The Stationmaster's farewell

CHAPTER ELEVEN

By prior arrangement, Colbeck met Leeming at noon at the railway station so that they could exchange information. Since a train had recently left, they were able to sit in the empty waiting room. Colbeck described his interview with Woodford and felt that the man had been shifty. The stationmaster had done nothing to remove his name from the list of suspects. Leeming then took over, explaining that he’d walked in all directions but to no avail.

‘I found far too many old sheds, sir,’ he moaned. ‘How do I know which was the one we’re after? It certainly wasn’t the first one I looked in, I know that. There was this vicious black cat in there. He’d frighten away any birds.’

‘Black cats are supposed to bring good luck, Victor.’

‘This one didn’t. Given the chance, he’d have scratched my eyes out.’

‘All we know is that Heygate must have been killed somewhere between here and the place he was going to that night. He could have been ambushed anywhere along the way.’

‘What if he was marched into the city and then murdered?’

‘That seems unlikely,’ said Colbeck. ‘The place was teeming with people. Excitement about the event had been building for days. The likelihood is that he was battered to death in some quiet location, then smuggled into the precinct at night and hidden underneath the bonfire. It’s a pity you didn’t find that lamp.’

‘The killer must have taken it with him, sir.’

‘Not if he had a body to carry. He might have used a cart, of course, but the lamp was the property of the railway. It has the name painted on it, as you can see.’ He gestured towards the large metal lamp beside the door. ‘That might have caught someone’s eye. I know it was dark but there are street lamps aplenty. The killer may have thought it was too risky to be seen with railway property. Any policeman who saw it would assume that it was stolen.’

‘Well,’ said Leeming, ‘I didn’t find the lamp and I didn’t see the owl.’

‘That’s not surprising, Victor. Owls are nocturnal.’

‘I hope you’re not going to send me out after dark, sir.’

Colbeck grinned. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go birdwatching at night?’

‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Then I’ll spare you the ordeal.’

‘Our job would be so much easier if we found that missing diary.’

‘Woodford claimed that he didn’t know it existed, but I had a sneaky feeling that he was lying. And yes, that diary could well be a godsend. Perhaps we should ask Peter where Heygate used to keep it.’

‘Who’s Peter?’

‘He’s the canary that Miss Hope is looking after.’

‘I’d forgotten him.’

‘Heygate and Peter were inseparable. The owl and the canary,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘It’s like one of Aesop’s fables, isn’t it?’

‘I remember learning about those at school.’

‘Owls are usually regarded as birds of ill omen.’

‘Mr Heygate should have taken heed of that.’

People were drifting into the waiting room now because the next train was due very shortly. They broke off their conversation and stepped outside on to the platform. Woodford walked past and tipped his hat to them. He was clearly relishing his elevation to a position of power. Leeming looked towards the stationmaster’s house and saw the policeman standing outside it.

‘Do we really need to have it guarded day and night, Inspector?’

‘I suppose not, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘I was being overcautious in asking for protection. If the killer came in search of the diary — and we don’t even know that he’s aware of its existence — he’s not going to find it there. Superintendent Steel and I looked in every nook and cranny. I’ll tell him to stand his man down.’

‘Talking of superintendents,’ said Leeming, ‘how can we convince ours that he’s needed in London?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘I get so nervous when I have him looking over our shoulders.’

‘Blame the bishop. It was his letter that brought Mr Tallis here. If he wants to do something really useful,’ said Colbeck, ‘he can persuade Bishop Phillpotts not to call in the army. Their presence would be a hindrance to us.’

He looked up as a train appeared in the distance, puffing smoke into the air and rattling along at a slowly diminishing speed. It eventually reached the station and drew up to a halt in front of them. Passengers waited to board the train while several people on it alighted. Tallis was amongst them.

‘Ah,’ he said, walking over to them, ‘I’m glad that you’re both here.’

‘What did you think of Dawlish, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘I found it quite enchanting.’

‘Did you remember to look out for those pumping stations?’

Tallis bared his teeth. ‘Be warned, Leeming. If you so much as mention the atmospheric railway once more in my presence, you’ll be walking the beat in Whitechapel for the rest of your police career. Well,’ he said, ‘do either of you have good news to report?’

‘I’m afraid that we don’t, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but it’s not for want of trying.’

‘No,’ said Leeming, bitterly. ‘I’ve seen enough old sheds to last me a lifetime. And don’t ever tell me that a black cat brings luck.’

‘What are you on about?’ demanded Tallis.

