A Christmas Railway Mystery Page 16

  That left only one explanation and it filled Wardlow with anxiety. Tallis must have been the victim of foul play. As his host, Wardlow blamed himself for getting parted from his friend. He should have braved the discomfort and stayed with him. He’d never forgive himself if anything serious had happened to the former Major Tallis. To make amends, he had to institute a proper search immediately. In spite of the pain it caused him, he almost ran to the police station to raise the alarm, gasping for breath when he finally got there. When they heard that the missing person was a detective superintendent from Scotland Yard, the local constabulary called in the meagre supply of police officers at their disposal. A description of Edward Tallis was circulated among them along with details of where and when he was last seen. The uniformed policemen hurried off. They were soon asking questions of everyone in the vicinity of the cathedral. Wardlow’s only regret was that he didn’t have the strength to join in what would be a thorough search of the city.

  ‘Why do you call him Mouldy Grosvenor?’ asked Fellowes.

  ‘Stand next to him,’ replied Leeming, ‘and you’ll soon find out. His breath smells like mouldy cheese.’

  ‘And he just turned up out of the blue?’

  ‘He thinks he knows how to solve this crime. However, that’s not why I came looking for you. I need help. You told me that there was a brothel here.’

  Fellowes was shocked. ‘You’re not saying that you’d like to—?’

  ‘No,’ said Leeming, angrily. ‘I’m not asking for that reason. I have a lovely wife and would never dream of betraying her or my marriage vows. I need the address because I might learn something there that has a bearing on this case. So – where is it?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ said the other, evasively.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. You know everything that goes on here.’

  ‘Well, I have heard a rumour.’

  ‘Just give me the address and I’ll be off.’

  The railway policeman shuffled his feet then told him where he believed the brothel might be located. Once Leeming had established where the street was, he went off quickly. He was still jangled by the arrival of Grosvenor. It had caught him and Colbeck completely off guard. He resented the way that the man had taken control of the investigation, relegating the detectives who’d being doing all the hard work to the role of assistants. If Colbeck and Leeming solved the case, they could now be sure that Grosvenor would claim that his intervention had made all the difference. It would allow him to gloat over them.

  During his time in uniform, Leeming had policed some of the worst areas of London. The brothels where he’d made arrests were usually squalid places in ramshackle houses, devoid of even basic comfort, let alone allure. He’d always felt sorry for the women employed there because they were subject to the fantasies of random clients and at the mercy of the cruel men who’d controlled them. When he reached the house mentioned by Edgar Fellowes, he saw that it was very different from the malodorous slums he’d once visited. Leeming was standing outside a dwelling in one of the neat terraces built by the GWR. It made him wonder if he’d come to the wrong place.

  That impression was reinforced by the sight of the person who opened the front door to him. She was a well-dressed, presentable woman in her fifties with a disarming smile and an aura of wholesomeness. He found himself tipping his hat respectfully. Thrusting her head out of the door, she looked up and down the street then plucked at his sleeve to bring him into the house.

  ‘My daughter’s asleep at the moment,’ she explained, ‘because she had a very busy night, but I can see to your needs, sir. Just tell me what they are.’

  Leeming was revolted. ‘I haven’t come in search of your services,’ he said, testily. ‘I’m a detective sergeant and I’m investigating the murder that took place recently.’

  ‘Goodness!’ she cried. ‘We had nothing to do with that, sir.’

  ‘You could be wrong on that score.’

  ‘Please don’t arrest us again and turn us out. It took weeks to find this place.’

  ‘I’ve come here for information, Mrs …’

  ‘Mrs Knight,’ she told him. ‘I’m Claire Knight and my daughter is Euphemia. Actually,’ she confessed, ‘her real name is Meg but gentlemen seem to prefer something a little less common.’ She eyed him shrewdly. ‘Are you sure that you’re not here for pleasure, sir? I’m very experienced and there’d be no charge.’

  Leeming spluttered.

  Colbeck had expected some sort of interference from Grosvenor but he hadn’t foreseen a visit from him. It was a worrying development and would handicap rather than help the investigation. On the cab ride to the Old Town, he had to listen to his companion’s boasts about how easily he’d taken to his new status as superintendent. Colbeck’s fear was that Grosvenor would charge into the butcher’s shop to arrest Daniel Gill without even bothering to question him first. Having each given the man a decided scare, he and Leeming had chosen to leave him at liberty so that they could watch his reactions. Neither of them had marked him down as their chief suspect.

  In the event, fortune favoured the inspector. When they got to the shop, they were told that Gill was not there. The butcher – a peppery old man with a red face and a rasping voice – explained that he’d sent his nephew to collect some meat from a farm that was miles away. He wanted to know why two detectives were interested in Gill but Colbeck assured him that they were only making routine enquiries. He then hustled Grosvenor out of there before the superintendent tried to question the butcher. On their way out of the Old Town, Colbeck drew the attention of his companion to the reward notice displayed in the window of the Swindon Advertiser.

  ‘That’s a large amount of money to offer,’ said Grosvenor.

