Her friendship with Robert Colbeck had not only brought her intense pleasure, it had also broadened the mind of Madeleine Andrews in every way. Even before she met him, she had been interested in books but had never been able to find enough suitable reading matter. Colbeck solved that problem. From his own extensive library, he loaned her a whole series of volumes. While many were related to the history of railways, he took care to provide her with a variety of novels as well. As she sat at home that evening, reading by the light of the lamp, she realised why Colbeck had urged her to read Dombey and Son. Two of the scenes in Dickens' novel had been set in Camden and depicted the upheaval caused when the London to Birmingham line cut right through it. Madeleine had been a child when the railway had been built nearby but her father, who now travelled on it daily as an engine driver, had vivid recollections of the clamour and disruption. Charles Dickens was recreating it for her.
Because she expected to hear Caleb Andrews' footsteps at any minute, she read on with her ears pricked. When a cab rattled down the street and stopped outside, her first thought, therefore, was that he had been injured at work and sent home. Putting the novel aside, she rushed to open the door only to see Colbeck paying the cab driver. Madeleine let out a cry of joy. Doffing his top hat, he gave her a kiss then followed her into the house. He noticed the book immediately.
'Ah, you've started it, have you?'
'Yes, Robert. It's wonderful to see Camden portrayed in a novel. Thank you so much for recommending it.'
'There are four railway scenes in all,' he said, 'and they're very well-written. However, I'm not going to let Dickens come between us. I came here to see you and not to talk about him.'
'I've missed you so much,' she said, squeezing his hands. 'What have you been doing and where have you been?'
'I've been hunting a killer in Cardiff and he's proving to be extremely elusive – so is the young lady, for that matter.'
'What young lady?'
'The one involved in the murder.'
They sat close to each other and he gave her a carefully edited version of the crimes he was investigating. Though she was intrigued to hear details of the case, Madeleine was also interested in the mention of Nigel Buckmaster's theatre company.
'You took me to see him playing Othello,' she recalled. 'I didn't understand everything that was going on but I was deeply moved by Desdemona's plight. She was such a helpless victim.'
'Miss Kate Linnane excelled herself in the role,' he said, 'and, by all accounts, has been magnificent as Lady Macbeth. I only wish that I could have taken you to see it at Saturday's matinee performance.'
'Is there no hope of that, Robert?'
'Probably not – this investigation may occupy me for some time. Besides, we might not, in any case, be able to see Miss Linnane in person. Before I left the town, we had a report that she'd been kidnapped and the police are still looking for her.'
Colbeck was unaware that the leading lady had now rejoined the company and he had been wondering how the young understudy had fared in her place. Madeleine was distressed to hear about the abduction and hoped that the actress would soon be found. She was also worried for Colbeck's safety.
'Murder, robbery and kidnap,' she said in dismay. 'Cardiff sounds like a very dangerous place.'
'It pales into insignificance beside the rookeries of St Giles or Seven Dials,' he told her, 'and, though it could do with more men, it has an efficient police force. You'd feel quite secure walking alone down the main thoroughfares of Cardiff. With regard to the murder, of course, we're not dealing with local criminals. The two people we have in mind came into the town from England to commit their crimes.'
'What about the kidnap?'
'I'm not in charge of that case, Madeleine.'
'You must know something of the details.'
'I've been too preoccupied with my own investigation to pay much attention to the fate of Miss Linnane,' he admitted, 'but I have the feeling that she'll soon be found. Jeremiah Stockdale, the police superintendent, is very capable. It will not be long before he tracks the lady down.'
Stockdale simmered with anger. Having paid a rare visit to the Theatre Royal to watch Macbeth, he had expected Nigel Buckmaster to be playing opposite an understudy. Instead, he was startled to see Kate Linnane appearing as Lady Macbeth at a time when Stockdale's men were still out searching for her. It spoilt the performance completely for him. While the rest of the audience was captivated by the swirling drama, he remained wholly uninvolved. When rapturous applause echoed around the theatre at the end of the play, Stockdale did not join in. Instead of clapping together, his hands were bunched tight like those of a prize fighter. He was livid.
There was no point in accosting them there. Nigel Buckmaster and Kate Linnane would be surrounded by admirers the moment they stepped out of the building. Among those rushing to the stage door would be the Town Clerk, who had come to worship at the feet of the leading lady yet again. There would be dozens like him, lonely and impressionable men enthralled by the beauty, passion and nobility of Lady Macbeth. Stockdale had to bide his time. Pushing his way through the milling crowd outside, he strode purposefully back in the direction of St Mary Street. He had a lengthy wait. It was almost two hours before the actor-manager and his leading lady finally returned to the Railway Hotel. Stockdale ambushed them in the foyer.
