associate with her.’

‘Thank you, Mr Buckmaster,’ said Stockdale, curtly, ‘but I’ve heard enough speeches from you this evening and I don’t propose to listen to any more – even though you no longer wear that kilt.’ He turned to Kate. ‘What have you to say, Miss Linnane?’

‘I’m still haunted by the memory of it,’ she claimed, looking anguished. ‘I was snatched from my room, forced to travel to London and kept in a dark cellar for hours on end. When I managed to escape, I hastened back to Cardiff to play the part for which I’d been engaged. All else went from my mind.’

‘Who abducted you?’

‘It was a crazed fellow who has been stalking me for months, Superintendent. When he saw his opportunity, he pounced.’

‘Then I must ask you the question that Inspector Colbeck first put,’ said Stockdale. ‘Why did you not resist and call out? You almost screeched down the walls of the castle on stage tonight so I know that your lungs are in good order. What happened to your voice during the kidnap? Did he threaten to kill you if you raised the alarm?’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, clutching at the suggestion. ‘That was it.’

‘Now you know the full story,’ concluded Buckmaster, ‘so you must excuse us. We are very tired and Miss Linnane has been through a very harrowing day.’

‘So have my men,’ said Stockdale. ‘Constable Roberts and Constable Parker made a totally unnecessary trip to London in pursuit of this mythical kidnapper and several other policemen went searching for witnesses in Cardiff itself. I put it to you, Miss Linnane, that this whole episode was devised by you for some personal reason, as a result of which the Cardiff Borough Police were needlessly distracted from pursuing real criminals.’

‘I was abducted!’ she cried, falling back on defiance.

‘Do you subscribe to this lie, Mr Buckmaster?’

‘I stand by what Miss Linnane has told you,’ said the actor.

‘Then perhaps you’d explain something to me, sir. When Miss Linnane returned to Cardiff after her dramatic escape from a dark cellar, why didn’t you inform us immediately of her return?’

‘I told you – we didn’t have time.’

‘The performance was delayed by half an hour. That gave you plenty of time to send someone to the police station. One of your underlings could run the distance in less than five minutes.’

‘We are actors, Superintendent,’ said Buckmaster, grandly. ‘The play must always come first. Our public awaited us.’

‘I’ve been awaiting you as well,’ said Stockdale, grimly, ‘and I got into conversation with the manager while I did so. Mr Pugh is a shrewd gentleman. He suggested that it was unlikely that anyone would simply charge in off the street and drag Miss Linnane out. To begin with, how would this fellow know where to find her room? Mr Pugh had the answer to that. He wondered if the kidnapper was already staying here as a guest.’ Kate clenched her teeth. ‘He allowed me to look through the register and do you know what I found? There’s someone who booked in two days ago by the name of Michael Linnane.’ The two of them wilted under his glare. ‘Do I need to say anything more?’

After a night at home in the bosom of his family, Victor Leeming looked much happier and healthier. The bandaging around his head obliged him to wear his top hat at a rakish angle and he collected some curious stares as he and Colbeck walked along the platform at Paddington Station, but he was unperturbed by the attention. When they found an empty carriage, they removed their hats then sat down opposite each other. Leeming’s good humour was not only occasioned by the fact that he was hoping to arrest the man who assaulted him. He was relieved that they would not be staying away overnight and that he could return to the comforts of the marital couch in due course.

‘I’ve been looking at a map of where we’re going,’ he began.

Colbeck patted his pocket. ‘I’ve brought one with me, Victor.’

‘The one I saw had part of South Wales on it and what puzzled me was this. Why didn’t they build a railway bridge across the River Severn? That would have been the most direct route.’

‘The most direct and the most sensible,’ agreed Colbeck, ‘which is exactly why it was suggested when the line was first mooted. There was a proposal for a long bridge across the river west of Gloucester. Local objection, alas, was so powerful that the scheme had to be abandoned. The line was diverted through the Forest of Dean so Mr Brunel had no need to bridge the Severn. His engineering skills were, however, put to the test.’

‘Yes, Inspector – I saw the viaducts at Chepstow and Newport.’

Colbeck was amused. ‘You’re improving, Victor. There was a time when you hardly looked out of the window of a train.’

‘I’m usually too busy praying that we’ll arrive safely.’

‘Accidents on the railway are not that common.’

‘Tell that to the passengers on the Brighton express,’ said Leeming. ‘The ones who survived the crash last year, that is.’

It was a case that still troubled Leeming. The express had been involved in a head-on collision with a ballast train. He remembered the devastation caused. Though the accident had been deliberately engineered, Leeming’s fears were not stilled. Whenever he was tugged along at high speed by an iron monster breathing fire and pulsing with energy, he thought about the Brighton express and longed for the more leisurely days when the stagecoach was the principal mode of transport.

‘Where do we start, Inspector?’ he asked.