‘It’s nothing, sir. Tell us your news.’

‘I learnt something that you failed to learn, Sergeant. It turns out that Michael Heygate actually knows our chief suspect, Mr Browne. He said that Browne had bought a fishing rod from them but I have doubts about that. The point is,’ said Tallis, beaming in triumph, ‘that I’ve established a link between two of our suspects. In short, they could have been working together.’

‘That’s an interesting possibility, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Michael Heygate might draw back from actually killing his brother but he could have engaged Browne to do so. It’s worth recalling that he knew the stationmaster would be going out that night and could easily have followed him.’

‘What about Mrs Heygate?’ asked Leeming. ‘I fancy that she might have a poisonous tongue when upset but I can’t see her involved in a murder.’

‘She’d condone anything her husband did. She’s under his thumb.’

‘I noticed that, sir.’

‘You must also have noticed that she’s far from grief-stricken.’

‘That was apparent at the inquest, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘She was far more concerned with her husband’s performance as a witness than with her brother-in-law’s fate. Mrs Heygate can’t wait to reap the benefits from his death.’

‘Neither can her husband,’ said Tallis. ‘He asked when the will would be read. It never occurred to him that it might be an indelicate question. The funeral is on Monday, incidentally. Mr Quinnell is responsible for the arrangements.’

‘That gives us the weekend to solve the crime,’ said Colbeck. ‘Otherwise the bishop is going to flood the city with troops. Thanks to you, sir,’ he added, ‘we have a new line of enquiry. We must look for further evidence of collusion between Heygate and Bagsy Browne. Your trip to Dawlish has paid dividends.’

‘The first step is to apprehend Browne,’ said Tallis, crisply. ‘As soon as we do that, we can end this investigation and return to London.’

Bagsy Browne spent the morning considering his options. The one thing that never crossed his mind was the idea of vanishing from Exeter altogether. Being hunted gave him a thrill. He loved dodging the police. It would be time to move on before long but he couldn’t do so while Adeline was in custody. She was both friend and lover. Moreover, she’d provided a safe haven for him. When arrested by the police, she hadn’t given him away. Adeline had remained fiercely loyal. The very least that Browne could do was to show his gratitude. He was sitting in the back row of the church as he pondered. They wouldn’t search for him there. In any case, he’d adopted a new disguise. Wearing baggy old clothes and a greasy cap, he’d made himself look much older by hobbling along on a walking stick. In the event that he was recognised, it would be a useful weapon, though he also carried a dagger under his coat.

When he’d made his decision, Browne looked around to make sure that he was unobserved. Two other people were in the church, both of them knelt in prayer. He sidled across to the exit. Secured to the wall beside the door was a collecting box. It was the work of seconds to prise it open with the dagger and grab its contents. As he walked slowly along the street with the aid of the stick, the coins jingled in his pocket. Two policemen passed him on patrol but neither took any notice of the old man. He carried on until he reached the police station, a building with which he was only too familiar. Propping himself against a wall nearby, he waited patiently and smoked a pipe while doing so. It was over an hour before he saw what he wanted. A policeman was bringing out a prisoner, released after a night in custody. After issuing a stern warning to him, the policeman pushed the man away and went back inside the building.

Browne ambled across to intercept the man, who seemed only half-awake.

‘Drunk and disorderly?’ he asked.

The man tottered. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘There’s a woman locked up in there.’

‘Is there?’

‘You know there is,’ said Browne. ‘Tell me which cell she’s in and there may be money in it for you.’ The man’s face lit up. ‘There — that jogged your memory, didn’t it? I thought it would. Where is she?’

Adeline Goss was no stranger to police cells. She’d first been arrested for soliciting when she was only fifteen. After a night behind bars, she’d been let off with a fine. During a spell plying her trade in Totnes, she’d come to an arrangement with the custody sergeant, offering him her professional services in return for being released with no more than a caution. That would never happen in Exeter. Superintendent Steel was a man of integrity and moral probity. He’d stamp on any sign of corruption.

She felt cold, frightened and alone. Arrest for being a prostitute had happened too many times to hold any fear for her. But she was being held in relation to a vastly more serious offence now. The prospect of the gallows had been raised. It made her wonder if she’d been wise to offer Bagsy Browne refuge. He was an inveterate villain and had done some terrible things but she preferred not to know what they were. It was safer to remain ignorant of what he did. This time, it seemed, he’d gone too far and she was implicated. It was devastating. And yet he’d brought such joy into her life for the last week or so. He’d brought laughter and love and plenty of money into her squalid little room in Rockfield Place. That needed to be remembered.