'I wonder if I could have a word with you?' he asked in a voice that made it clear they had no alternative.
'Why, it's you, superintendent,' said Buckmaster with a flamboyant gesture. 'I didn't recognise you out of your uniform. You cut a fine figure in evening wear, I must say. Was this transformation brought about for any particular occasion?'
'Yes, sir – I attended a performance of Macbeth.' The others traded an uneasy glance and began to mouth excuses. 'Perhaps we should discuss this in private,' Stockdale said, interrupting them. 'I promised the manager that I wouldn't arrest you in public.'
Buckmaster goggled. 'Arrest!'
'We've done nothing wrong,' protested Kate.
'That's exactly the point, Miss Linnane,' said Stockdale. 'Nothing wrong was done. I have been investigating a crime that never actually took place.' His smile was glacial. 'Shall we go upstairs?'
Followed by the superintendent, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth went up to Buckmaster's room. They were not acknowledging an ecstatic audience now nor were they garnering praise from their enthusiastic well-wishers at the stage door. They were compelled to produce a very different performance and it was one they had never rehearsed. When they reached the room, Buckmaster unlocked the door with his key. After helping Kate remove her cape, he took off his top hat and cloak before turning up the gaslight to brighten the room. Taking a stance in the middle of the carpet, he launched into his defence.
'We are deeply sorry, Superintendent,' he said, one hand to his breast. 'Common courtesy dictated that we should have told you of Miss Linnane's miraculous escape from her kidnapper. The truth of the matter is that we simply didn't have the time. Twenty minutes before the curtain was due to rise, Miss Linnane burst into the theatre and announced that – in spite of the appalling trial she'd had to undergo – she would honour her commitment to the company and take on her role. I'm sure you'll agree that she did so with the brilliance we've come to associate with her.'
'Thank you, Mr Buckmaster,' said Stockdale, curtly, 'but I've heard enough speeches from you this evening and I don't propose to listen to any more – even though you no longer wear that kilt.' He turned to Kate. 'What have you to say, Miss Linnane?'
'I'm still haunted by the memory of it,' she claimed, looking anguished. 'I was snatched from my room, forced to travel to London and kept in a dark cellar for hours on end. When I managed to escape, I hastened back to Cardiff to play the part for which I'd been engaged. All else went from my mind.'
'Who abducted you?'
'It was a crazed fellow who has been stalking me for months, Superintendent. When he saw his opportunity, he pounced.'
'Then I must ask you the question that Inspector Colbeck first put,' said Stockdale. 'Why did you not resist and call out? You almost screeched down the walls of the castle on stage tonight so I know that your lungs are in good order. What happened to your voice during the kidnap? Did he threaten to kill you if you raised the alarm?'
'Yes, yes,' she said, clutching at the suggestion. 'That was it.'
'Now you know the full story,' concluded Buckmaster, 'so you must excuse us. We are very tired and Miss Linnane has been through a very harrowing day.'
'So have my men,' said Stockdale. 'Constable Roberts and Constable Parker made a totally unnecessary trip to London in pursuit of this mythical kidnapper and several other policemen went searching for witnesses in Cardiff itself. I put it to you, Miss Linnane, that this whole episode was devised by you for some personal reason, as a result of which the Cardiff Borough Police were needlessly distracted from pursuing real criminals.'
'I was abducted!' she cried, falling back on defiance.
'Do you subscribe to this lie, Mr Buckmaster?'
'I stand by what Miss Linnane has told you,' said the actor.
'Then perhaps you'd explain something to me, sir. When Miss Linnane returned to Cardiff after her dramatic escape from a dark cellar, why didn't you inform us immediately of her return?'
'I told you – we didn't have time.'
'The performance was delayed by half an hour. That gave you plenty of time to send someone to the police station. One of your underlings could run the distance in less than five minutes.'
'We are actors, Superintendent,' said Buckmaster, grandly. 'The play must always come first. Our public awaited us.'
'I've been awaiting you as well,' said Stockdale, grimly, 'and I got into conversation with the manager while I did so. Mr Pugh is a shrewd gentleman. He suggested that it was unlikely that anyone would simply charge in off the street and drag Miss Linnane out. To begin with, how would this fellow know where to find her room? Mr Pugh had the answer to that. He wondered if the kidnapper was already staying here as a guest.' Kate clenched her teeth. 'He allowed me to look through the register and do you know what I found? There's someone who booked in two days ago by the name of Michael Linnane.' The two of them wilted under his glare. 'Do I need to say anything more?'