‘In Gloucester,’ replied Colbeck. ‘It’s a cathedral city with a pleasant aspect. It could well attract two refugees from London.’

‘You can see why they told nobody where they were going.’

‘They wanted to cut their ties with the past and start afresh. At least, that’s the way it looks. There was nothing to keep Stephen Voke in London and we must assume that the same is true of the young lady who went with him.’

‘All that we have is her Christian name – Bridget.’

‘I’m not convinced of that,’ said Colbeck. ‘If she did set out to entrap Hugh Kellow, she might well have given a false name. I’ve also been thinking about those ransom letters sent to Mrs Tomkins. Two of them were written by a woman but the others – in block capitals – could just as easily have been penned by a man.’

‘What do you deduce from that, sir?’

‘I’m not sure. It worries me.’

‘Perhaps the young woman was not even in Cardiff at the time the last two letters were sent,’ observed Leeming. ‘The only person involved in the exchange was a man. He was operating alone.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’d have used his accomplice as a lookout. They’ve always been extremely careful in the past. We are up against people who take no chances.’

‘Then how do we catch them?’

‘We exploit their weakness.’

‘I didn’t know that they had one, sir.’

‘They do now, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘Their venture into crime is over. They committed murder and, with the keys stolen from their victim, they emptied Leonard Voke’s safe. They used the silver coffee pot cleverly to fleece Mrs Tomkins. Now that they’ve got what they want, they’ll have left Cardiff to begin a respectable new life. In short, they’ll think they got away with it. That’s their weak spot – they believe they’re completely safe.’

‘What about that carriage?’

‘You mean the one stolen from Mrs Tomkins?’

‘Yes, Inspector – it would bring in a tidy sum if they sold it along with the two horses.’

‘It would also arouse suspicion,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that will deter them. Stephen Voke, I fancy, does not look like someone who is a legitimate owner of a splendid carriage. There’s another thing to consider, Victor. Have you ever driven a vehicle with two horses between the shafts?’

‘I’m not stupid enough to try, sir. They’d be a handful.’

‘Mr Voke will be no coachman either. I think he only stole the carriage in order to buy time for his escape. At the rate she walks, it would have taken Mrs Tomkins some while to get home and report what happened. The villains might have left Cardiff by then.’

‘What will they have done with the carriage?’

‘Abandoned it, more than likely,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s no use to them now. It would only get them noticed when they seek anonymity. No, it will turn up in due course.’

‘Where was it found?’ asked Clifford Tomkins, looking at the carriage.

‘A few miles from here,’ replied Stockdale. ‘It was standing beside a stream well away from the main road. The horses were cropping the grass. If it hadn’t been for a man who went fishing in that stream, the carriage might still be there.’

‘He deserves a reward.’

‘He’s already had it, sir. He was a poacher trespassing on private property. I overlooked that offence in return for the information he gave me.’

They were standing on the forecourt of the Tomkins’ residence. A policeman had driven the carriage there with the superintendent as his passenger. Stockdale seized on the offer of money.

‘You’re very fortunate to get it back in this condition, sir,’ he pointed out. ‘The horses could have been harmed and the carriage damaged. You’d have incurred a sizeable debt. Since you are minded to give a reward, might I suggest that a donation to the Borough Police Force is in order?’

‘You shall have it, Superintendent.’

‘Thank you, sir. We need money to fight crime.’

‘I think you’ve earned it.’

Tomkins was not speaking from a philanthropic impulse. The ironmaster was recalling Stockdale’s discretion with regard to his nocturnal antics in a brothel. That deserved recognition. They were still talking when Winifred Tomkins came out of the house.

‘We’ve got it back!’ she cried, coming over to them.

‘I’ll explain all the details later,’ said Tomkins.

‘That’s one load off my mind, Superintendent. We’ve had that carriage for years. One grows attached to things like that.’ She peered at it more closely. ‘Is it damaged in any way?’

‘No, Mrs Tomkins,’ said Stockdale. ‘We inspected it carefully. I suggest that you get your coachman to take it round to the stables. After all this time, the horses need to be unharnessed – they’re very restive, as you can see.’

‘I’ll organise that at once,’ said Tomkins, walking away.

‘Thank you so much, Superintendent,’ said Winifred. ‘I’ve been having nightmares about that carriage.’

‘I did promise that you’d get it back – and your money.’

‘Strictly speaking, it’s not mine any more.’

‘Oh?’

‘Clifford – my husband – came round to my point of view in the end. Since he commissioned the coffee pot as a gift, he accepted that he should bear any costs pertaining to it. He’s agreed to pay me every penny that I lost.’

Stockdale suppressed a grin. ‘That’s very handsome of him.’

‘Now that we have our carriage back, he can’t keep blaming me for losing it in the first place.’

‘You didn’t exactly lose it, Mrs Tomkins. It was taken from you by a man with a pistol. In those circumstances, your husband would have yielded up the carriage as well.’

