Ticket to Oblivion

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sir Marcus Burnhope was troubled. After the detectives left him at his club, he went up to his room and sat in a chair with a glass of whisky beside him. Sleep was out of the question. Too many unanswerable questions plagued him. While the fate of his daughter still dominated his mind, the figure of Clive Tunnadine kept popping up and his friend was now in a slightly different guise. The allegations that Colbeck and Leeming had presented to him only served to infuriate Sir Marcus and forced him back on the defensive. Now that he was alone, however, and able to review what they told him with a degree of dispassion, niggling doubts began to appear. He recalled some joking remarks made in the House of Commons about Tunnadine, the kind of silly banter in which he never indulged and, as a rule, studiously ignored. Then there were the knowing looks that Tunnadine sometimes attracted and the nudges he’d seen between other politicians when his friend approached them. The jokes, looks and nudges now took on some significance.

Yet he still couldn’t believe that Tunnadine was capable of the violence his nephew had described and the detectives had confirmed. Nor could he entertain the thought that his friend had kept a mistress. Tunnadine had always seemed so fully committed to political affairs that he had no time for dalliances of any kind and no discernible inclination towards them. The two men had sat on committees together, prepared reports for the Prime Minister and even travelled abroad as colleagues. In all the years that Sir Marcus had known him, there was not the slightest hint that Tunnadine had a secret life involving deception, immorality and violent behaviour. As he downed his whisky, he veered back to his original belief. Lucinda Graham’s accusation, he concluded, was the work of a devious woman who sought to wrest money out of a decent man by threatening to blacken his name. The arrest warrant carried by Colbeck should — in Sir Marcus’s opinion — have borne the name of the supposed victim of the assault. She was the real criminal.

Satisfied that he had rationalised the situation, he was ready to retire to bed. It was then that the letter arrived from Superintendent Tallis. It was delivered by a member of the club staff who awaited his response. When Sir Marcus read the contents of the missive, his bleary eyes widened in absolute horror. He immediately gave the man orders that he should be awakened at dawn. In fact, he needed no call next day because he found it impossible to doze off during the night. When he set off from the club in a cab, fingers of light were poking through the gloom of the capital. The train from Paddington took him to Oxford where he changed platforms and caught an express to Shrub Hill.

As on a previous occasion, he’d arranged for a telegraph to be sent to the station, asking for someone to ride to Burnhope Manor to alert his coachman. Vernon Tolley was therefore waiting to open the door of the landau and lower the step.

‘Welcome back, Sir Marcus!’ he said, politely.

‘Drive me home.’

‘I hope that you had a good journey.’

‘You heard me, Tolley,’ snapped the other. ‘Do as you’re told and get me back to Burnhope Manor as soon as possible.’

Dominic Vaughan and his elder son were up far too early for breakfast. To work up an appetite and to pray for the release of the hostages, they walked the quarter of a mile to the village church and let themselves in. It was Percy Vaughan who became the senior figure now, shepherding his father to the altar rail and kneeling beside him to recite a long prayer that somehow brought them closer together than they had been for years. Little had been said on the journey there. On the way back, however, father and son were able to have a proper conversation.

‘That was a very moving prayer, Percy.’

‘The words just came to me.’

‘They were both poignant and appropriate,’ said Vaughan. ‘I’m so grateful that you decided to come to Burnhope Manor.’

‘I was a prey to the same impulse as you, Father. I felt I was needed here.’

‘If truth be told, you’ve been far more use than your mother. There are times when her presence can be a little abrasive and your aunt needs a more tranquil personality at her bedside.’

‘I’ve only done what I’ve been trained to do.’

‘It’s more a case of instinct than training. You have a knack that nobody else in the family possesses. Emma is too inexperienced, poor girl, and George is too skittish. Had he been trying to comfort your aunt, he’d have made her feel worse rather than better.’

‘I’d absolve him of that charge,’ said the curate. ‘What’s happened to Imogen and her maid seems to have calmed George down immeasurably and given him a sense of maturity. It’s made a great impact on all of us, of course, but it’s taught my brother a valuable lesson about family values.’

‘You could be right, Percy.’