After a night at home in the bosom of his family, Victor Leeming looked much happier and healthier. The bandaging around his head obliged him to wear his top hat at a rakish angle and he collected some curious stares as he and Colbeck walked along the platform at Paddington Station, but he was unperturbed by the attention. When they found an empty carriage, they removed their hats then sat down opposite each other. Leeming's good humour was not only occasioned by the fact that he was hoping to arrest the man who assaulted him. He was relieved that they would not be staying away overnight and that he could return to the comforts of the marital couch in due course.
'I've been looking at a map of where we're going,' he began.
Colbeck patted his pocket. 'I've brought one with me, Victor.'
'The one I saw had part of South Wales on it and what puzzled me was this. Why didn't they build a railway bridge across the River Severn? That would have been the most direct route.'
'The most direct and the most sensible,' agreed Colbeck, 'which is exactly why it was suggested when the line was first mooted. There was a proposal for a long bridge across the river west of Gloucester. Local objection, alas, was so powerful that the scheme had to be abandoned. The line was diverted through the Forest of Dean so Mr Brunel had no need to bridge the Severn. His engineering skills were, however, put to the test.'
'Yes, Inspector – I saw the viaducts at Chepstow and Newport.'
Colbeck was amused. 'You're improving, Victor. There was a time when you hardly looked out of the window of a train.'
'I'm usually too busy praying that we'll arrive safely.'
'Accidents on the railway are not that common.'
'Tell that to the passengers on the Brighton express,' said Leeming. 'The ones who survived the crash last year, that is.'
It was a case that still troubled Leeming. The express had been involved in a head-on collision with a ballast train. He remembered the devastation caused. Though the accident had been deliberately engineered, Leeming's fears were not stilled. Whenever he was tugged along at high speed by an iron monster breathing fire and pulsing with energy, he thought about the Brighton express and longed for the more leisurely days when the stagecoach was the principal mode of transport.
'Where do we start, Inspector?' he asked.
'In Gloucester,' replied Colbeck. 'It's a cathedral city with a pleasant aspect. It could well attract two refugees from London.'
'You can see why they told nobody where they were going.'
'They wanted to cut their ties with the past and start afresh. At least, that's the way it looks. There was nothing to keep Stephen Voke in London and we must assume that the same is true of the young lady who went with him.'
'All that we have is her Christian name – Bridget.'
'I'm not convinced of that,' said Colbeck. 'If she did set out to entrap Hugh Kellow, she might well have given a false name. I've also been thinking about those ransom letters sent to Mrs Tomkins. Two of them were written by a woman but the others – in block capitals – could just as easily have been penned by a man.'
'What do you deduce from that, sir?'
'I'm not sure. It worries me.'
'Perhaps the young woman was not even in Cardiff at the time the last two letters were sent,' observed Leeming. 'The only person involved in the exchange was a man. He was operating alone.'
'I doubt that,' said Colbeck. 'He'd have used his accomplice as a lookout. They've always been extremely careful in the past. We are up against people who take no chances.'
'Then how do we catch them?'
'We exploit their weakness.'
'I didn't know that they had one, sir.'
'They do now, Victor,' said Colbeck. 'Their venture into crime is over. They committed murder and, with the keys stolen from their victim, they emptied Leonard Voke's safe. They used the silver coffee pot cleverly to fleece Mrs Tomkins. Now that they've got what they want, they'll have left Cardiff to begin a respectable new life. In short, they'll think they got away with it. That's their weak spot – they believe they're completely safe.'
'What about that carriage?'
'You mean the one stolen from Mrs Tomkins?'
'Yes, Inspector – it would bring in a tidy sum if they sold it along with the two horses.'
'It would also arouse suspicion,' said Colbeck, 'and that will deter them. Stephen Voke, I fancy, does not look like someone who is a legitimate owner of a splendid carriage. There's another thing to consider, Victor. Have you ever driven a vehicle with two horses between the shafts?'
'I'm not stupid enough to try, sir. They'd be a handful.'
'Mr Voke will be no coachman either. I think he only stole the carriage in order to buy time for his escape. At the rate she walks, it would have taken Mrs Tomkins some while to get home and report what happened. The villains might have left Cardiff by then.'
'What will they have done with the carriage?'