‘That’s exactly what I told him.’

‘You’ll be able to sleep more soundly from now on.’

‘Oh, I will,’ she said with gratitude. ‘You saved us from so much embarrassment, Superintendent. What happened with respect to the coffee pot can be kept secret but we could not have hidden the fact that our carriage had been stolen. Tongues would have wagged. You know the kind of rumours that can spread.’

‘They’ve been nipped in the bud, Mrs Tomkins.’

He looked up to see her husband returning with the coachman and pointing to the carriage. Strutting along with his chest out and his stomach pulled in, Tomkins gave the impression that he had retrieved the vehicle in person. He snapped his fingers and the coachman took over, first patting the horses to calm them down then climbing up on to the seat to drive the carriage away.

‘I can see why you wanted it back,’ said Stockdale. ‘It’s a very comfortable ride.’

‘Far more comfortable than Lady Pryde’s phaeton,’ Winifred interjected. ‘I can assure you of that.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for it, Mrs Tomkins. I can’t envisage myself ever being invited to sit beside Lady Pryde.’

‘Then you should be grateful.’

‘What happens next, Superintendent?’ asked Tomkins. ‘When will you recover my money?’

‘More to the point,’ said his wife, ‘when will I finally have my silver coffee pot?’

‘I’m in no position to answer either of those questions,’ said Stockdale, ‘because I am no longer involved in the investigation. It’s moved outside Cardiff and thus out of my hands. Inspector Colbeck is pursuing the matter elsewhere. I have to confine myself to finding kidnapped actresses and recovering stolen carriages.’

Winifred’s brow creased. ‘Kidnapped actresses, you say?’

‘There was a slight problem with the theatre company, Mrs Tomkins, but it’s been resolved now. Mr Buckmaster was so grateful that he gave me several free tickets for Saturday’s performance. He was also kind enough to donate some money to us.’

‘But who was kidnapped?’

‘Nobody – it was all a misunderstanding.’

‘Well, the theft of that coffee pot was not a misunderstanding,’ said Tomkins, sulkily. ‘It’s cost me almost as much as the locomotive on which it was modelled. I hope that Inspector Colbeck realises that.’

The fugitives were not in Gloucester. That was established without any difficulty. After alighting at the railway station, Colbeck and Leeming walked to a silversmith near the centre of the city and asked him if he was expecting to have more competition in the area.

‘Not if I can help it,’ said Jack Grindle, gruffly. ‘There’s barely enough work to keep the rest of us going.’

‘This looks like a fairly prosperous town,’ said Colbeck.

‘People don’t always want to spend their money on jewellery, Inspector. When farmers make a profit, they buy more stock and their wives have little desire for my handiwork. New dresses and pretty bonnets are what they prefer. There’s over 17,000 people living in Gloucester and most of them work in the docks, the foundries, the timber mills, the flow mills and such like. You won’t find much interest in silverware there. It’s a luxury they can’t afford.’

It was a small shop but the silverware on display was of a high quality. Grindle had an apprentice and an assistant in the back room so he clearly had enough work to justify their wages. He was a big, raw-boned, hirsute man in his forties with the build of a blacksmith yet his hands were small and delicate. He blinked constantly.

‘Where would you go, Mr Grindle?’ asked Leeming.

‘I’m staying right here,’ rejoined the silversmith, truculently. ‘This is my shop and nobody will turn me out of it.’

‘That’s not what I meant, sir.’

‘Then why not say so?’

‘What the sergeant is asking,’ explained Colbeck, ‘is only a hypothetical question.’

Grindle was baffled. ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

‘Supposing that you did want to move elsewhere and start afresh, which part of the country would you choose?’

‘It would have to be London. That’s where the money is.’

‘The person we’re interested in has just left the city. We think that he might have headed in this direction.’

‘Then he’d better not show his nose in Gloucester.’

‘Is there anywhere in the area that might attract him?’

Grindle scratched his head. ‘I can’t name a place, Inspector,’ he said with a sniff, ‘but I can tell you this. If I was starting up again, I’d choose somewhere that was close to rich folk in large country houses. It’s the aristocracy and the gentry that like silver tableware. Find someone who wants plate and cutlery and you find a good living.’

‘Where would you suggest that we look?’ said Colbeck.

‘Anywhere but here,’ was the blunt reply.

‘And you’re sure that nobody has made enquiries in the city?’

‘If they had, I’d have got to hear about it. We stick together for our own protection in this trade. We won’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry stroll in and open up a shop just because he likes to hear cathedral bells on a Sunday. No,’ said Grindle, ‘the people you’re after never came near Gloucester. You’ll have to look somewhere else.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

He and Leeming left the shop and closed the door behind him.

‘I don’t think he was any help at all,’ said Leeming. ‘If he’s as rude as that to customers, he won’t keep many of them.’

‘Mr Grindle is exactly what we need, Victor.’