Listening to the birdsong, they strolled on down the country lane. Dominic Vaughan was aware of a natural togetherness absent for a very long time.

‘Your aunt said a strange thing to me last evening,’ he said.

‘What was it, Father?’

‘Perhaps it’s best if I don’t repeat it. You might feel embarrassment.’

His son was curious. ‘Was it to do with Imogen’s engagement, by any chance?’ he asked. ‘If it was, then Aunt Paulina has already confided in me that she was not entirely happy with their choice of husband.’

‘When I spoke to her, she added a rider.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your aunt said in passing that you’d be a far more suitable candidate for your cousin’s hand.’ Vaughan saw his son’s confusion and felt remorseful. ‘There,’ he went on, ‘I told you that it might bring a blush to your cheek.’

‘Aunt Paulina is unwell,’ said the other, covering his unease with a smile. ‘I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what she says. When I sat with her yesterday, her mind wandered constantly.’

Pretending to treat his aunt’s comment as unimportant, he was instead deeply touched by it. Percy Vaughan had always felt that nobody at Burnhope Manor had ever taken him seriously. They were more interested in his brother’s antics or in his sister’s latest news. The curate had been slightly peripheral. The fact that someone had now spoken up for him filled him with a joy that was clouded by apprehension. Until the release of his cousin, any hopes he might nurse were illusory.

The two of them had almost reached the house when the landau came down the drive at speed and scattered gravel everywhere as it slid to a halt. Sir Marcus was on his feet at once. The coachman opened the door, let down the step and stood out of the way. As Sir Marcus alighted, they rushed across to him.

‘You seem to be in a devil of a hurry,’ observed Vaughan.

‘I’ve had the most alarming news, Dominic.’

‘Is it about Imogen?’ asked his nephew in concern.

‘Indirectly, it is,’ replied Sir Marcus. ‘A letter from Superintendent Tallis was delivered to my club. It informed me that Clive Tunnadine had been shot dead by one of the kidnappers. The only logical explanation for his confronting them is that they’d demanded a ransom from him as well.’

‘Tunnadine was murdered?’ gasped Vaughan.

‘God rest his soul!’ said the curate.

‘The superintendent advised me to return here. He believes that they may contact me with yet another demand. Their greed knows no bounds,’ wailed Sir Marcus. ‘Not content with tricking money out of me, they did the same to Clive Tunnadine then killed him. The villains are playing games with us — and there’s still no sign of Imogen.’

‘What about Rhoda Wills?’ murmured Tolley. ‘She’s there as well.’

The hotel room in Crewe had been cramped and uncomfortable but it was almost luxurious when compared to the one in which they’d spent the night. It was small, sparsely furnished, uncarpeted and flavoured by an odour faintly redolent of horse manure. Imogen had taken the single bed, leaving Rhoda to occupy the sagging armchair. Neither of them slept a wink. The proximity of their captors made them too afraid to remove any clothing so they wore the same crumpled dresses they’d had on for days. Tunnadine’s murder preoccupied them.

‘Are they going to do the same to us?’ asked Imogen, trembling.

‘I think they have other plans,’ said her maid, worriedly.

‘It’s frightening.’

What frightened Rhoda was the hungry look that had come into Cullen’s eyes whenever he gazed at her. Imogen had patently been reserved for Whiteside, leaving the maid to his accomplice and Rhoda was deeply disturbed. The women had been so far unmolested but it was only a matter of time before the kidnappers moved in to enjoy their spoils.

‘Do you hate me very much?’ asked Imogen.

‘I don’t hate you at all.’

‘But I was the one who landed you in this torment.’

‘I’ve told you before,’ said Rhoda, firmly. ‘I was beguiled just as much as you. I was ready to believe false promises. If anyone should take the blame, it’s me for urging you to take such a bold step into the dark.’

‘I thought I was stepping into bright light,’ admitted Imogen, sadly. ‘Its glare completely blinded me to potential dangers.’ She embraced Rhoda. ‘Will we ever get away from this hell?’

The maid was determined. ‘I think we have to — before it’s too late.’