When she’d been arrested, Browne had escaped but only because she had a hiding place for him. What would he do now? Would he flee the city? He’d obviously stayed long enough to take his revenge on a man who’d betrayed them to the police. What was his next step? On balance, she felt, he’d take to the road. She had to be realistic. Browne had talked of moving on and given no hint that he might take her with him. He was a free spirit. An ageing prostitute would be a handicap to him. Adeline had been abandoned. Nobody would help. The tears ran down both cheeks in rivulets. She was doomed.

Then something spun through the bars of the window and landed with a chink on the floor. She bent down to retrieve a small coin and held it in her palm.

‘Bagsy!’ she said to herself, and her heart lifted.

When the detectives called at Steel’s office, they were surprised by the news.

‘There’s been another murder?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Yes,’ said Steel. ‘We fished the body out of the canal.’

‘Who was the victim this time?’

‘That informant I told you about — Finbar Mulleady. And at least we know for certain who the killer is this time.’

‘Do we?’ said Leeming. ‘Who is he?’

‘It’s our old friend, Bagsy Browne.’

‘Do you have any proof of that, sir?’

‘Look at the evidence, Sergeant,’ said Steel. ‘Mulleady provides intelligence that leads to the arrest of Bagsy’s doxy, Adeline Goss. There’s nothing Bagsy hates more than what he sees as treachery. He silenced Mulleady for ever.’

‘But how did Browne know that this man was an informer?’ asked Colbeck.

‘We have a criminal underworld here as you do in London, Inspector. Ours is much smaller but it operates by the same rules. Mulleady was once part of it, hence his usefulness to us. He heard things on the grapevine.’

‘Yes,’ said Leeming. ‘There’s a grapevine in London as well. How it works I don’t know but word travels like wildfire. You can arrest a man in secret but, an hour later, every criminal in the city is aware of it.’

‘Somebody tipped Bagsy off,’ said Steel.

‘How was the Irishman killed?’

‘We think he was stabbed to death. His trousers were soaked with blood. I had the body taken away for a postmortem. We’ll know the full details later.’

‘You said that he was fished out of the canal,’ noted Colbeck.

‘Mulleady was probably on his way back to his lair. That’s where he lives, you see, in a half-derelict barge. Everyone knows that,’ said Steel. ‘I’m sure that Bagsy did. All that he had to do was to follow Mulleady home from the pub.’

‘Browne is a natural suspect, Superintendent, but there must be others. Men who betray people to the police usually have short lives. I daresay that many in your criminal fraternity would have been happy to see Mulleady dead.’

‘It’s too big a coincidence. The woman is arrested and the man who made that arrest possible is promptly killed. There’s a direct connection there.’

Leeming readily agreed but Colbeck was more cautious in allotting the blame. They were still trying to assimilate one surprise when Steel sprang another on them.

‘My men had to arrest Mrs Rossiter again,’ he told them.

‘Oh dear!’ said Colbeck. ‘She didn’t go into the cathedral again, did she?’

‘No, Inspector, her target this time was the undertaker’s.’

‘Do you mean the one where the stationmaster’s body is kept?’

‘She insisted on viewing it.’

Leeming was horrified. ‘Doesn’t she realise the state it’s in?’

‘That’s irrelevant, Victor,’ said Colbeck, sorrowfully. ‘Dr Swift diagnosed her illness. She’s in the grip of an obsession and it won’t slacken its hold. Mrs Rossiter believes that she would have married Heygate. She’s driven by a mania.’

‘What exactly did she do, Superintendent?’

‘She lost all control,’ said Steel. ‘When they wouldn’t let her in, she smashed the window with a stone and clambered into the premises. She cut both hands on the splinters of glass and tore her dress. By the time my men got to her, she was howling like a she-wolf and trying to fight her way into the room where the body was kept. You can imagine the sort of crowd that she drew.’

‘What about her sister?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Was she there as well?’

‘Miss Impey fainted on the spot and had to be revived with smelling salts.’

‘It looks as if we missed all the fun,’ said Leeming with a chuckle. ‘While I was having a long and boring walk, there was high drama at the undertaker’s.’

‘It’s not a subject for amusement, Victor.’

‘All the same, sir, I’d like to have been there.’

‘I wish you had been,’ said Steel. ‘You could have restrained her earlier.’

‘Where is the poor woman now, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck.

