Ticket to Oblivion

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When they left the studio, the detectives felt that they’d been able to offer some hope and succour to Lucinda Graham. She was still in obvious pain but there had been a spectre of pleasure in her one visible eye when she was assured that her dreadful injuries would lead to the prosecution of her attacker. As Colbeck and Leeming clattered down the long staircase, the sergeant was still bemused.

‘How can an educated man like Mr Tunnadine do such a thing?’

‘I suspect he’ll claim that he was provoked,’ replied Colbeck. ‘It may be that he was, of course, but no amount of provocation justifies what he did to her. Miss Graham was no match for someone much bigger and stronger than her.’

‘I feel as if I want to give him a good hiding, sir.’

‘I feel the same, Victor, but it’s not our task to administer punishment. That must be left to those empowered to do so. All that we can do is to report what we’ve learnt then try to find Tunnadine.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘The main thing is that she’s being well looked after now. Dolly will be a good nurse.’

‘George Vaughan deserves thanks as well. He’s the one who reported the assault.’ Leeming was puzzled. ‘Why couldn’t Sir Marcus believe the word of his own nephew?’

‘It was because he couldn’t admit to himself that he’d made such a disastrous error when he selected Tunnadine as his future son-in-law. He took him at face value.’

‘What will he do when he learns the truth?’

‘It will be interesting to find out when we put it to him.’

Leaving the house, they walked to a nearby cab rank and hired their transport. On the journey back to Scotland Yard, they turned their attention to the disappearance of Imogen Burnhope, Rhoda Wills and the two men holding them.

‘Will the ladies ever be released?’ asked Leeming.

‘I don’t know. Whiteside and his friend will not keep them long. They’ll become a hindrance. My guess is that they may not be the first victims to fall into their hands or, indeed, the last. Having gained so much money from this abduction,’ said Colbeck, ‘they might well look for a new target. There are, alas, many unworldly and unsuspecting young ladies in wealthy households in this country. Kidnap is a profitable trade.’

‘That’s only if they can keep one step ahead of us, sir.’

‘We’ll have to take longer strides, Victor.’

Arriving at their destination, they went straight to Tallis’s office to deliver their report. He was patently uneasy.

‘This could be awkward,’ he said, fingering his moustache.

‘I don’t see why it should be, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘The facts are clear. There’s no doubt that Mr Tunnadine beat her.’

‘Her injuries are consistent with the assault she described,’ added Colbeck.

‘All that may be true,’ said Tallis, uncertainly, ‘but Miss Graham, it seems, is a kept woman. She admitted quite openly that she was Mr Tunnadine’s mistress.’

‘What difference should that make, sir?’

‘You, of all people, shouldn’t need to ask me that, Colbeck. Courts of law take a very dim view of the allegations made by ladies of easy virtue and they’re probably right to do so. Such women know the dangers before they enter these entanglements. In the eyes of some judges — and I’m not saying that I agree with them — the word of someone like Miss Graham carries less weight than that of a Member of Parliament.’

‘There’s no law that sanctions brutality,’ said Colbeck.

‘He knocked her teeth out,’ said Leeming, pointing to his mouth. ‘How much more proof of a crime do you need?’

‘Don’t you dare to hector me, Sergeant,’ warned Tallis.

‘All that the young lady wants is justice, sir.’

‘Then let’s set the process in motion.’ He picked up a document from his desk and handed it to Colbeck. ‘This is a warrant for the arrest of Clive Tunnadine on a charge of wilful murder. I’ve gone above Sir Marcus’s head this time, so there’ll be no friendly magistrate who’ll simply wag a finger at the prisoner then set him free. Take the gentleman into custody.’

‘He’s no gentleman,’ said Leeming, spikily.

‘Do you have Mr Tunnadine’s address, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Yes, I do,’ replied Tallis, ‘but the best place to find him is at his club in Pall Mall. He and Sir Marcus are often there together.’

‘Sir Marcus needs to be told the truth about his prospective son-in-law.’

‘Yes, he does — but don’t expect him to believe it.’