Given the history that existed between them, the detectives were never going to be pleased to see Alban Kee. They regarded him as the bad apple that had to be thrown away before it spread its mould to the rest of the barrel. Tallis looked at him with disdain, Colbeck’s manner was cold and Leeming’s hostility to the private detective was plain. Nevertheless, the man had to be endured because he possessed information that was vital in the hunt for the kidnappers.

They were in the superintendent’s office at Scotland Yard and Kee was enjoying his moment as the centre of attention. Looking tired, he sat between Colbeck and Leeming. Tallis opened the questioning.

‘Why did Mr Tunnadine employ you?’

‘He’d lost faith in the abilities of the Metropolitan Police,’ replied Kee with a sly smile, ‘and wanted someone who was not so fettered by official procedure.’

‘Then he chose the right person,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘When you were here in the Detective Department, you never let official procedure hinder you in your pursuit of illegal bribes.’

Kee struck back. ‘I resent that comment, Inspector.’

‘And I resent what you did in the name of Scotland Yard.’

‘I was dismissed unfairly on hearsay evidence.’

‘We were glad to provide it,’ said Leeming. ‘It came from a trusted source.’

‘Let’s move on,’ said Tallis, asserting his authority. ‘The mistakes of the past can stay there. I want Kee to explain exactly what happened from the moment that he was hired by Mr Tunnadine.’

Alban Kee had his story ready and he told it without digression. Putting their dislike of the man aside, they listened intently. Kee’s account was reasonably accurate until he reached the moment when he and Tunnadine came to the place appointed for the exchange of money and hostages. The private detective claimed that he’d been hiding in the ditch when the fatal shot had been fired. He would never confess to his former colleagues that he’d been knocked unconscious because of his incompetence. Colbeck was interested in the report he gave to the local constabulary.

‘With whom did you deal at Crewe police station?’

‘Sergeant Dean,’ said Kee, ‘and he responded promptly. His men asked questions at the railway station but nobody could remember the four people described to them. The sergeant also sent constables to nearby stables. One of them recalled hiring a trap and a horse to a man he said had the bearing of a soldier. The animals and the vehicle were returned at the time promised. Where the man who’d hired them went, nobody knows but I’d wager anything you choose that he and the hostages travelled by train.’

‘That’s a fair supposition,’ said Colbeck. ‘Thank you, Kee. Your report was admirably concise and lucid.’ He turned to Tallis. ‘We must go to Crewe at once.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said the superintendent.

‘There’s no need for that, sir. Your place is here. Apart from anything else, there’s the possibility that the kidnappers will try to extort money from Sir Marcus for a third time. They’re brazen enough to do it. You need to be here to advise him.’

‘Well, yes,’ conceded Tallis, ‘there’s some truth in that.’

‘This is the hub of the investigation. Remain here in order to control it. The sergeant and I will make our way to Crewe to see if we can pick up any clues.’

‘Take me with you,’ said Kee.

‘That wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘I can’t think of anyone who’d be more appropriate in the hunt for the killer, Inspector. I was there when it happened. I have a right to assist you. It’s the least I can do for Mr Tunnadine.’

‘You’ve already done enough by bringing his body back to London and giving us the information we required,’ said Tallis. ‘Colbeck is right. Your involvement in this case is over. I bid you good day.’

‘But I might be useful,’ stressed Kee.

‘We exhausted your usefulness to this department years ago.’

‘I deserve a chance to prove myself, Superintendent.’

‘You had that chance when Mr Tunnadine hired you,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘and you failed. There’s nothing more to be said.’

Kee continued to protest but his entreaties were in vain. Tallis ordered him to leave. Leeming got up to show him out then closed the door firmly behind him. The prospect of leaving London sparked off his usual reluctance.

‘What do we do when we reach Crewe?’ he asked.

‘We find out where the four of them went and go in pursuit,’ said Colbeck.

‘But they could have gone hundreds of miles away by now.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll hunt them down. Gather your things together now, Sergeant. When I’ve dispatched an important letter, it will be time to leave.’

‘What’s this about an important letter?’ said Tallis.

‘I think that Lucinda Graham should be made aware of Mr Tunnadine’s death,’ said Colbeck. ‘Any prosecution of him is impossible now, of course, but it will make her sleep more soundly if she knows that he is no longer a threat to her.’