‘She’s on her way to the County Asylum in Exminster. I’m always sad to see someone carted off there but it’s the best place for her. Dr Swift agreed. As soon as he heard what had happened, he signed the committal papers for her.’ He sat back in his chair with a wry smile. ‘You must wish you had never come anywhere near the city, Inspector. Since you’ve been here, you’ve had a whole series of problems cropping up. It’s hardly the best way for you to prepare for your wedding.’

‘I sometimes forget that it’s even happening.’

‘It must happen,’ said Leeming. ‘My wife and I have an invitation.’

‘My sympathy goes out to your bride,’ said Steel. ‘As long as you’re here, the young lady must be tormented by anxiety.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, pursing his lips. ‘I fear that you may be right.’

Madeleine gave her father a farewell kiss and watched him strolling along the street. He was off to take tea with Binnie Langton, and his daughter wished that she could feel happier about it. Closing the door, she came back into the house and moved over to her easel, placed near the window to catch the best of the light. A half-finished locomotive stood on the canvas before her, its massive bulk partly obscured by wisps of steam. Madeleine had no urge to pick up her brush. Her mind was on her father’s impending meeting with a woman who had inexplicably transformed his life. She told herself that Binnie Langton was probably a kind, respectable, pleasant and considerate person who would make an ideal companion for Caleb Andrews. Yet the worries lingered that he might be walking into some kind of trap.

She scolded herself for having such negative thoughts. Madeleine felt that she should put her father’s needs first. She’d been flustered by his glib talk of marriage but even he couldn’t be thinking of so serious a commitment yet. There was plenty of time for her to meet the woman and make a fair assessment of her. Nothing would be done without her approval. Though her father was the nominal head of the household, he always deferred to her advice. That being the case, her apprehension was ill-founded. All that he was doing was having a cup of tea and a piece of cake with a new friend. There was nothing sinister or troubling in that.

Madeleine picked up her brush and worked with peace of mind at last.

The house was on the other side of Camden and very much like the dwelling that Andrews had left. He stood at the window of the house next door and used it as a mirror in which to inspect his appearance. After a few adjustments to his dress, he was ready for the big occasion. Binnie Langton opened the door the moment he knocked on it, giving him a gushing welcome and helping him off with his overcoat. She was a fleshy woman with a large bosom and a spreading midriff that was barely kept in check by her corset. It was her face that had entranced Andrews. She had a chubby handsomeness and a winning sparkle in her eyes.

‘It’s so good of you to come, Caleb,’ she cooed.

‘I’ve been looking forward to it,’ he said, inhaling her perfume. ‘Did you keep your promise about the cake?’

‘Oh, I’ve made a lot more for you than a cake.’

‘Then I’m very glad I came.’

‘You must stay just as long as you wish.’

‘Thank you, Binnie.’

Her hand brushed his arm and made it tingle. He’d been in the house less than a minute yet he already felt at home. The prospect of spending a whole afternoon with such a delectable creature was almost intoxicating. As she led him into the parlour, Andrews gave a giggle of pleasure. It died in his throat. Waiting to meet him was a middle-aged woman with a slender figure and a narrow face.

‘This is Ivy,’ said Binnie, putting her hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘She’s my sister and she’s being dying to meet you.’

Ivy Young extended her hand. ‘How do you do, Mr Andrews?’

He was speechless.

Edward Tallis had been reluctant to meet the bishop for the second time but he accepted the necessity of doing so. Someone had to persuade him not to resort to calling on the soldiers at Topsham Barracks. He had unhappy memories of the militia being summoned in London to control disorder. Accidents always happened. Innocent people were usually hurt or even killed. It was true that the army would not be there to police a riot but their presence would be disruptive and likely to incite violence. The very sight of a soldier’s uniform somehow inflamed some people. They simply had to protest against the occupation of their city.

On the way to the bishop’s palace, he rehearsed his arguments. He had even more time to do so when he got there because the bishop kept him waiting for a long time. When he was finally admitted to the library by Ralph Barnes, his annoyance was not assuaged by Bishop Phillpott’s greeting.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Phillpotts. ‘I can only spare you twenty minutes.’

‘I expected more time than that.’

‘Then your expectations will be dashed.’

‘Bishop Phillpotts has another appointment,’ explained Barnes. ‘Do sit down, sir.’

Tallis sat in front of the desk. ‘I’ve come about the soldiers.’

‘I’m glad that someone agrees with me,’ said Phillpotts. ‘I had thought to leave it a few days but I’m minded to summon them immediately.’