Thanks to the loving care offered by the Reverend Percy Vaughan, his aunt was able to shake off her fatigue, get dressed and come downstairs. Though she was still extremely anxious about the fate of her daughter, she was no longer prone to attacks of black dejection. Sitting in a high-backed chair in the drawing room, Paulina felt comforted by the presence of her sister and the two children. Cassandra could still carp and fizz when roused but Emma was a soothing guest and her brother even more so. Paulina was flabbergasted when yet another member of the Vaughan family arrived at Burnside Manor. Dominic Vaughan walked into the room to be greeted with contrasting reactions.

‘Father!’ cried Emma, leaping up to embrace him. ‘It’s so lovely to see you!’

‘You’re a welcome sight,’ said her brother, equally pleased.

‘Why do you have to butt in, Dominic?’ asked his wife, almost peevishly. ‘We were managing quite well without you.’

‘Don’t be so inhospitable,’ chided Paulina, accepting a kiss from her brother-in-law. ‘We’re delighted to see you, Dominic.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I felt that my place was here.’

‘You couldn’t be more welcome.’

‘That depends on what he does,’ muttered Cassandra.

Emma heard the comment. ‘Mother — that’s unkind!’

‘As you see, Father,’ said his elder son, ‘Aunt Paulina has made a recovery of sorts. She hated being left upstairs and cut off from the latest news. Not that there’s been a great deal of that, however, I fear. Superintendent Tallis from Scotland Yard stayed here overnight, then went off early with Uncle Marcus. We haven’t seen either of them since.’

‘What happened to Inspector Colbeck and the sergeant?’ wondered Vaughan.

‘They travelled separately from London. All four of them were due to meet at Oxford but we don’t really know why.’

‘Oh dear!’ said Vaughan with a laugh. ‘We’re all at sixes and sevens, aren’t we? Virtually, my entire family has come here while almost everyone else has gone to Oxford. If the situation were not so fraught, this would have great comic potential. You could get a diverting sermon out of it, Percy.’

The curate disagreed. ‘I don’t think the good people of North Cerney need to be given insights into our trials and tribulations, Father,’ he said. ‘In public, I prefer to draw a veil of privacy over the whole thing.’

‘Percy preaches wonderful sermons,’ said Emma, smiling in approbation.

‘He has a rare gift,’ said Paulina.

Cassandra was impatient. ‘Come on then, Dominic. Why are you here?’

‘It was because I fondly imagined that you might be missing me, my dear.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I certainly missed your company. What really prompted this visit, however,’ Vaughan went on, ‘is that I had twinges of guilt.’

‘Why — what have you been up to?’

‘It was nothing that would arouse your disapproval, Cassandra. I suppose what I felt was a sense of failure. If, as it seems, Imogen and her maid were abducted by a soldier who selected her as a target some time ago, then I am partly to blame. I should have been more aware of her attraction to such a scheming individual. Conceive of my horror,’ he said, ‘when I learnt that one of the most trusted scouts at the college had supplied information about my niece to this rogue.’

‘If you feel guilty, Father,’ said Emma, ‘you can imagine how I feel. I was there when Imogen met this man. I had no idea that he had set up the encounter so that he could get to know her name.’

‘You are not to blame, Emma.’

‘I’m bound to bear some responsibility. My eyes were blinkered.’

‘That’s no bad thing in a young lady of your age,’ said Cassandra.

‘Yes, it is, Mother. Imogen and I were altogether too innocent.’

‘Loss of innocence can be both painful and sobering,’ said the curate. ‘I’ve seen it happen too many times. Sadly, it’s the fate that’s befallen Imogen.’

‘Where is she now?’ asked Paulina, dolefully. ‘That’s all I wish to know. What is happening to my daughter?’

Imogen Burnside and Rhoda Wills sat in the waiting room at Crewe station in a state of paralysis. Neither of them could speak. They had both witnessed something so horrendous that it had left their brains numb. A man had been shot dead right in front of them. They knew from experience that Whiteside and Cullen were quite merciless but they were shocked to see just how uncompromisingly ruthless they could be. A wave of despair had washed over Imogen. While she had no real love for Clive Tunnadine, she admired the way that he’d stood up to Whiteside and actually fought with him, only to be killed by a bullet in his back. It was an unjust reward for his bravery and the fault lay partly with her. If Imogen had not foolishly been drawn into a romance that had never really existed, Tunnadine would still be alive and her father would not have been compelled to part with a vast sum of money. As she recalled the sight of the dead body on the ground, she felt as if she had blood on her hands.