  ‘Unfortunately, it hasn’t brought in the information we need, sir.’

  ‘Gill is your man. Get him before he makes a run for it.’

  ‘Where could he go?’

  Having no answer, the other man lapsed into silence for several minutes. When he finally spoke again, he had a question about Leeming.

  ‘I saw you whispering to the sergeant before we went out,’ he said. ‘What did you tell him to do?’

  ‘I asked him to interview someone who may be able to help us.’

  ‘And what’s the name of this individual?’

  ‘To be honest, sir, I don’t rightly know.’

  Notwithstanding his rooted objection to prostitution, Leeming was actually warming to Claire Knight. As they sat together in a cosy room, the heat of the fire was almost seductive. For the first time since they’d been in Swindon, he was really comfortable. He almost forgot what his hospitable hostess did for a living.

  ‘I could offer you a glass of wine, Sergeant,’ she said, nudging him.

  ‘All I want are answers, Mrs Knight.’

  ‘There’s nothing Euphemia and I can tell you.’

  ‘There may be,’ he said. ‘Without realising it, you might have entertained someone who was planning a murder.’

  She laughed throatily. ‘There’s only one thing they’re planning when they come here.’ Sitting up, she shot him a look of apology. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

  ‘Cast your mind back to the night of the murder.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do as I say. Did anyone come here that night?’

  She regarded him warily. ‘You’re not a real detective, are you?’ she said, sharply. ‘You’ve been hired by some nasty, suspicious killjoy of a wife to see if her husband comes here because he doesn’t get what he wants at home.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll thank you to leave my premises.’ Leeming took something from his pocket and held it up in front of her. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s my warrant card, Mrs Knight. It proves that I’m a detective sergeant in the Metropolitan Police Force. As such, I have the right to arrest you and your daughter for running a disorderly house.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t do that!’ she begged, sinking back down in her chair. ‘We’re doing
no harm, Sergeant. We fulfil a need. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘I’ll ask you once more.’

  ‘No, no, I heard you the first time. Someone did come here that night. In fact, there were three of them. They came at separate times.’

  ‘Was one of them Hector Samway?’

  ‘No, we haven’t seen him for weeks.’

  ‘He’s is a regular visitor, then?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. I swore to protect all our clients.’

  ‘Do you want to protect a killer from arrest?’

  She was astounded. ‘Is that what Hector is?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, Mrs Knight. That’s why it’s so important that you’re honest with me. Who were the three who did come here that night?’ He narrowed his eyelids. ‘If you won’t tell me, I’ll go upstairs and ask your daughter instead.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ she protested. ‘Meg needs her sleep, poor dear.’

  He took out his notebook. ‘Give me those names.’

  After a long delay and a battery of excuses, she at last told the truth.

  ‘One was Josiah Daley, the cobbler.’ He wrote down the name. ‘The second one was … oh,’ she said, hands clasped together, ‘he’ll be so angry if I tell you that he came here. We have … an arrangement, you see.’

  ‘What sort of arrangement?’

  ‘Edgar trusts me.’

  His ears perked up. ‘Are you talking bout Edgar Fellowes, by any chance?’ Her face was a confession in itself. ‘Right,’ he went on, jotting down the name before looking up. ‘You told me that you had three clients. Who was the other one?’

  ‘My daughter is the best person to talk about him. His behaviour was very upsetting. She said she never wanted him here again.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He was like a mad thing, Sergeant. When he came here before, he was always quiet and considerate. Two nights ago, he was in a violent mood. He made Meg scream out loud in agony at one point and I couldn’t allow that.’

  ‘What was his name, Mrs Knight?’ She shook her head guiltily, afraid that she’d already given too much away. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Simeon Cudlip.’

  Having barged his way into the investigation, Grosvenor insisted on meeting the general manager and assuring him that everything was in hand. Oswald Stinson was pleased to hear that an arrest would soon take place, forcing Colbeck to step in and explain that, as yet, they had insufficient evidence to charge the man. Annoyed at the interruption, Grosvenor was adamant that, when he met the suspect face-to-face, he would be able to draw all the evidence that was necessary out of him. Colbeck could see how impressed Stinson was by the superintendent and accepted that Grosvenor was always able to make a favourable impact on first acquaintance. Unlike the general manager, he’d known and disliked the man for many years and knew all his defects, not least his tendency towards fatal overconfidence.

  ‘I’m delighted that you came, Superintendent,’ said Stinson. ‘You seem to have injected some real spirit into the investigation.’

  Grosvenor basked in the praise. ‘I’m renowned for it.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I’d planned to return to London this evening.’

  ‘If you change your mind, my wife and I would be delighted to offer you our hospitality.’ He glanced at Colbeck. ‘The inspector turned down our invitation.’

  ‘That was rather ungracious,’ said Grosvenor.

  ‘We felt that we needed to be at the heart of the village, sir,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I’d question that decision.’

  He was prevented from going on to justify his criticism by the arrival of a clerk. After knocking on the door, the man entered carrying a telegraph.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said, ‘but this is urgent.’

  Stinson stretched out a hand. ‘Let me see it.’