‘Is he?’

‘Yes – he guards his own territory and bristles at the slightest hint of a fresh rival. In five minutes, he saved us the trouble of looking anywhere else in the city.’

‘So what do we do now, sir?’

‘We go on to Chepstow,’ said Colbeck, happily, ‘and we find someone exactly like Jack Grindle, Silversmith.’

Leonard Voke had been a principal victim of the crimes and despair had eaten into his soul. Since his safe was ransacked, he had had neither the confidence nor the need to open his shop. Without his tools he could make nothing. He spent most of the day sitting in his back room amid the ruins of his livelihood. Edward Tallis called on him and discovered Voke more demoralised than ever.

‘There is no God,’ said the silversmith, despondently. ‘If there had been, I would never have had to suffer like this. My assistant has been murdered, my safe has been emptied and my ungrateful son is responsible for both crimes. Where is God’s mercy in all that?’

‘This is not the time for a theological discussion,’ said Tallis, ‘but I can assure you that there is a heaven. God looks down on us all with true pity.’

‘I’m not aware of it, Superintendent.’

‘You are still dazed by the shock of what happened to you.’

‘Dazed?’ echoed Voke. ‘I’ve been smashed into pieces.’

Feeling that the old man deserved to be informed of the latest developments, Tallis had made the journey to Wood Street. There was no hope of cheering the silversmith up but he felt able to tell him that his detectives were closing in on the culprits. Voke listened to it all without comment. His mind was elsewhere.

‘It’s in two days’ time,’ he murmured.

‘What is, Mr Voke?’

‘The funeral – the arrangements have been made though there’ll be precious few of us to see dear Hugh lowered into the ground.’

‘There’ll be his sister,’ said Tallis, ‘and I’m quite certain that his landlady, Mrs Jennings, will be there. Mr Kellow must have friends who need to be informed of the details.’

‘I’ve put a notice in the newspapers.’

‘That should bring some people in. Did his sister make any special requests for the service?’

‘No,’ said Voke, ‘she was grateful to leave it all to me. After all that’s happened, the poor creature can’t think straight.’

‘The sudden death of a loved one can have that affect. When that death is of such a violent and unnatural kind, of course, the agony is more searing.’

‘Oh, I know all about agony,’ groaned the old man.

Tallis did not let him wallow in his misery. He still felt that Voke, unbeknown to him, might have information tucked away at the back of his mind that could be of use in the investigation. The silversmith had so far refused to talk about his son unless it was to unleash a stream of vituperation. Hoping to provoke him into a more considered discussion, Tallis decided to tell him something about Stephen Voke that his father did not know.

‘When your son left your employment, he changed somewhat.’

‘Yes – he began to plot my destruction!’

‘I was talking about his work,’ said Tallis. ‘I know that you thought him lazy but he seems to have applied himself to his craft. Not, I should add, when he was at Mr Stern’s shop. This was when he was on his own. According to his landlord, Mr Meyrick, your son would spend almost all his spare time working on commissioned items for private customers.’

Voke was roused. ‘Is this true?’

‘He was so dedicated that he worked on into the night until there were complaints about the noise he was making with his hammer. Evidently, the walls in the house are rather thin.’

‘I knew it!’ yelled Voke. ‘He stole my clients from me. I often wondered why people who had been very pleased with our work suddenly went elsewhere. Stephen must have poached them.’

‘He could only do that by offering lower charges. The point is that he was not the complete wastrel you described to me. Your son obviously had a new incentive in life and it must be linked to the young woman who came into his life.’

‘Which young woman, Superintendent – there were many.’

‘This one concentrated his mind.’

‘Yes,’ said Voke, ‘on how to abuse his father.’

‘If he was prepared to run away with the lady, he was clearly committed to the liaison.’ Tallis pulled a face. ‘I’m bound to tell you that it’s something I frown upon. Young men and women should not be allowed such free access to each other. It leads to depravity. There are social rules to obey. Unmarried couples should never be allowed to set up house wherever they choose. In some ways,’ he conceded, ‘this young woman seems to have been a good influence on your son. In other ways, I fear, she has led him off the straight and narrow path. Who is she, Mr Voke?’

‘How should I know?’

‘This is your son we’re discussing.’

‘He never brought friends home because he knew I’d disapprove of them. He shut me out of his life, Superintendent.’ Something stirred in his memory. ‘What about the advertisement you put in the press? Did anybody come forward apart from his landlord?’

‘Not at first,’ replied Tallis. ‘Indeed, it took Mr Meyrick a while before he showed his face. Two other people did call on me but they were acquaintances of your son’s rather than friends. They used to drink with him at some hostelry or other.’

‘That’s all Stephen ever did at one time.’

‘Both of them told me the same thing – that your son wanted to move out of London altogether. Apparently, he kept talking about a holiday he’d had when he was much younger. It had made a big impression on him. The problem was,’ Tallis went on, ‘neither of them could recall the name of the place where you took him.’