Coming to the studio in Chelsea had been the salvation of Lucinda Graham. She was among friends who cared and who did not sit in judgement on her because of her way of life. She was treated solely as a victim in dire need of love and comfort. Lucinda now hurt far less and felt much better. Over a late breakfast with Dolly Wrenson and George Vaughan, she was even able to talk about something other than her ordeal at the hands of her lover.

‘What made you become an artist, George?’ she asked.

‘I was called to it,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t choose art — it chose me.’

‘You make it sound like a vocation.’

‘That’s exactly what it is, Lucinda. It’s what I was born to be. My brother, Percy, is a curate in a little church in Gloucestershire. From the age of ten, he wanted to be a clergyman. In the same way that Percy answered his call, I answered mine.’ He waved an arm. ‘This is my church. Dolly is my congregation.’

Dolly shook with mirth. ‘I hope that your brother’s congregation doesn’t behave the way that I do or he might be in serious trouble. I can’t see the ladies in his parish posing in the nude, somehow.’ She pointed to the easel. ‘You’ve seen what George can do. He can bring me to life on canvas.’

‘I captured your essence, that’s all,’ he said.

‘It’s so wonderful that you can work together,’ said Lucinda. ‘I envy you.’

‘Artists are always looking for models.’

‘How could I be a model with a face like this?’

‘The bruises will go and the eye will heal,’ said Dolly, encouragingly. ‘Keep your mouth closed and you’ll be as beautiful as ever.’ She heard footsteps on the stairs. ‘Who’s that coming up here?’ she wondered. ‘You didn’t forget to pay the rent, did you, George?’

‘No, no,’ he said, ‘I gave the landlady a month in advance.’

‘I’ll see who it is.’

Dolly got up and crossed to the door, opening it at the precise moment when a young man was about to knock. He was a courier from Scotland Yard. When he’d delivered his letter, he bade farewell and trotted off down the stairs. Dolly closed the door behind him and crossed over to Lucinda.

‘It’s for you,’ she said.

Her friend drew back. ‘It’s not from him, is it?’ she said, fearfully. ‘If it is, I don’t even want to touch it. Open it for me, Dolly.’

‘It has your name on it.’

‘Just find out who sent it.’

Dolly opened the letter and saw Colbeck’s name at the bottom. When she read what he’d written in his neat hand, she let out a whoop of surprise.

‘What is it?’ asked the artist.

‘Inspector Colbeck has sent news that he felt Lucinda should hear.’ She handed the letter to her friend. ‘Take it, please. It will cheer you.’

When she read the letter, Lucinda shuttled between joy and disbelief, thrilled that the man she hated had been killed yet uncertain that such a miracle could really have occurred. George Vaughan was baffled. He looked to Dolly for enlightenment.

‘Lucinda’s prayers are answered,’ she told him. ‘Mr Tunnadine is dead.’

Euston station was filled with its customary pandemonium when the detectives arrived there. Victor Leeming had been bracing himself against the possibility of being away from home for days but he realised how selfish his concern was. The inspector was in the same position, leaving a wife behind him for an unspecified period. Colbeck would suffer the same pangs of separation.

‘It’s time I called you to mind, sir,’ said Leeming.

Colbeck grinned. ‘I flattered myself that I was always in your thoughts, Victor.’

‘You’ll feel sad to leave your wife behind you while we go to Crewe.’

‘No, I won’t.’

‘You’ll miss her, surely?’

‘Not this time,’ said Colbeck. ‘Madeleine is coming with us.’

Leeming was taken aback. It was true. Madeleine had been waiting for them by the bookstall. When she saw them coming, she walked over to them to receive a kiss from her husband and a look of astonishment from Leeming. Colbeck bought the tickets, then led them to the appropriate platform. The train was already waiting for them so they found an empty compartment and climbed in. Having escaped the hullabaloo outside, Colbeck was able to justify the step he’d taken.

‘The two ladies have been through a hideous experience,’ he said. ‘They’ve not only been abducted and used as pawns by these men. They witnessed the murder of someone they knew well. Such an event would unnerve anyone.’