Rhoda was equally powerless to move or speak. While she had never liked Tunnadine, she was rocked by the way that he’d been murdered and overwhelmed with pity for him. In order to rescue Imogen, he was not only ready to part with a great deal of money. He was also prepared to take the risk of facing the kidnappers in person. Not having been present at the first attempted exchange, she was unaware that Tunnadine had himself done exactly what Cullen had done and shot someone from a concealed position. The irony of the situation therefore eluded her. All that she saw was a man being cut down for a courageous act. Rhoda could not excuse herself. When the doomed romance first started, she had colluded with Imogen and believed all the glib promises Whiteside made to her. The dazzling prospects had blinded her to the pleasures she may have enjoyed at home. Vernon Tolley would have been a most suitable husband for her and she regretted blocking him out entirely from her considerations. The coachman deserved better.

The other reason that kept both women seated in silence was that Whiteside and Cullen sat either side of them like a pair of human bookends. While Imogen and Rhoda had lost their tongues, the two men chatted away inconsequentially as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Nobody seeing them so relaxed and untroubled would guess that they were accomplices in kidnap, extortion and murder. The porter whom they’d hired to look after their luggage put his head round the door. It was the signal that their train was on its way. Taking Imogen by the elbow, Whiteside helped her up. Cullen did the same for Rhoda. The two women were eased out onto the platform.

Imogen at last recovered her voice. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m about to honour my promise to you,’ said Whiteside with a mock bow.

‘Do you dare to speak of honour, sir?’

‘The sergeant and I obey a strict code.’

‘Does it have to involve intimidating me and my maid?’

‘Nobody forced you to come, Imogen. You were a volunteer.’

‘That was because I didn’t realise what I was volunteering for,’ she said.

‘You came because I offered to take you off across the sea,’ he recalled. ‘And that’s exactly what I’m about to do. So you may have to take back your sneers and your suspicions. I really am going to …’

The rest of the sentence was smothered beneath the train’s uproar.

Evening shadows were darkening the streets of the capital when they ran Sir Marcus Burnhope to ground at his club. Throbbing with frustration at the way that his money and his daughter had been snatched away from him, he’d been drinking heavily but bore himself up well. He and the two detectives adjourned to a private room.

‘Do you have any news for me?’ he demanded.

‘We have no news about the whereabouts of the kidnappers and their victims,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Enquiries are still continuing.’

‘Then why have you bothered to come here?’

‘We need to speak on a related matter, Sir Marcus.’

‘It had better be an important one. I’ll not listen to tittle-tattle.’

‘You’ve already made your feelings known on this subject,’ said Colbeck, ‘but there have been developments since you heard what your nephew, George Vaughan, had to say.’

‘If you’ve come to repeat those gross allegations,’ warned Sir Marcus, ‘you can save your breath. Mr Tunnadine is being unfairly maligned. I’ve known him for years and will vouch for his good character.’

‘We saw what he did, Sir Marcus,’ said Leeming, unable to forget the injuries to Lucinda Graham. ‘We have the name of the young lady in question and the address at which Mr Tunnadine visited her on a regular basis.’

‘And,’ Colbeck put in, ‘we also have the names of the servants who were, in effect, witnesses to the assault because they heard their master’s raised voice clearly and they went to Miss Graham’s aid after he’d gone out of the house and slammed the door after him.’

‘It’s a conspiracy,’ asserted Sir Marcus. ‘They’re all in this together.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you met the victim.’

‘I’ve no intention of doing so.’

‘Well, Mr Tunnadine will meet her in a court of law,’ said Leeming.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, man.’

‘He has to answer for his mistakes, Sir Marcus.’