Voke’s eyes glazed over. ‘I can tell you,’ he said, wistfully. ‘It was when Stephen was still a boy. My wife had a cousin who offered us the use of her cottage for a week. That was the only reason we went there. We had very few holidays after that. And yes,’ he added, touched by the thought of happier times. ‘Stephen did enjoy it. We were a real family then. We did things together.’

‘And where exactly was this cottage, Mr Voke?’

‘It was in Caerleon.’

Chepstow was a charming town that overlooked the River Wye near its junction with the Severn. Its forbidding castle was a reminder of the days when the Normans conquered England and extended their overlordship into Wales. Colbeck and Leeming were not detained there long. They spoke to three silversmiths and to the landlord of the town’s largest public house. All four confirmed that nobody else intended to open a jewellery shop. Of these witnesses, the landlord was the most unequivocal, assuring them that very little happened in Chepstow that escaped his notice. After thanking this local oracle, the detectives adjourned to the railway station to await the next train.

Leeming was beginning to lose heart. ‘Will we have any more luck in Newport, sir?’

‘Wait and see,’ said Colbeck.

‘The next stop after that will be Cardiff.’

‘They won’t stay there for obvious reasons, Victor. They’ll want to put a little distance between themselves and the scene of their crimes. They could, however, have moved further west to Swansea.’

‘Do we have to go that far?’ asked Leeming, worried that his hopes of returning home that night would disappear. ‘And why should anyone in their right mind want to live here when they don’t speak that peculiar language?’

‘You’ll find a lot of English people in South Wales,’ said Colbeck, ‘especially among the ironmasters and coalmine owners. They knew how to exploit the rich mineral resources there. Then, of course, there’s Jeremiah Stockdale, another Englishman who settled down on this side of the border. We could do with his help now. He knows Newport very well.’

‘I’m not surprised. He told me he was sent here a few years ago to quell riots during an election.’

‘I was thinking of a much earlier visit than that. In 1839 there was a Chartist demonstration in Newport. Violence broke out.’

‘That’s right,’ said Leeming. ‘The superintendent made his most famous arrest in Newport. I remember him telling us about it.’

‘The arrest was actually made in Cardiff. Zephaniah Williams, one of the Chartist ringleaders, escaped there and hid in the Sea Lock Hotel waiting for a ship to carry him to France. The superintendent disguised himself as a sailor,’ recalled Colbeck with an admiring smile, ‘and was rowed out to the vessel that would have taken Williams to safety. He made the arrest before the fugitive was fully awake.’

‘I wish that we could make an arrest,’ said Leeming, glumly.

‘The time will come, Victor.’

‘When?’

‘Very soon, I trust.’

‘Do we have to visit many more shops like the ones we’ve already been in? I find it so depressing, sir.’

‘Why is that?’

‘They’re full of things I could never afford to buy. That last place had a silver tankard worth more than my house.’

‘It was made in the reign of Charles II,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you have to admit that it was beautifully decorated. But I can see that that wouldn’t carry any weight with you.’

‘Tankards are to drink out of and not just to look at.’

‘I’ll spare you any more silverware in Newport. There may be another way to find what we’re after.’

‘And what’s that, sir?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about something that Miss Evans said to me. Stephen Voke made a ring for her but not while he was working at Solomon Stern’s shop. It was made at his lodging. In other words,’ Colbeck went on, ‘he was working on private commissions in his own time. Perhaps he has no intention of opening a shop at all. He may be able to earn a living by getting commissions and working from home. We must search for his house.’

‘How will we ever find it, Inspector?’ wondered Leeming as a train steamed towards them. ‘Newport is much bigger than Cardiff. They must have thousands of houses there.’

‘Granted, Victor, but they won’t all have changed hands recently.’ He raised his voice above the approaching roar. ‘We need to speak to someone who sells property in the town.’

There were times when Jeremiah Stockdale disliked his job because it gave him a disturbing insights into the depths to which human beings could sink. A week earlier, he had led a raid on a house in notorious Stanley Street where no fewer than fifty-four people were found crammed into four rooms. The pervading stink of poverty and degradation had stayed in his nostrils for days. Now, however, he was relishing his reign as the town’s police chief. He was brimming with optimism. He had forced Nigel Buckmaster to pay full compensation for the time wasted by his men on a pointless search for a supposedly missing actress. He had been able to return a stolen carriage and horses to Clifford Tomkins and earn a generous reward. He had endeared himself even more to Winifred Tomkins. And such was his unwavering confidence in Robert Colbeck that he knew the murder at the Railway Hotel would be solved in time, bringing with it lavish praise for Stockdale’s part in the investigation.

When he returned to the police station, therefore, he was in a cheerful mood. As he entered the outer office, he found a letter awaiting him on the desk. After exchanging a few jovial words with the custody sergeant, he opened the letter and read it with interest. An anxious look came into his eye and he read the missive again with more care. An expression of horror spread slowly across his face.