‘It would terrify me,’ confessed Madeleine. ‘You’ll remember how upset I was in similar circumstances.’

‘If and when we rescue them, they’ll be distraught.’

‘They’ll be distraught and distracted, Robert.’

‘With the best will in the world, Victor, you and I may not be the ideal comforters.’

‘I see what you mean, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘They need another woman.’

‘Fortunately, Madeleine was at hand.’

‘I think you might have phrased that differently,’ she complained. ‘I’m not simply there like an umbrella that can be reached out of the stand on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the chance to help but I’ll not be taken for granted.’

Colbeck was penitent. ‘I take back what I said without hesitation.’

‘I think you should.’

‘You can offer a priceless service to us, Madeleine, far greater than any umbrella could manage. There’s no doubting the fact that Imogen Burnhope and her maid will be relieved to see Victor and me, but I fancy that they’ll be even more pleased to set eyes on you.’

Rhoda Wills wedged the chair against the door, then they shoved the bed against it to add more resistance. She opened the window, looked down, then signalled to Imogen.

‘There’s nobody about. You go first.’

‘It’s too dangerous, Rhoda.’

‘It’s far more dangerous to stay here. You saw what they did to Mr Tunnadine. Do you want to end up like that?’ Imogen crossed to the window and looked out with trepidation. ‘Yes, it may look difficult but think of the number of times you’ve ridden a horse and taken it over a fence. That needs a lot of courage. Show the same bravery now,’ urged Rhoda. ‘Lower yourself onto the roof below, work your way along it, then climb down the drainpipe to the ground.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said Imogen, pulling back. ‘It’s impossible in this dress.’

‘Lift it up and tuck it in. That’s what I’ll do.’

‘What if we fall?’

‘We won’t fall if we take care. Please hurry. They’ll be here any moment.’

Imogen was in two minds. Part of her wanted to follow her maid’s bold plan of escape. Their room was on the first floor. The roof of an extension was only feet below. It would be relatively easy to climb onto it. Getting down to the ground from there would be more problematical. Rhoda was so eager to get away that she was even prepared to jump from the roof. Imogen’s desire for escape was balanced by her fear of injury and retribution. Even if she got to the ground without tearing her dress or breaking an ankle, she couldn’t expect to outrun the two men. They would catch the fugitives and punish them accordingly. Rhoda’s scheme consisted of leaving the hotel and hiding nearby but they had no idea where they were or what cover was available.

‘We must go now,’ insisted Rhoda, trying to instil some confidence in her. ‘What they have in mind for us may be far worse than what we’ve already suffered. They think they’ve broken our spirits, but they haven’t.’

‘No,’ said Imogen, reviving. ‘They haven’t.’

‘I’ll help you out of the window.’

‘You go first, Rhoda. I’ll follow you.’

Clambering onto the roof with a dress to hamper her was not easy but Rhoda did it eventually. She turned to help Imogen, advising her not to look down and guiding her with both hands. They were now both on the roof of the extension, edging their way to the corner so that they could descend by means of a thick drainpipe. When they got to the second stage of their flight, they heard an ominous sound. Someone was trying to get into their room. Their fortifications were holding firm but the door was being rattled with ferocity. Suddenly, the noise stopped.

Terrified of being caught, Rhoda changed her plan. She lay face down on the roof and lowered herself slowly backwards until she was hanging from the guttering. She then let go and dropped heavily to the ground, jarring both legs as she did so but causing no real injury. She begged Imogen to do the same thing and the latter copied her maid, soiling her dress as she worked her way down the roof then dangling from the guttering. Rhoda reached up to steady her.

‘Leave go now,’ she said.

Imogen obeyed and dropped to the ground, falling over but so pleased to have got free that she almost shouted with joy. Rhoda helped her up and they hugged each other excitedly.

‘We did it,’ said Imogen. ‘We did it, Rhoda.’

When they tried to run off, however, Whiteside was blocking their way.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked, menacingly.