  ‘Actually, sir, it’s for the superintendent.’

  ‘Then I’d better have it,’ said Grosvenor, taking it from him. When he’d read the contents, he leapt up from his chair. ‘This is dreadful!’

  ‘What’s the trouble, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘I have to catch the next train back to London.’

  ‘Why – is there a problem?’

  ‘There’s a very big problem, I’m afraid. Superintendent Tallis has disappeared in Canterbury. They fear that he’s been abducted.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When her friend turned up unexpectedly on the doorstep, Madeleine Colbeck knew that there was good news for her to enjoy. On a cold, wintry day, Lydia Quayle was glowing. They sat side by side on a sofa in the drawing room.

  ‘You’ve seen Constable Hinton, haven’t you?’ said Madeleine.

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘It’s written all over your face. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Then tell me what happened.’

  After taking a moment to compose herself, Lydia said how surprised and delighted she’d been when Hinton had called at her house. Ostensibly, he’d come to see if she’d recovered from her ordeal, urging her to contact him at his home address if she was ever in difficulty again. It was clear to Madeleine, however, that he’d used the excuse as a means of seeing her again.

  ‘Alan told me that he was working with Inspector Vallence now,’ said Lydia. ‘What he really wants to do, of course, is to be involved in a murder investigation and to work with Robert. He believes that he could learn so much from your husband.’

  ‘It’s true. As well as being a good detective, Robert is an inspiring teacher. But tell me what else your adoring constable said to you.’

  Lydia tittered. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t call him that.’

  ‘Why else would he go out of his way to speak to you?’

  ‘He’s concerned for my safety.’

  ‘Alan Hinton wants to be your protector. Do you object to that?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Then you can expect him to call again from time to time.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ asked Lydia, hopefully.

  ‘Of course,’ said Madeleine. ‘Both of you obviously relish each other’s company.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘And you’d like to meet regularly.’

  ‘There’s only one way that could happen, Madeleine.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Alan would have to be assigned to one of Robert’s cases. He’d come here to the house then. If he proved his worth, he’d become part of the family in a way that Victor Leeming has. You’d see me here a lot more often if that were the case.’

  ‘That would be wonderful.’

  Pleased that her friend was so happy, Madeleine gave her a warm hug.

  Terence Wardlow was in despair. A close friend had vanished into thin air. The police in Canterbury were carrying out an exhaustive search but, after a couple of hours, they had nothing encouraging to report. It seemed that Tallis was no longer in the city. Where could he possibly be and who took him there? He’d only have gone under duress. That troubled Wardlow. Tallis would be no obedient prisoner. It was not in his character to submit to anyone. He’d be more likely to resist and therefore provoke his captors. In that sense, he’d be his own worse enemy. Though there were no sightings of him, Wardlow had at least hoped for a ransom demand that would prove Tallis was still alive. To secure his release, he’d be happy to pay the amount from his own pocket. But no demand came and there was no hint of the whereabouts of his guest.

  It was time to try something else. While they were doing their best, the police had restricted resources. Wardlow therefore sent a telegraph to the commissioner at Scotland Yard, knowing that it would get an instant response. Desperate to do something of his own to help the hunt for his missing friend, he acted on impulse and headed for the railway station. If the police were unable to find Tallis, they needed to be reinforced and the best place to get those reinforcements was in Hythe. The crisis had only arisen becaus
e Tallis was attending a reunion as an honoured guest at his old regiment. Soldiers had to come to his rescue.

  The shock of Grosvenor’s arrival had been matched by the suddenness of his departure. No sooner had he taken control of the investigation than he was called back to handle an emergency. Colbeck and Leeming were simultaneously relieved and disturbed, glad to be rid of him while concerned for the fate of Edward Tallis.

  ‘Who could want to abduct him?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘We don’t know that that’s what happened, Victor. The telegraph was brief. It seemed to be working on an assumption rather than on solid evidence. As to your question,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the answer is simple. He is a figurehead at Scotland Yard. Criminals identify him as a loathsome enemy because he’s responsible for dispatching the detectives who hunt them down. Hundreds of villains have gone to prison, cursing his name.’

  ‘I curse his name sometimes but it doesn’t make me want to kidnap him.’

  ‘Let’s hope that it is a kidnap. It would mean that he’s still alive and that a ransom will be demanded for his release.’

  ‘How much is he worth?’

  ‘A hundred times as much as Grosvenor, in my opinion,’ said Colbeck with feeling. ‘Tallis is indispensable. He is not.’

  ‘Why doesn’t someone abduct Mouldy and do all of us a favour?’

  After his visit to the brothel, Leeming had returned to their office to learn of the latest development. Like Colbeck, he felt that they were in charge of the case again. He described his visit to Claire Knight’s abode and how unlike it was to the establishments where he’d made arrests in London.

  ‘The daughter is known as Euphemia.’

  Colbeck was amused. ‘That’s singularly inappropriate,’ he said. ‘I seem to remember that Euphemia was a virgin saint martyred in the fourth century. It’s hardly the right name for a prostitute.’