Inspector Colbeck's Casebook Read online

  When they awoke next morning, they had a pleasant surprise. The sketchbook had magically reappeared with Madeleine’s drawings of Puffing Billy intact. She was so determined not to lose it again that she took it down to breakfast and tucked it behind her on the chair. Now that they had it back in their possession, there was no need to talk to the housekeeper. As soon as the meal was over, therefore, Colbeck went to the reception area to challenge the manager.

  ‘Why were you so certain that the sketchbook would be returned?’

  ‘It was just a feeling I had, sir,’ said Whitchurch, glibly. ‘When the thief realised that he would get next to nothing for it, he decided to give it back.’

  ‘I’ve spent my career dealing with thieves,’ Colbeck told him, ‘and I’ve never met one who would even consider returning stolen property. If it’s no use to them, they simply toss it away or destroy it. You knew, didn’t you?’

  Whitchurch feigned bafflement. ‘I don’t understand, Inspector.’

  ‘You understand me all too well. You knew who took it from our room and you probably knew who took that lady’s brooch as well. I believe that a pair of spectacles was also taken. I daresay that the same thief took those.’ He locked his gaze on the manager. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the other, briskly.

  ‘I think you’re lying.’

  ‘Why on earth should I do that, sir?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ Colbeck remembered something. ‘When that other guest complained about the loss of her brooch, you promised to reimburse her. Couldn’t you have arranged for that item to be returned as well?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I don’t follow.’

  ‘Then let me put it more bluntly. I suggest that you are either a conjurer who can pluck things out of the air or you are in league with the thief. How else can you predict the return of a sketchbook?’

  Whitchurch squared his shoulders. ‘I really don’t see what all the fuss is about, Inspector Colbeck. Your wife’s property was lost and now it’s been returned. I would have thought it was a cause for celebration and not an excuse to accuse me of crimes that I didn’t commit.’ His smile was icy. ‘If you have incontrovertible evidence that I was an accomplice, please arrest me and I will defend myself robustly in court. If, however, you are unable to furnish any proof in support of your insulting allegation, I’ll ask you to let me get on with my job.’ He brushed an imaginary crumb off his lapel. ‘You and Mrs Colbeck are just two of a large number of guests that I have to look after. I apologise for any inconvenience caused but, as far as I’m concerned, the matter is now settled.’

  At that moment, an elderly couple came into view. They had come to check out of the hotel and the manager switched his attention to them. Colbeck was irked. Certain that the man was hiding something, he was unable to interrogate him in the presence of others. When more guests converged on the manager, Colbeck decided to postpone his questioning until later.

  Madeleine was as eager as her husband to find out what had really happened. While he was talking to the manager, she was ascending the servants’ staircase. Instead of leaving it at the first-floor level, however, she carried on to the floor above then walked slowly along the corridor. Madeleine was startled when a door ahead of her suddenly opened and an old woman crept out before closing and locking the door. She was of medium height and wore an elegant dress. Although she looked like a guest, she headed towards the servants’ staircase. When she saw Madeleine in front of her, she gave an apologetic giggle and went off to the main staircase at the other end of the corridor. There was an almost childlike glee in the way that she scurried along. Madeleine wondered if it was the same woman that she’d seen on the staircase the night before. The other one had looked younger but, then, the gaslights had shed an uncertain light. Madeleine could have been deceived. The similarity in their build and attire inclined her to decide that it had been the same woman. Why was she so intent on using the wrong staircase?

  When she returned to her room and told him what she’d seen, Colbeck provided a possible answer to the question.

  ‘Perhaps the lady you saw is the thief,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘It’s not the manager who’s the accomplice, it’s that porter who was about to go up a staircase which was barred to him. If he took luggage up to the guest rooms, he’d be able to advise the woman what she could steal.’ He checked himself. ‘But why pick on a sketchbook and a pair of spectacles?’

  ‘There was something odd about the woman,’ recalled Madeleine. ‘She was in what I can only call a state of excitement.’