‘And so do you, Sergeant,’ blustered the other. ‘You can’t come bothering me at my club on a trumped-up charge against a senior politician who is set to do great things for this country. Get out, the pair of you!’ He rose to his feet and pointed to the door. ‘I shall inform Superintendent Tallis of your disgraceful behaviour.’

‘It was the superintendent who sent us,’ explained Colbeck, taking a document from his pocket. ‘He gave me this warrant for the arrest of Mr Tunnadine on charges of murder and assault. We’d hoped to find the gentleman here with you but it seems that we’ve drawn a blank there.’

Sir Marcus wobbled slightly before dropping back into his chair. All the bluster he could manage would not outweigh the authority of an arrest warrant. If the superintendent had been convinced of Tunnadine’s guilt with regard to the assault on the young lady, it could not be dismissed so easily. He looked for another way out.

‘Listen,’ he began, his tone more emollient, ‘I’m sure that you needn’t go to the lengths of an arrest. I was there when Mr Tunnadine’s gun went off. It could have done so accidentally. It was certainly not murder in any shape or form. You saw him open his wallet and offer compensation. Was that the action of a killer?’

‘It was the action of someone who wanted to buy off the family of the victim,’ said Leeming. ‘He didn’t do it as if he was actually sorry.’

‘Well, he was — deep down.’

‘We never got to explore the depths of Mr Tunnadine’s soul,’ said Colbeck, archly. ‘It’s a fabled territory I’d hesitate to survey. What concerns me is that he shot a man who was struggling with me at the time.’

‘Yes, he shot him in order to assist you, Inspector.’

‘I don’t remember calling for help.’

‘Nor would you have needed it,’ said Leeming. ‘I’ve never met the man yet who could get the better of you in a brawl, sir — not if the fight was on equal terms.’

‘In this case, they were very unequal, Sergeant. I had an unwanted marksman prowling along the side of the field. His finger was too quick on the trigger.’

‘The charge will never stick in court,’ warned Sir Marcus.

‘Which charge — the murder or the assault?’

‘You can drop the second one right now, Inspector. I’m sure that there’s been a misunderstanding. When my nephew first made the accusation, I wanted to dismiss it as a piece of frivolous invention. You, however,’ he went on, ‘have convinced me that this young woman might have sustained a few injuries but they would surely be the result of an unfortunate accident. Mr Tunnadine will make amends.’

‘The lady will not be bought off,’ said Leeming, staunchly.

‘All I’m suggesting is that she receives adequate compensation.’

‘How can you compensate a woman who has been robbed of her beauty?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Her front teeth were knocked out and she may never be able to see properly through one eye again. That’s not what I would call an unfortunate accident, Sir Marcus. Lucinda Graham has been deprived of her living.’

‘And what kind of living was that?’

‘She was Mr Tunnadine’s mistress.’

‘That’s a foul calumny, sir!’ roared Sir Marcus. ‘Do you think I’d let any man of doubtful character marry my daughter? Clive Tunnadine is a man of high moral standards — in fact, his father was a bishop. If some woman of questionable virtue tried to lead him astray,’ he said, ‘then I’m not surprised that he lashed out.’

‘We have an address, Sir Marcus. He is the registered owner of the house.’

‘He owns a large number of houses. It’s a major source of his wealth.’

‘This house has particular significance.’

‘Yes,’ retorted the other, ‘it contains a conniving young woman who probably sought to extract money from him and was — quite rightly — slapped down.’

‘I can see that you’ll hear no criticism of Mr Tunnadine,’ said Colbeck, levelly. ‘I admire your loyalty, Sir Marcus, but I’m bound to bewail your judgement. We’ll trouble you no further. All that we ask is that you tell us where we can find the gentleman so that we can make an arrest.’

Sir Marcus folded his arms and looked away as if refusing to cooperate with them. The detectives waited patiently. Realising that he could put himself in trouble, the old man eventually yielded up an answer.’

‘I can give you an address, Inspector, but he’s not at home.’

‘How do you know that, Sir Marcus?’

‘I sent a courier there not an hour ago because I was desperate to see him. One of the servants said that Tunnadine had left London and that the date of his return was uncertain.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘I’m sorry to rob you of the pleasure of what I’d describe as an unnecessary arrest. It appears that Mr Tunnadine is unavailable.’