‘Inspector Colbeck needs to see this,’ he said. ‘Urgently.’

It took much longer than Colbeck had expected. A large number of properties in Newport had acquired new owners in recent months. None of the auctioneers and house agents they approached had ever heard of Stephen Voke, leading the detectives to wonder if he had changed his name. It was only after hours of trudging from door to door that they were eventually given the information they sought. Colbeck immediately hired a trap and they set off for Caerleon.

‘This is the way to travel,’ said Leeming, contentedly.

‘Only over short distances,’ argued Colbeck. ‘Had we set out from London in this trap, it would have taken two days to get here.’

‘What sort of a place is Caerleon, sir?’

‘We’ll find out before too long, Victor. It’s not all that far.’

‘That man said that we had to go on beyond the ruins.’

‘Yes, Caerleon was a Roman town. It was the headquarters of a legion so it must have been a place of importance. Now, it seems, it’s a trading centre through which iron and tin are shipped.’

‘What about silver?’

‘I daresay that Stephen Voke will answer that question.’

When they left the outer edges of Newport, they had a pleasant drive through open country. The cottage they were after was in an isolated position on the far side of Caerleon. It was a relatively small, squat building but it was in good condition and slate had replaced the original thatch. There was a well-tended garden at the front and a larger one at the rear given over mainly to vegetables. The whole property was surrounded by a low stone wall. As they came over the brow of the hill, they saw that outhouses ran at a right angle to the cottage itself, justifying the value put on it by the vendor. Leeming had expected something more impressive.

‘It’s not the home of a rich man, Inspector, is it?’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t wish to flaunt his wealth,’ said Colbeck. ‘And it’s certainly an improvement on a single room in someone else’s house. I think it looks very quaint.’

‘It was bought with blood money,’ said Leeming. ‘Hugh Kellow helped to pay for that cottage.’

‘I haven’t forgotten that, Victor. These are merciless people. We need to take the utmost care.’

Tugging the reins, he turned the trap off the road then pulled it to a halt under the cover of some trees. After tethering the horse, Colbeck removed his hat and put it on the seat. Leeming followed suit, his wound starting to throb at the prospect of a meeting with the man who had inflicted it. They trod stealthily through the undergrowth until they had a good view of the cottage. Colbeck thought he saw a hint of movement through a side window.

‘I suggest that you work your way around to the back,’ he said. ‘Be very careful – remember that they know us by sight. When I see you in position, I’ll creep up to the front.’

‘Let me arrest Voke,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s mine.’

‘As long as you’re not too precipitate – he does have a pistol.’

‘I doubt if he’ll have it to hand, sir. Why should he? As you pointed out, he thinks that he’s safe. The last thing he’ll expect is that we tracked him here.’

‘That’s what I’m banking on.’

‘I’ll be off, Inspector.’

‘Keep a wary eye on those outbuildings,’ warned Colbeck. ‘That’s the most likely place for him to set up a workshop. There’s not enough room in the cottage itself. He may well be at work there right now.’

Leeming nodded then set off. Keeping low and skirting the cottage, he made use of some bushes as temporary hiding places. When the sergeant finally reached the back of the property, he crouched down behind the wall. It was the signal for Colbeck to move. He, too, kept low, moving swiftly between any trees or shrubs that could offer concealment for a few seconds. Reaching the cottage without being seen, he straightened up, opened the wicker gate and strode quickly to the front door. Roses grew around the little porch, framing it attractively. A new doormat covered the flagstone. Fresh paint had been put on the door itself. There was the sense that someone cared for their property.

Colbeck pulled the bell rope and it produced a pleasing jingle. He heard footsteps then the door was opened by a handsome young woman with an enquiring smile.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘I’m looking for Mr Stephen Voke,’ he said, politely. ‘Is he at home, by any chance?’

‘Yes, he’s out in his workshop. Did you wish to talk business with him, sir?’

‘I do, indeed.’

‘That’s very encouraging. We’ve been here barely a week and already we are starting to have customers.’ She stepped aside. ‘You’d better come in, sir. May I have your name, please?’

‘It’s Colbeck – Robert Colbeck.’

‘You’ll have to duck your head. The beams are rather low.’

Something was wrong. The woman had recognised neither him nor his name. She certainly did not look like someone capable of taking part in a murder. He noted her wedding ring. Colbeck surmised that Voke must have had a different accomplice, one who was kept well away from the peaceful domesticity of his new life in Caerleon. Ducking into the cottage, he saw that it was larger than it looked outside. It was also well-furnished and silver ornaments glistened on the mantelpiece. Most of the furniture was very old but it had been recently polished.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Colbeck,’ she said, ‘I’ll fetch Stephen.’