  ‘That’s easily explained,’ he said, fondly. ‘Whenever I look at you, I’m always in a state of excitement.’

  She smiled at the compliment. ‘Be serious, Robert.’

  He kissed her. ‘I am serious.’

  ‘I’m going back up there,’ she decided.

  ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

  Once again, Madeleine took the sketchbook with her. There was no way that she was going to part with Puffing Billy again. They went up the main staircase to the second floor and found it empty. Halfway along it was an alcove so they were able to conceal themselves from view. It was a long wait and they were tempted to abandon their vigil as an act of folly. Then they heard footsteps coming up the stone steps. A face peered into the corridor. Thinking that it was safe to do so, a young man crept into view and knocked four times in quick succession on a door. It was opened almost immediately and he went inside. After the door was shut, they heard the key turn in the lock.

  ‘It’s that porter I met last night,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘He’s obviously gone to visit the thief to see what her latest haul is.’

  ‘But she didn’t come out from that room, Robert. She came out of one on the other side of the corridor.’

  ‘Did she lock it afterwards?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Then she must have a master key. She’s posing as a guest at the hotel so that she can let herself into rooms that she knows are unoccupied. That young porter has given the game away,’ he said, stepping out of the alcove. ‘Thanks to you, we’ve caught them red-handed.’

  He led Madeleine to the room that the porter had entered and rapped on the door with his knuckles. When there was no sound from within, he banged with his fist. A woman’s voice called out that she would be there in a moment. In fact, it was over a minute before the door opened a few inches and an attractive face peeped around it. Madeleine knew at once that it was not the old lady she’d seen earlier. This one was much younger and – though they only got a glimpse of it – was wearing a silk dressing gown. Before he could speak, Colbeck felt her grab his arm.

  ‘Do excuse us,’ said Madeleine to the woman. ‘We’ve obviously come to the wrong room.’ She pulled her husband away. ‘I think it must be at the other end of the corridor.’

  The woman didn’t linger. Closing the door firmly, she locked it behind them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Colbeck, bemused.

  ‘We were misled, Robert. That was the woman I saw on the staircase last night and she wasn’t letting an accomplice in.’ Madeleine smiled uncomfortably. ‘I should have noticed how handsome that young porter was because I fancy that one of the guests certainly did.’

  ‘Oh, so it was an assignation,’ he realised. ‘When her young friend didn’t turn up last night, she came down the servants’ staircase looking for him, and fled when she spotted you. Oh dear!’ he exclaimed. ‘I can’t pretend to condone what may be going on in that room but it’s no business of ours and I’m embarrassed that we interrupted them.’ He scratched his head. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I’ll stay here in case the older lady comes back.’

  ‘Then I’ll tackle the manager again. Something very strange is going on in this hotel – and I don’t mean the secret liaison that we just stumbled upon. The manager is involved somehow and I intend to discover exa
ctly how.’ He glanced at the sketchbook. ‘Would you like me to look after Puffing Billy for you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Madeleine, hugging the sketchbook more tightly. ‘I’m not letting go of him until we get safely back home.’

  When he got back downstairs, Colbeck saw that the assistant manager was handling enquiries from guests. Andrew Whitchurch had retired to his office. Thinking that the man was deliberately avoiding him, Colbeck went across to the office and bunched his hand to knock. Before he could do so, he heard sounds of a heated argument on the other side of the door. He returned to the assistant manager.

  ‘Mr Whitchurch appears to have company,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Is it yet another guest complaining that something has been stolen?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘I distinctly heard a woman’s voice raised in accusation.’

  ‘That would be Mrs Whitchurch,’ said the other. ‘It’s the manager’s wife.’

  Hidden in the alcove, Madeleine did not have long to wait this time. The old woman she had seen earlier made a second appearance, creeping stealthily along the corridor. She then let herself into a room and shut the door silently behind her. Madeleine came out of her hiding place at once. The woman had gone into a different room to the one she’d earlier left and her furtive manner confirmed that she had no right to be there. Madeleine had found the thief at last.