Clive Tunnadine lay on a slab in the dank room that served as a temporary morgue at the police station in Crewe. Tiny pieces of white plaster had started to peel off the ceiling and drop down like unseasonal snowflakes. The windowpane was cracked. The smell of damp was pervasive. There were steep undulations in the paved surface of the floor. Beneath his shroud, Tunnadine was happily unaware of the shortcomings of his accommodation.

Twenty yards away, in another room, Alban Kee was giving his report of the incident that led to his employer’s death. The details were taken down laboriously by Sergeant Dean, a policeman in his late thirties with an ill-fitting uniform and a husky voice.

‘What happened then, sir?’ he asked.

‘The fellow got back into the trap and drove off.’

‘What about the man who fired the shot?’

‘He had a horse nearby,’ said Kee.

‘Are you able to describe him?’

‘He was too far away for me to get a good look at him.’

In fact, Cullen had been close enough to the private detective to knock him unconscious but Kee was not going to admit that he’d been taken by surprise. In his version of events, he’d been hiding in the ditch on the other side of the field, waiting to leap to Tunnadine’s assistance. Unpropitious circumstances, he claimed, prevented him from doing anything more than firing a shot after the departing kidnappers.

‘Why didn’t you pursue them?’ asked the sergeant.

‘What chance would I have against the two of them?’

‘You told me that you were armed.’

‘I felt that my first duty was to Mr Tunnadine,’ said Kee, piously. ‘I ran across to him in the hope that I could stem the blood and get him to a doctor but it was in vain. The shot was fatal. The bullet was lodged in his heart.’

He paused as if expecting a compliment for the way he’d behaved. Kee was also troubled by the persistent ache at the back of his skull. A large lump marked the spot where he was struck but he didn’t want to draw attention by putting a hand to it. The sergeant went through his notes and corrected a few spelling mistakes before looking up.

‘You’ve given a concise and accurate report, sir,’ he said, ‘and that very rarely happens when people have witnessed a murder. They tend to be far too upset to remember all the details.’

‘Nothing upsets me, Sergeant. I was in the Metropolitan Police for many years. I always keep my senses about me. In your position,’ boasted Kee, ‘I wouldn’t just sit around and question a witness. I’d be out looking for the killer.’

‘My men have already done that, sir.’

‘Oh — I didn’t realise.’

‘As soon as you arrived with the body,’ recalled the sergeant, ‘and gave me a brief account of what had occurred, I sent four of my constables to the railway station. As you so rightly pointed out, the fastest way to leave Crewe was by train.’

‘After what happened, they certainly wouldn’t stay here.’

‘You were preoccupied for a while with moving the corpse and talking to the undertaker so you were unaware that one of my men returned from the station. It’s not far away.’

Kee was on his feet. ‘What did they find out?’

‘They found what they always find — that Crewe is a busy junction with masses of people swirling around on the different platforms. Further to what you told me, I had them searching for two men in the company of two young women, one of whom was … very comely.’

‘Did they see anyone matching the description I gave you?’

‘No, sir,’ replied the sergeant with a melancholy smile. ‘They looked high and low but it was all to no avail. What we will be able to establish in due course is where they hired the horse and the trap, but that’s of little help. Like you, I’ve no doubt that the four of them fled by train. Unfortunately,’ he concluded, ‘we have no idea which direction they took.’

Lucinda Graham was overwhelmed by the kindness they’d shown to her. While others had turned her away, Dolly Wrenson had taken her in and George Vaughan had shown the same concern for her. The two women had been friends for years but saw each other infrequently. When they did so, they always compared the situations in which they found themselves. Dolly talked about the promising young artist with whom she’d fallen in love and made light of their relatively straitened living quarters. Yet she never envied Lucinda when she heard about the rich politician who kept her in luxury. Dolly could enjoy the company of her lover all day and all night. Lucinda was at the beck and call of a man who would arrive at the house without warning and expect her to meet his needs instantly. No amount of money would coax Dolly into such an arrangement, especially as she’d now learnt of Tunnadine’s fits of rage.