Leeming had saved her the trouble. The back door burst open and Stephen Voke was pushed into the kitchen, handcuffs pinning his wrists together behind his back. Leeming shoved him through into the living room with a grin of triumph.

‘Here he is,’ he announced, ‘He didn’t put up any fight.’

‘What’s going on?’ exclaimed the woman.

‘I don’t know,’ said Voke, pitifully. ‘This man jumped on me and told me that I was under arrest.’

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, looking fearfully at the bandage around Leeming’s head, ‘and what do you mean by coming here?’

‘Let me explain,’ said Colbeck. ‘This is my colleague, Sergeant Leeming, and I am Inspector Colbeck. We are detectives from London, investigating the murder of Hugh Kellow and the theft of a valuable silver coffee pot.’

‘It must be in that workshop, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘There’s a large safe out there. That’s where they keep their spoils.’

‘What spoils?’ asked Voke. ‘As for a murder, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Are you telling me that Hugh was killed?’

‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck. ‘His body was found in the hotel room in Cardiff where you had left it.’

‘But I haven’t been to Cardiff for several weeks.’

‘Then how did you manage to give me this?’ demanded Leeming, indicating his scalp wound. ‘You must have a very long arm if you could hit me from Caerleon.’

‘What my husband is telling you is correct,’ said the woman with evident honesty. ‘We only took possession of the cottage this week. Until then, we were both in London. Stephen had no reason to go to Cardiff. He’s been too busy planning the move here.’

‘It’s the truth, Inspector,’ said Voke. ‘I swear it.’

Colbeck pondered. ‘Take the handcuffs off him,’ he ordered at length. ‘Go on.’

‘But he could turn violent, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Take them off, sergeant.’

‘Why?’

‘I think we have the wrong man.’

While the sergeant unlocked the handcuffs, Colbeck’s mind was spinning like a wheel. Having arrested a large number of people in the course of his career, he was accustomed to the routine denial of guilt. That was not happening here. Stephen Voke was bemused rather than defiant. He showed none of the righteous indignation that criminals often dredged up when confronted with their misdeeds. Nor did he look like a killer. He was lean, trim and of middle height. Around the nose and mouth, there was a clear resemblance to his father. He had an open face and met Colbeck’s gaze without dissimulation. When the handcuffs were removed, he did not immediately make a dash for the door. He simply rubbed his wrists before putting a protective arm around his wife.

‘We must offer you our apologies, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’m not apologising,’ insisted Leeming. ‘If it was left to me, he’d be clapped in irons.’

‘Mr Voke is completely innocent, Sergeant.’

‘But he can’t be, sir.’

‘We’ve been pursuing the wrong man.’

Leeming was bewildered. ‘Well, if he didn’t murder Mr Kellow,’ he wanted to know, ‘then who did?’

‘Nobody.’

‘That’s impossible, sir.’

‘I’m afraid that it isn’t.’

‘Somebody must have killed him.’

‘Think of those ransom letters,’ said Colbeck. ‘Two were written by a woman but the two written, as I suspect, by a man were in block capitals. Do you know why that was done?’

‘I don’t have a clue, Inspector.’

‘It was because he didn’t want us to recognise his handwriting. He knew that we’d already seen examples of that in those letters to his sister, Effie. We’d have realised how cunningly we’d been tricked.’

‘I’m still none the wiser,’ said Leeming.

‘Nor are we,’ added Voke. ‘What exactly has happened?’

‘We were deceived,’ said Colbeck, still working it out in his head. ‘Hugh Kellow was not murdered in that hotel and the silver coffee pot was not taken from him. Nor were his keys to his employer’s shop, for that matter. He knew exactly what to steal from Mr Voke’s safe and made sure that he took his own tools as well as the valuables and the money.’ He gestured an apology to Voke. ‘You were wrongly accused, sir, and I deeply regret that. We owe your dear wife our sincerest apologies as well. The evidence that brought us here was misleading. The man we really need to arrest is Hugh Kellow.’ Colbeck gritted his teeth. ‘He’s still alive.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Discontented members of the Cardiff Borough Police sometimes complained – though never within his hearing – that their chief constable was a martinet but none of them denied that he worked tirelessly to keep the town under control. Stockdale always pushed himself much harder than any of his men. He was indefatigable. At the end of another long day, he adjourned to his favourite pub where a pint of beer was poured for him the second he appeared through the door. He took a first, long, noisy, satisfying sip. It not only served to quench his thirst, it helped to steady him after the shock he had received earlier. He still wondered if his fears were justified or if it would simply turn out to be an unfortunate coincidence. The place was quite full and he chatted happily to several people on the well-tried principle that he might pick up a nugget of useful intelligence from even the most casual conversation.

As he heard the door swing open, he glanced towards it then reacted as if an apparition had just entered. He could not believe that he was looking at Robert Colbeck.

‘I was thinking about you only a moment ago, Inspector.’

‘Then you can tell me what you thought,’ said Colbeck, ‘but only after you let me buy you another pint of beer.’