  It was less than a minute before the woman came out of the room, clutching a pair of slippers. When she saw Madeleine waiting for her, she giggled. Making no attempt to run away, she held up the slippers as if they were some kind of trophy. Madeleine showed her the sketchbook.

  ‘Why did you steal this from our room?’ she asked.

  ‘I liked the drawings,’ said the woman, grinning inanely.

  ‘But this is my property. You shouldn’t have taken it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘It upset me a great deal.’

  The woman giggled. ‘You’ve got it back now.’

  Madeleine saw that it was futile to attempt a proper conversation with the woman. Her voice was high and childish and she clearly had no idea that what she had done was to commit a crime. Madeleine felt desperately sorry for her. The woman was patently deranged in some way. The next moment, Colbeck came walking along the corridor with the hotel manager. Whitchurch was horrified when he saw what the woman was holding in her hands.

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ he cried in despair. ‘What have you taken this time?’

  Madeleine was as good as her word. When they stepped into an empty compartment, she was still clasping Puffing Billy to her breast. He would be held close to her heart all the way back to London.

  ‘I think it’s safe to say that it was an eventful visit,’ remarked Colbeck.

  ‘It was a little too eventful for my liking, Robert.’

  ‘You got what you came to get, my love.’

  ‘But I had it stolen for a while,’ she recalled. ‘That was terrifying. I’d have been far less upset if she’d taken my handbag or one of my dresses.’

  ‘The poor lady simply took the first thing that came to hand, Madeleine. There was no thought of stealing for gain. Kleptomania is a cruel disease of the mind,’ he said, sadly. ‘It’s an uncontrollable desire to take things from others for the simple pleasure of doing so. Nothing she stole was of any practical use or value to her.’

  ‘All that I could do was to offer her my sympathy.’

  ‘I reserved mine for the manager,’ said Colbeck. ‘Think how much Mr Whitchurch must have paid out in compensation to angry guests. He did everything in his power to conceal the fact that his mother had somehow acquired a replica of the master key so that she could let herself into any room she chose. His wife tried to keep an eye on her mother-in-law but the older Mrs Whitchurch was far too guileful. Driven by the urge to steal, she always found a means of escape.’

  Madeleine shook her head. ‘She won’t be doing that any more, Robert.’

  ‘No, her spree is over at last. Whitchurch accepted that he and his wife can no longer cope with her antics. He’s putting his mother in the care of a cousin who lives in the country. She’ll have far less opportunity to steal anything there and will, to some extent, be isolated from temptation. It’s not an ideal solution but it avoids the stigma of having his mother committed to a mental asylum. However,’ he went on, brightening, ‘let’s remember the more pleasant aspects of our holiday, shall we? You achieved your objective and we had the luxury of time alone together. In addition, of course, you proved that you were more than a match for me as a detective.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, Robert.’

  ‘Take full credit,’ he insisted. ‘I was tempted to arrest the manager. It was you who discovered the real identity of the thief. In terms of detection, I am merely a Puffing Billy, an ancient relic, whereas you are truly a Lord of the Isles – or, should I say, a Lady of the Isles?’

  THE END OF THE LINE

  England, 1852

  Matthew Proudfoot was a man who insisted on getting value for money. As one of the directors of the Great Western Railway, he had invested heavily in the company and believed that it entitled him to special privileges. When he learnt that an off-duty train was going from London to Swindon that evening, therefore, he effectively commandeered it, and, as its sole passenger, issued strict instructions to the driver. James Barrett was wiping his hands on an oily rag when the portly figure of Proudfoot strode up to the locomotive. Recognising him at once, Barrett straightened his back and gave a deferential smile.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Proudfoot.’

  ‘I need to be at Reading station by eight o’clock,’ said the other, curtly. ‘I expect the ride to be swift but comfortable.’