‘Why did you stay so long with a fiend like that?’ asked Dolly.

‘I suppose that I enjoyed the benefits too much.’

‘He treated you like a-’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Lucinda, interrupting her. ‘There’s no need to put it into words. Some men are like that. You always have to make allowances for something and with Mr Tunnadine there were a lot of allowances to make.’

‘Did you never think of leaving?’

‘Yes, I did, but I was too lazy to strike out on my own.’

‘Well,’ said Dolly, sitting back, ‘I thought that George had a few faults but compared to Mr Tunnadine, he’s a saint.’ She laughed. ‘That’s perhaps overstating it. Given our life together, I don’t think he’d qualify for sainthood.’

‘He’s a good man, Dolly, and he’s yours. Hold on to him.’

‘I intend to, Lucinda.’

They were in the studio. Dolly was seated on a chair while her friend occupied the bed. Lucinda lay there fully clothed. When they’d first encouraged her to lie down, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and awoke to find Dolly smiling down at her. The warmth of the friendship she’d received took some of the sting out of her injuries. She and her friend looked up as they heard footsteps on the staircase outside. It was not long before George Vaughan entered with an armful of food collected from other tenants in the house.

‘They all owed me favours,’ he said, cheerily. ‘We’ve enough to keep us going for days.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t eat a thing, George,’ said Lucinda, sitting up.

‘But you must be starving.’

‘It’s agony to put anything in my mouth.’

‘Surely, it won’t stop you drinking,’ said Dolly, getting up to search for glasses. ‘George has managed to scrounge some wine.’

‘That was from Hadrian Speen on the ground floor,’ explained the artist. ‘He was so grateful when I told him that he has exceptional talent as a painter.’

‘Does he?’ asked Lucinda.

‘Yes, he does. He mixes the most remarkable colours.’

Dolly was still searching. ‘Where did we put those glasses, George?’

‘Stop just for a moment,’ requested Lucinda. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘But you can do that while we’re drinking the wine.’

‘Come and sit beside me, Dolly — please.’

Dolly obeyed the summons and George Vaughan squatted on a stool. As they waited for Lucinda to speak, she glanced nervously at them as if expecting criticism.

‘I’ve reached a decision,’ she declared.

‘There was no decision to reach,’ said Dolly. ‘You’re staying here tonight and there’s an end to it. The bed is all yours, Lucinda.’

‘This is nothing to do with your kind offer.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘My decision concerns Mr Tunnadine,’ said Lucinda, gabbling. ‘I know that you’ll think I’m stupid but I’m not going to institute proceedings against him.’

‘But you must,’ insisted the artist. ‘He could have killed you.’

‘I just can’t face him in court, George.’

‘You heard what the detectives said to you. He must be prosecuted.’

‘I’ll refuse to give evidence.’

‘We’ve seen the evidence,’ said Dolly. ‘We’re looking at it right now. Inspector Colbeck and the sergeant have seen it as well, not to mention the servants at the house. We’ll all bear witness against this vile man.’

‘It’s no use, Dolly. You and George can keep on at me as much as you like. I won’t change my mind. Yes,’ said Lucinda, ‘it may seem weak and stupid on my part but it’s what I want. Besides, it’s not as if Mr Tunnadine will go scot-free. Inspector Colbeck told us that he has a murder charge hanging over him. I just want him out of my life forever,’ she emphasised. ‘Clive Tunnadine no longer exists for me.’

After returning to Scotland Yard to report back to the superintendent, Colbeck took Victor Leeming across to the Lamb and Flag and bought him a drink. They enjoyed a convivial break then they went off to their respective homes. Both were perturbed at the way that the investigation had stalled. They had no clue as to the whereabouts of the kidnappers or, indeed, of Clive Tunnadine. At every turn, they were baulked. Arriving home by cab, Colbeck did his best to suppress his disappointment but Madeleine was too familiar with his moods to be misled. After giving him a welcome, she took him into the drawing room and sat him down.

‘You’ve just missed my father,’ she said. ‘He spent the evening here.’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s remarkably well for his age. He sends his regards.’

‘That was kind of him.’