‘I strongly oppose the plan, Bishop Phillpotts.’

‘Oh — I assumed that you’d come to endorse it.’

‘Let me state my case,’ said Tallis, ‘and I do so as an army man who had almost thirty years’ service in uniform. I rose to the rank of major and was proud to have such authority. But I always sought to use it wisely.’

Bishop Phillpotts was cantankerous. ‘I don’t have time to listen to your military reminiscences, fascinating though they doubtless are. You are an interloper in this city and should bear that in mind. I know what’s best for Exeter.’

‘Do you wish to provoke chaos?’

‘I wish to ensure the capture of this unconscionable rascal named Browne and the only way to do that is to employ more men in the search. They can go from house to house until they find out where he’s hiding.’

‘The police know where he’d taken refuge, Bishop. They raided the place and arrested his accomplice.’

The bishop was peevish. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘You just have been.’

‘Is the villain in custody as well?’

‘No,’ said Tallis, ‘he’s still at liberty, but Superintendent Steel is confident that his accomplice will act as bait. In other words, his capture is imminent.’

‘I see,’ said the bishop, ruminating.

‘Call in the troops and you’ll upset everything — not least the police force. The last time you sent word to Topsham Barracks, I’m told, the soldiers caused mayhem here and engaged in a free fight with the police.’

‘I refuse to accept the blame for that,’ declared Phillpotts.

‘The bishop acted correctly in an emergency,’ said Barnes.

‘Yet it seems as if another emergency was created. Let me be frank,’ said Tallis, leaning forward. ‘Policemen are unpopular. That’s a fact of life. Soldiers are even more unpopular if they’re seen taking over the streets of a city like this. Why stoke up civil resentment? It’s foolhardy. I beg you to reconsider.’

The bishop had a silent conversation with his secretary before replying.

‘Your argument is reasonable,’ he confessed. ‘It’s right to point out the possible consequences. But I haven’t made the decision lightly. In one day, I submit, the soldiers will find the stone under which this reptile named Browne is hiding. They can then withdraw to their barracks. As an army man, you should surely endorse the use of trained soldiers.’

‘It’s a question of circumstances, Bishop. This is not the place for them.’

Phillpotts had another wordless exchange with his secretary. For all his submissiveness, Barnes was clearly exerting some influence and making the bishop pause for thought. Phillpotts offered a concession.

‘Very well,’ he resumed, turning back to Tallis. ‘I’ll revoke my earlier decision to summon them instantly — or, indeed, in a few days. I grant you a week in which to capture this odious individual. But I insist on police protection. Tell that to Superintendent Steel. Browne clearly has a personal animus against me. So does someone else, it appears. An unhinged female ran wild in the cathedral and mocked my authority. I’ve had to warn the cathedral staff to be on the lookout for her.’

‘The lady in question will never repeat that outrage, Bishop.’

‘I can’t be certain of that.’

‘Yes, you can,’ said Tallis. ‘Mrs Rossiter has been arrested by the police a second time. My information is that she’s now confined in the lunatic asylum.’

Exminster station had been opened five years earlier and still had a sense of newness about it. The train took Colbeck on the short journey there. He had his first look at the County Asylum through the window of his carriage. It rose above all the buildings around it with an arresting bulk and solidity. He felt sorry for anyone detained inside it and reserved special compassion for Agnes Rossiter. A week ago, she’d been a conscientious employee of the South Devon Railway with a secret passion for Joel Heygate. As a result of his death, she’d now been committed to a lunatic asylum.

‘How long will you keep her here, Dr Swift?’

‘It’s far too early to put a timescale on it.’

‘Was she violent when she was brought here?’

‘Yes,’ said Swift, ‘she fought every inch of the way. I had to sedate her. You must have heard what happened at the undertaker’s.’

‘Superintendent Steel gave me a vivid description.’

‘I had no alternative. She had to be brought here for her own safety.’

‘I agree,’ said Colbeck.

They were in Swift’s office, a room that was excessively tidy and that smelt faintly of disinfectant. Bookshelves ran along two of the walls, laden with files. On the desk was a small pile of books. Colbeck noticed that one of them had been written by Morton Swift. It was placed so that any visitors would see it and was another instance of his vanity.

‘What will happen to Mrs Rossiter now?’ asked Colbeck.

‘She’ll be given time to adapt to her new situation. We keep inmates to a set routine, Inspector. That’s very important.’

‘Will you be in charge of her case?’