'Abandoned it, more than likely,' said Colbeck. 'It's no use to them now. It would only get them noticed when they seek anonymity. No, it will turn up in due course.'
'Where was it found?' asked Clifford Tomkins, looking at the carriage.
'A few miles from here,' replied Stockdale. 'It was standing beside a stream well away from the main road. The horses were cropping the grass. If it hadn't been for a man who went fishing in that stream, the carriage might still be there.'
'He deserves a reward.'
'He's already had it, sir. He was a poacher trespassing on private property. I overlooked that offence in return for the information he gave me.'
They were standing on the forecourt of the Tomkins' residence. A policeman had driven the carriage there with the superintendent as his passenger. Stockdale seized on the offer of money.
'You're very fortunate to get it back in this condition, sir,' he pointed out. 'The horses could have been harmed and the carriage damaged. You'd have incurred a sizeable debt. Since you are minded to give a reward, might I suggest that a donation to the Borough Police Force is in order?'
'You shall have it, Superintendent.'
'Thank you, sir. We need money to fight crime.'
'I think you've earned it.'
Tomkins was not speaking from a philanthropic impulse. The ironmaster was recalling Stockdale's discretion with regard to his nocturnal antics in a brothel. That deserved recognition. They were still talking when Winifred Tomkins came out of the house.
'We've got it back!' she cried, coming over to them.
'I'll explain all the details later,' said Tomkins.
'That's one load off my mind, Superintendent. We've had that carriage for years. One grows attached to things like that.' She peered at it more closely. 'Is it damaged in any way?'
'No, Mrs Tomkins,' said Stockdale. 'We inspected it carefully. I suggest that you get your coachman to take it round to the stables. After all this time, the horses need to be unharnessed – they're very restive, as you can see.'
'I'll organise that at once,' said Tomkins, walking away.
'Thank you so much, Superintendent,' said Winifred. 'I've been having nightmares about that carriage.'
'I did promise that you'd get it back – and your money.'
'Strictly speaking, it's not mine any more.'
'Oh?'
'Clifford – my husband – came round to my point of view in the end. Since he commissioned the coffee pot as a gift, he accepted that he should bear any costs pertaining to it. He's agreed to pay me every penny that I lost.'
Stockdale suppressed a grin. 'That's very handsome of him.'
'Now that we have our carriage back, he can't keep blaming me for losing it in the first place.'
'You didn't exactly lose it, Mrs Tomkins. It was taken from you by a man with a pistol. In those circumstances, your husband would have yielded up the carriage as well.'
'That's exactly what I told him.'
'You'll be able to sleep more soundly from now on.'
'Oh, I will,' she said with gratitude. 'You saved us from so much embarrassment, Superintendent. What happened with respect to the coffee pot can be kept secret but we could not have hidden the fact that our carriage had been stolen. Tongues would have wagged. You know the kind of rumours that can spread.'
'They've been nipped in the bud, Mrs Tomkins.'
He looked up to see her husband returning with the coachman and pointing to the carriage. Strutting along with his chest out and his stomach pulled in, Tomkins gave the impression that he had retrieved the vehicle in person. He snapped his fingers and the coachman took over, first patting the horses to calm them down then climbing up on to the seat to drive the carriage away.
'I can see why you wanted it back,' said Stockdale. 'It's a very comfortable ride.'
'Far more comfortable than Lady Pryde's phaeton,' Winifred interjected. 'I can assure you of that.'
'I'll have to take your word for it, Mrs Tomkins. I can't envisage myself ever being invited to sit beside Lady Pryde.'
'Then you should be grateful.'
'What happens next, Superintendent?' asked Tomkins. 'When will you recover my money?'
'More to the point,' said his wife, 'when will I finally have my silver coffee pot?'
'I'm in no position to answer either of those questions,' said Stockdale, 'because I am no longer involved in the investigation. It's moved outside Cardiff and thus out of my hands. Inspector Colbeck is pursuing the matter elsewhere. I have to confine myself to finding kidnapped actresses and recovering stolen carriages.'
Winifred's brow creased. 'Kidnapped actresses, you say?'
'There was a slight problem with the theatre company, Mrs Tomkins, but it's been resolved now. Mr Buckmaster was so grateful that he gave me several free tickets for Saturday's performance. He was also kind enough to donate some money to us.'
'But who was kidnapped?'
'Nobody – it was all a misunderstanding.'