‘He kept pressing for details of this case,’ said Madeleine, ‘so it’s as well he isn’t here now. I can see that you’ve not made much progress.’

Colbeck smiled. ‘Am I so transparent?’

‘I guessed the moment that I saw you. Am I right, Robert?’

‘Unhappily, you are,’ he told her.

He gave her a swift account of the events of the day and she listened with sympathy. Madeleine was particularly upset to hear of the beating that Lucinda Graham had taken from Tunnadine.

‘He’s supposed to be a Member of Parliament,’ she said, angrily. ‘Is that the kind of man you want helping to run this country?’

‘Well, I’d never vote for him, I can promise you that.’

‘He should be sent to prison for what he did.’

‘Let’s not spoil our time together by talking about him. How is your work?’

‘I’ve had a more rewarding time than you, by the sound of it, Robert. I’ve almost finished the latest painting. Would you like to see it?’

‘I’d love to, Madeleine.’

He took her upstairs with an arm around her shoulders. When they entered her studio, he lit an oil lamp and held it close to the easel so that it could shed the light. Madeleine lifted the cloth that covered her painting and a locomotive was revealed, hurtling towards them with dramatic effect. It seemed about to drive off from the canvas. Colbeck squeezed her in congratulation.

‘It’s wonderful,’ he said, scrutinising every detail. ‘You’ve improved so much over the years, Madeleine. The locomotives used to look so passive when you first took up painting. Now they race along. The sense of movement is quite breathtaking.’

‘It’s my idea of how Cornwall looked at top speed,’ she said. ‘The first time I painted her, she looked very static. Having driven her, Father insisted on giving me all the details. She was built at Crewe over ten years ago for the LNWR. Her weight was twenty-nine tons and her driving wheel was eight feet six inches. I was able to show the coal capacity, of course, but things like the boiler pressure and the traction power are mysteries that only people like Father know about. What do you think, Robert?’

Colbeck was highly complimentary and not only because Madeleine was his wife. She really had worked hard to hone her skills. As he looked with pride at the cosy surroundings of her studio, he found himself comparing it with the draughty attic inhabited by George Vaughan. He’d made obvious sacrifices in order to pursue his dreams of success. Colbeck was about to remark on the contrast when he heard the doorbell ring. A servant answered the door and the unexpected voice of Edward Tallis rose up from the hall. Colbeck and his wife descended the stairs to greet him. Madeleine offered him refreshment but Tallis declined the offer, and not simply because he was uncomfortable in the presence of women. Clearly, he’d come to speak to Colbeck as a matter of urgency. Madeleine therefore excused herself so that the two men could go into the drawing room.

‘I apologise for calling at this late hour,’ said Tallis, rotating the top hat he was holding by the brim, ‘but I felt that you ought to know the news.’

‘What’s happened, sir?’

‘I received a telegraph sent by Alban Kee. Doubtless, you remember him.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I do — though not with great fondness.’

‘You may warm a little towards him when you hear what he’s told us. It seems that he was employed by Mr Tunnadine and was present when the fellow was shot dead by one of the kidnappers. Needless to say, the telegraph is brief. Kee has promised to give us full details when he gets back tomorrow morning. I’d like you to be there when he turns up at Scotland Yard.’

‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ said Colbeck, sensing that a new stage of the investigation had suddenly opened up, ‘and I’ll make sure that Victor Leeming is there as well.’

‘It looks as if that arrest warrant for Tunnadine will not be needed.’

‘Apparently not — Sir Marcus will be shocked to hear of his death.’

‘He’ll also wonder why the man didn’t confide that he, too, had received a ransom demand. Kee may be able to explain that. He will supervise the return of the body to London before coming on to us with the full story of what happened.’

‘From where was his telegraph sent, sir?’

‘It came from the railway station in Crewe.’

Colbeck thought about Madeleine’s latest painting. It featured a locomotive that had been built at the railway works in the same town. A smile touched his lips.

‘Why do you find that amusing?’ asked Tallis, gruffly.

‘I’m not so much amused as excited, sir,’ replied Colbeck, ‘and I’m bound to ask a teasing question.’

‘What is it?’

‘When does a coincidence become an omen?’