  ‘But we’re not supposed to stop, sir,’ explained Barrett, glancing at his fireman. ‘The engine is being taken out of service so that repairs can be made at Swindon.’

  ‘On her way there, she can oblige me.’

  ‘I have to follow orders, Mr Proudfoot.’

  ‘I’ve just given them. Take me to Reading.’

  ‘But I need permission, sir.’

  ‘You’ve got permission, man,’ said Proudfoot, testily. ‘I’ve spoken to your superiors. That’s why the first-class carriage was added to the train. It’s the only way I’d deign to travel.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Remember that you have a director of the company aboard.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ promised Barrett.

  ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on the performance of the train.’

  ‘You’ll have no reason for complaint, sir.’

  ‘I hope not,’ warned Proudfoot.

  And he turned on his heel so that he could stalk off and accost the guard at the rear of the train. Barrett and Neale watched him go. The driver was a wiry man in his thirties with years of service on the Great Western Railway. He took a pride in his job. His fireman, Alfred Neale, short, thin, angular, still in his twenties, was also an experienced railway man. Unlike his workmate, he showed open resentment.

  ‘He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, Jim,’ he said.

  ‘I take no notice.’

  ‘But you’re one of the best drivers we’ve got. Mr Proudfoot should have shown you some respect. Who does he think he is – God Bloody Almighty?’

  ‘Forget him, Alf,’ suggested Barrett. ‘We’ve got a job to do even if it don’t get the recognition it deserves. Is he on board yet?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Neale, sourly, looking back down the platform. ‘His Majesty’s just climbing into his first-class carriage. Anyone would think that he owned the train. Stop at Reading, he tells us! I think we should go all the way to Swindon and to hell with him.’

  Barrett gave a weary smile. ‘Orders is orders, Alf.’

  ‘I’ve half a mind to ignore ’em.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t,’ said the other, consulting a battered watch that he took from his w
aistcoat pocket. ‘Mr Proudfoot wants to be there by eight, does he? Fair enough.’ He put the watch away. ‘Let’s deliver him bang on time.’

  Fifteen minutes later, the train steamed out of Paddington.

  When he first heard the details of the crime, Robert Colbeck was baffled. As an inspector in the Detective Department at Scotland Yard, he had dealt with many strange cases but none that had made him blink in astonishment before. He rehearsed the facts.

  ‘When the train left London,’ he said, ‘Matthew Proudfoot was the only passenger in a first-class carriage. The guard was travelling in the brake van, the driver and fireman on the footplate.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ agreed Edward Tallis.

  ‘None of those three men left his post throughout the entire journey yet, when the train stopped at Reading station, Mr Proudfoot was dead.’

  ‘Stabbed through the heart.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘That’s for you to find out,’ said Tallis, crisply. ‘As you know, the Great Western Railway has its own police but their work is largely supervisory. They watch over the track and act as signalmen. A murder investigation is well beyond them. That’s why we’ve been called in.’

  Robert Colbeck pondered. Tall, slim and well favoured, he wore a light brown frock coat, with rounded edges and a high neck, dark trousers and an ascot cravat. Though he had the appearance of a dandy, Colbeck was essentially a man of action who never shirked danger. He pressed for more detail.

  ‘What was the average speed of the train?’ he asked.

  ‘Thirty-five miles per hour.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because that’s the approximate distance between Paddington and Reading, and it took almost exactly an hour to reach the station. So you can rule out the obvious explanation,’ said Tallis, briskly. ‘Nobody jumped onto the train while it was in motion – not unless he wanted to kill himself, that is. It was going too fast.’

  ‘Too fast to jump onto, perhaps,’ decided Colbeck. ‘But a brave man could jump off the train at that speed – especially if he chose the right place and rolled down a grassy embankment. That might be the answer, Superintendent,’ he speculated. ‘Suppose that Mr Proudfoot was not the sole occupant of that carriage. Someone may already have concealed himself in one of the other compartments.’