The return to Crewe brought memories rushing back for all three of them. Years before, it had been the scene of an incident that set the detectives off on one of their most challenging assignments. When a trunk was being unloaded from the roof of a railway carriage, it fell and landed on a large hat box, breaking the strap so that the lid flipped open. Out of the hatbox rolled a human head. It had taken Colbeck and Leeming a long time to match a dead body to it and to identify a killer. In the later stages of the investigation, Madeleine had more than proved her worth. The severed head at Crewe station had taken them all the way to that year’s Derby at Epsom. The present case, they felt certain, would involve a different itinerary.

While he went off to the police station, Colbeck left Madeleine in the waiting room with Leeming. Sergeant Dean was very helpful, especially when he realised to whom he was talking. He’d been a humble constable when Colbeck was in the town investigating the earlier murder and had been very impressed by the thoroughness of the Railway Detective. To be able to assist him now was in the nature of an honour. Dean told his visitor everything he’d already heard from Alban Kee with a few minor discrepancies. Colbeck was curious.

‘What did you make of Mr Kee?’

‘Is he a friend of yours?’ asked Dean, cautiously.

‘No, he’s far from it, Sergeant.’

‘Then my impression was that he didn’t tell me the full truth, sir. Like you, I’m used to listening to people giving long accounts of crimes and I’ve learnt to pick out the wheat from the chaff. In fairness,’ he went on, ‘there wasn’t much chaff with Mr Kee’s story but I thought I detected some.’

‘I think that you’re about to confirm my own reservations,’ said Colbeck. ‘What seemed perverse to me was that he should try to hide in a ditch which was difficult to get out of when he would have had far better protection behind the hedge on the other side of the field.’

‘That’s exactly what I was about to say, Inspector. Mr Kee gave me the precise location so I rode out there to investigate the site. Nobody would choose the ditch over the hedge.’

‘What did you infer from that?’

‘Well,’ said Dean, rubbing the side of his nose with a finger, ‘I think he was behind that hedge but was somehow prevented from interfering. He lied to us.’

‘You’ve sound instincts, Sergeant.’

‘Thank you, sir. But I discovered something else that may help you. When I drove back to the railway station, I timed the journey. The stables which they’d used are very close. Mr Kee gave me the exact time of the murder and the kidnappers would have gone immediately to the station. Allowing time for them to return what they’d hired,’ said Dean, reaching for a sheet of paper on his desk, ‘I had a rough idea of the first train they’d be able to catch.’

‘They certainly wouldn’t have wanted to linger in Crewe,’ said Colbeck, ‘because they’d know the murder would soon be reported by Kee.’

Dean handed over the paper. ‘This is a list of trains that left here in the hour after they’d returned to the stables. My guess,’ said Dean, ‘is that, before they met up with Mr Tunnadine, they’d already booked tickets.’ Colbeck scanned the list. ‘Is that of any use to you, Inspector?’

‘It’s invaluable. I congratulate you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I think I know exactly the train that they took.’

‘How did you work that out, sir?’

‘It was my first thought,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you’ve given me the evidence to buttress it. The men we’re after are former soldiers — Captain Whiteside and Sergeant Cullen. They’ve extracted a substantial amount of money out of two separate people, one of whom they shot dead. What they need now is a hiding place.’

‘That’s true.’

‘They’ve chosen somewhere they think we’re unlikely to find them.’

‘Have you worked out where it might be?’

‘I think so. Our superintendent searched army records to identify these two individuals. They’re deserters who live on their wits. Manus Cullen was born in Dublin. This is the train they caught,’ decided Colbeck, tapping the sheet of paper. ‘It would have taken them to Holyhead. They were on their way to Ireland.’

Choppy water made the crossing very unpleasant. The one time that Imogen and Rhoda had been afloat before was on the placid surface of a lake where the pull of the oars caused the only ripples. The sea was altogether more aggressive, hurling its waves at the side of the vessel as if indignant that anyone should dare to ride upon its back. Both of them felt so sick that all they could think about was the heaving of their stomachs. Terence Whiteside, on the other hand, suffering no discomfort, was very much aware of their escape attempt and vowed that they wouldn’t be given a second chance to get away. While they were on board, of course, there was no possibility of flight but he nevertheless separated them so that they could not devise a plot. He and Imogen sat side by side in a tiny cabin while Cullen and Rhoda were seated on deck together. As long as the women were kept apart, they’d never try to run away.