‘Initially,’ said Swift, ‘but I may have to hand her over to someone else before long. We have a capacity of eight hundred beds here, most of which are filled. I can’t give personal attention to each inmate.’

‘I understand that,’ said Colbeck. ‘Is it possible for me to see her?’

Swift was adamant. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,’ he said. ‘I’ve given her a strong drug and she’s probably asleep by now. In any case, she needs to be left in our charge for some time before we even discuss the possibility of visitors. The outside world doesn’t exist for her at the moment.’

‘What about her mourning attire?’

‘That’s been taken from her. She’s dressed in the same way as the rest of our inmates. We don’t let them wear their own clothing in here, Inspector.’

Colbeck was disappointed. He’d wanted to see Mrs Rossiter for himself but accepted that it was impractical. Swift was more qualified to assess her needs. The inspector just wished that he could feel more sanguine about her prospects. The doctor’s manner was professionally comforting and his office was impressive. On the way to it, however, Colbeck had seen burly male nurses manhandling one of the inmates and he heard a series of female screams and wails from other parts of the building. The asylum was not the quietest place in which a disturbed person could recover. It was a clamorous prison for the insane and incurable.

‘I appreciate your concern, Inspector,’ said Swift, ‘but your sympathy might be directed elsewhere. Agnes Rossiter is in our care now. The person who really deserves some attention is her sister, Miss Impey. What occurred today must have been unbearable for her — it’s hardly surprising that she fainted. If you could spare a moment to look in on her, you might be able to offer welcome reassurance.’

‘I intended to do just that,’ said Colbeck, getting to his feet. ‘Thank you, Dr Swift. It was good of you to see me so promptly.’

Swift stood up. ‘You’re bound to be interested in her case,’ he said. ‘After all, she’s a hapless victim of the crime you’re here to investigate. Her derangement was caused by the ghastly murder of Mr Heygate. May I ask,’ he went on as he led Colbeck to the door, ‘if you’ve made any progress so far?’

‘We believe so, Dr Swift. We have a prime suspect and every hope of snaring him very soon. It may even be that he’s committed a second murder in the city.’

‘Dear God!’

‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said Colbeck, sighing, ‘because it will give further ammunition to the bishop.’

‘Oh — what has Bishop Phillpotts been up to now?’

‘He’s insisting that we bring in troops from Topsham to assist the search for our main suspect. This latest development will only intensify that urge. I’ve asked my superior, Superintendent Tallis, to do all he can to dissuade him but my fear is that the bishop is far too inflexible.’

‘Have you met the bishop?’

‘I’ve had two encounters with him.’

‘Go on.’

‘They were less than enjoyable.’

‘Yes,’ admitted Swift, ‘he can be spiky at times but he’s unfairly maligned, in my view. I know what a philanthropic gentleman he can be.’

‘Oh?’

‘This may look like a house of detention, Inspector, but we try to make it as pleasant as possible. You’ll have noticed all the paintings in the corridors. They bring colour and a note of domesticity into the asylum. There are several others in public rooms and all of them were donated by Bishop Phillpotts.’

‘That’s uncommonly generous of him.’

‘His interest in the asylum did not end there. When it was opened in 1845, the first thing he did was to appoint a chaplain from his own staff. Canon Smalley is still here and does splendid work. He has a gift for calming unruly patients. He just sits there holding their hands and listens. That’s all that some of them need,’ he said. ‘They want someone to listen to them.’

‘I clearly need to revise my opinion of the bishop,’ said Colbeck.

‘He’s a good man at heart.’

‘I never doubted his sincerity.’

‘Next time you meet him, try to be more tolerant of his idiosyncrasies.’

‘Thank you for your advice. I can see that I misjudged him.’

‘He’s been a friend to this asylum from the start.’

‘Then I can see why you feel so grateful.’

‘It’s more than simple gratitude, Inspector. It’s closer to veneration. The bishop was instrumental in furthering my own career.’

Colbeck was curious. ‘In what way did he do that?’

‘Out of his own pocket, he gave me a bursary that allowed me to take time off in order to do some vital research. The fruit of that research,’ he said, crossing to the desk to pick up the copy of his book, ‘is contained in here. That’s why it’s dedicated to Henry Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter.’ He opened the book and showed the dedication to Colbeck. ‘Be sure to look at the paintings in the corridor as you leave. They’re an important visual stimulus for our inmates. In his own way,’ concluded Swift, ‘Bishop Phillpotts is a holy psychiatrist.’