‘That’s an offer I can’t refuse.’ Quaffing the last of his drink, he handed his tankard to the newcomer. ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

While Colbeck went to get the beer, Stockdale found a table in a quiet corner. As always, he sat with his back to the wall so that he could keep an eye on everybody. Colbeck eventually joined him, handing over one of the tankards then raising his own in a toast.

‘To policemen everywhere!’ he said.

‘Amen.’

They clinked tankards then Colbeck sat down opposite him.

‘I was told that I might find you here, Superintendent.’

‘In earlier days,’ Stockdale confided, ‘you’d have found me on the other side of the bar. I was so poorly paid when I first started in this job that I used to serve in the Boat House round the corner in Womanby Street. I had to find some way to supplement my meagre wage. The Watch Committee seemed to think I could live on fresh air and, as your nose must have detected, there’s not a lot of that in the town.’ He supped his beer. ‘But I’m so glad you came, Inspector. I had what could turn out to be alarming news.’

‘I think I know what it is,’ said Colbeck.

‘How could you?’

‘We may already be one step ahead of you.’

‘I had a report on a missing person, a young man who came to Cardiff on the day of the murder and whose description fits that of the victim. His father made contact with the police in London. Martin Henley – that was the young man’s name – had said that he’d be spending the night at the Railway Hotel here before returning home.’

‘But he was unable to do so because he was murdered.’

‘It can’t have been Mr Henley, can it?’

‘I’m fairly certain that it was.’

‘Then why was he killed by Stephen Voke?’

‘He wasn’t, Superintendent,’ explained Colbeck. ‘The sergeant and I tracked Mr Voke to Caerleon where he’s now living with his new wife. Neither of them had anything to do with the crimes.’

‘But they must have done.’

‘We were badly mistaken.’

Stockdale frowned. ‘None of this makes the slightest sense.’

‘It does if you think it through. If Mr Voke is not the culprit…’

‘Then it must have been someone else.’

‘One name immediately comes to mind.’

‘And who might that be?’

‘Hugh Kellow.’

Stockdale was flabbergasted. ‘Never!’

‘That was my response at first.’

‘You mean that he faked his own death?’

‘What better way to disappear from sight?’

Colbeck told him about their confrontation with Stephen Voke and how the young silversmith had been completely exonerated. He and his wife, Catherine, had gone to a part of Wales that held fond memories for Voke, who felt that he had enough private work to be able to operate from home.

‘Miss Evans has recommended him to a number of friends in South Wales so his future seems assured. I saw a ring he made for her. It was exquisite.’

Stockdale rolled his eyes. ‘Everything about Carys is exquisite,’ he attested, ‘except for her choice in men, of course.’

‘They fulfilled their purpose by pressing gifts upon her. My guess is that Sir David Pryde commissioned her ring as well as a brooch in the shape of a dragon. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t use a silversmith here.’

‘No, it was too risky. A local man would know him and wonder why the items were not made for Lady Pryde. It was safer to use someone in London.’ Stockdale was honest. ‘How stupid we’ve been! We were fooled. We were well and truly fooled by Mr Kellow.’

‘When I saw the disfigurement on the corpse,’ said Colbeck. ‘it did cross my mind that the acid had been used to make identification more difficult. But Mr Buckmaster swore that it was Hugh Kellow and recognised his clothing. The sister was even more certain.’

‘Her visit settled it as far as I was concerned. Effie was so convinced that it was her brother who’d been murdered.’

‘That’s what she wanted us to believe. Incidentally, I don’t think that Effie was his sister at all. She and Kellow were accomplices who worked in harness. We should introduce her to Nigel Buckmaster. She’s such a consummate actress that he could make use of her talents on stage. Talking of which,’ Colbeck said, ‘did you manage to rescue Miss Linnane?’

‘That’s a long story, Inspector.’

Stockdale gave a concise version of it, proud of the fact that he had shamed Buckmaster into paying hefty compensation and received grovelling apologies from him and his leading lady. He assured Colbeck that Michael Linnane would not escape punishment for his part in the charade. Stockdale had written to the Gloucester police with details of the deception practised on their counterparts in Cardiff.

‘They’ll send him back to face me,’ said Stockdale, ‘and I’ll make him squirm. Nobody distracts my men like that without paying for it. I expect another sizeable donation to our funds – that’s after a night in the cells to repent of his folly.’ About to take another drink, he put the tankard abruptly down on the table. ‘I’ve just thought, Inspector. Suppose that that dead man was Martin Henley.’

‘He was definitely not Hugh Kellow.’

‘Yet he’ll be buried instead of him.’

‘The funeral hasn’t taken place yet,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I sent Victor Leeming back to London with news of what we discovered. He’ll make sure that the undertaker doesn’t go ahead with the service until we know the true identity of the corpse. Do you still have the report about Martin Henley’s disappearance?’