They were in sight of the Irish coast before Imogen’s queasiness slowly abated. She finally found her voice again.

‘Why did you have to kill Mr Tunnadine?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t do so, Imogen,’ he reminded her. ‘It was the sergeant who fired the shot. Mr Tunnadine disobeyed his instructions, you see. He not only had a weapon on him, he brought an accomplice who hid behind the hedge ready to shoot at me. His name was Alban Kee. After he’d knocked the gentleman out, the sergeant relieved him of his business card as well as the two weapons he carried. In other words,’ he argued, ‘Tunnadine had planned to have us killed by his accomplice. We acted in self-defence.’

‘What you did was appalling.’

‘Your memory is letting you down, Imogen.’

‘You both deserve to be hanged.’

‘We’ve escaped the noose before,’ he said with a laugh, ‘and will no doubt do so many times more. But I obviously need to remind you of some of the things you said in your letters. You didn’t love Tunnadine. In fact, you grew to dislike him intensely and feared being married to him. I was a far more acceptable bridegroom.’

‘That was before I knew your true character.’

‘Oh, you still have a lot to learn about me yet, Imogen,’ he warned. ‘We are going to live together in a fine house as man and wife — except that our union will not be blessed by the church. Don’t let that trouble you. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.” You’ll be a wife in reality if not in the eyes of God.’

‘Never!’ she said, recoiling from him. ‘I hate you for what you did.’

He chuckled. ‘Then I’ll have to woo you all over again, won’t I?’

‘I’d die sooner than let you touch me.’

‘That’s not a practical alternative for you at the moment,’ he said, seizing her arm. ‘You’ll do exactly what I want when I want it. At the same time, naturally, your maid will be obliging the sergeant. We were annoyed when you tried to escape from that hotel in Anglesey but we were also rather pleased.’

Imogen was astonished. ‘Pleased?’

‘Yes, it showed that the pair of you had more spirit than we’d imagined. That was an interesting discovery. I like spirit in a woman. All my previous “wives” have had that, Imogen,’ he told her with a grin. ‘Take heart from the fact that you’ll be keeping up a noble tradition.’

Madeleine Colbeck was not looking forward to the short voyage. While she was delighted to be working alongside her husband, the prospect of sailing across what looked like a turbulent sea was rather forbidding. Her anxieties were negligible compared to those of Victor Leeming. He was squirming in sheer terror. Even though he’d once sailed with Colbeck to New York and back, he was no experienced sailor. In fact, that voyage had made him resolve never to leave dry land again but he had no choice. His only hope was that a mistake had been made and that the fugitives had not, after all, fled to Ireland. He and Madeleine stood on the windswept quay and watched the waves pounding remorselessly away. Gulls wheeled and dipped in the air above them, their piercing cries making conversation difficult for Leeming and Madeleine. They were surrounded by scores of other passengers who’d made the journey to Holyhead.

It was a long time before Colbeck eventually returned. Madeleine was relieved to see him at last and Leeming was praying that he’d tell them their visit to Ireland was unnecessary. In fact, however, he was waving something in his hand.

‘I’ve booked our passages,’ he said. ‘We’ll be sailing within the hour.’

‘The sea is far too rough, sir,’ protested Leeming.

‘You’ll soon get used to that once we’re aboard, Victor.’

‘Are you sure that they went to Ireland?’ asked Madeleine.

‘Yes,’ replied her husband. ‘I’ve just spoken to the booking clerk. It looks as if they’re travelling as two couples. The names of Mr and Mrs Terence Whiteside were in the book alongside those of Mr and Mrs Manus Cullen. From the point of view of the ladies, I fear, they’re very much unholy alliances.’

The wind stiffened and the waves continued to lash the quayside, prompting the apprehensive Leeming into a whole series of protests. Madeleine’s qualms were stilled now that she was holding her husband’s arm. She began to see the voyage as an adventure. When their vessel finally arrived and unloaded its passengers, they joined the long queue that filed aboard. None of them looked over their shoulder to see the last passenger step out of the shadows in order to join the ship.

Alban Kee was determined not to miss out on the chase.