'Well, the theft of that coffee pot was not a misunderstanding,' said Tomkins, sulkily. 'It's cost me almost as much as the locomotive on which it was modelled. I hope that Inspector Colbeck realises that.'
The fugitives were not in Gloucester. That was established without any difficulty. After alighting at the railway station, Colbeck and Leeming walked to a silversmith near the centre of the city and asked him if he was expecting to have more competition in the area.
'Not if I can help it,' said Jack Grindle, gruffly. 'There's barely enough work to keep the rest of us going.'
'This looks like a fairly prosperous town,' said Colbeck.
'People don't always want to spend their money on jewellery, Inspector. When farmers make a profit, they buy more stock and their wives have little desire for my handiwork. New dresses and pretty bonnets are what they prefer. There's over 17,000 people living in Gloucester and most of them work in the docks, the foundries, the timber mills, the flow mills and such like. You won't find much interest in silverware there. It's a luxury they can't afford.'
It was a small shop but the silverware on display was of a high quality. Grindle had an apprentice and an assistant in the back room so he clearly had enough work to justify their wages. He was a big, raw-boned, hirsute man in his forties with the build of a blacksmith yet his hands were small and delicate. He blinked constantly.
'Where would you go, Mr Grindle?' asked Leeming.
'I'm staying right here,' rejoined the silversmith, truculently. 'This is my shop and nobody will turn me out of it.'
'That's not what I meant, sir.'
'Then why not say so?'
'What the sergeant is asking,' explained Colbeck, 'is only a hypothetical question.'
Grindle was baffled. 'And what's that when it's at home?'
'Supposing that you did want to move elsewhere and start afresh, which part of the country would you choose?'
'It would have to be London. That's where the money is.'
'The person we're interested in has just left the city. We think that he might have headed in this direction.'
'Then he'd better not show his nose in Gloucester.'
'Is there anywhere in the area that might attract him?'
Grindle scratched his head. 'I can't name a place, Inspector,' he said with a sniff, 'but I can tell you this. If I was starting up again, I'd choose somewhere that was close to rich folk in large country houses. It's the aristocracy and the gentry that like silver tableware. Find someone who wants plate and cutlery and you find a good living.'
'Where would you suggest that we look?' said Colbeck.
'Anywhere but here,' was the blunt reply.
'And you're sure that nobody has made enquiries in the city?'
'If they had, I'd have got to hear about it. We stick together for our own protection in this trade. We won't let any Tom, Dick or Harry stroll in and open up a shop just because he likes to hear cathedral bells on a Sunday. No,' said Grindle, 'the people you're after never came near Gloucester. You'll have to look somewhere else.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Colbeck. 'You've been very helpful.'
He and Leeming left the shop and closed the door behind him.
'I don't think he was any help at all,' said Leeming. 'If he's as rude as that to customers, he won't keep many of them.'
'Mr Grindle is exactly what we need, Victor.'
'Is he?'
'Yes – he guards his own territory and bristles at the slightest hint of a fresh rival. In five minutes, he saved us the trouble of looking anywhere else in the city.'
'So what do we do now, sir?'
'We go on to Chepstow,' said Colbeck, happily, 'and we find someone exactly like Jack Grindle, Silversmith.'
Leonard Voke had been a principal victim of the crimes and despair had eaten into his soul. Since his safe was ransacked, he had had neither the confidence nor the need to open his shop. Without his tools he could make nothing. He spent most of the day sitting in his back room amid the ruins of his livelihood. Edward Tallis called on him and discovered Voke more demoralised than ever.
'There is no God,' said the silversmith, despondently. 'If there had been, I would never have had to suffer like this. My assistant has been murdered, my safe has been emptied and my ungrateful son is responsible for both crimes. Where is God's mercy in all that?'
'This is not the time for a theological discussion,' said Tallis, 'but I can assure you that there is a heaven. God looks down on us all with true pity.'
'I'm not aware of it, Superintendent.'
'You are still dazed by the shock of what happened to you.'
'Dazed?' echoed Voke. 'I've been smashed into pieces.'
Feeling that the old man deserved to be informed of the latest developments, Tallis had made the journey to Wood Street. There was no hope of cheering the silversmith up but he felt able to tell him that his detectives were closing in on the culprits. Voke listened to it all without comment. His mind was elsewhere.
'It's in two days' time,' he murmured.
'What is, Mr Voke?'
'The funeral – the arrangements have been made though there'll be precious few of us to see dear Hugh lowered into the ground.'
'There'll be his sister,' said Tallis, 'and I'm quite certain that his landlady, Mrs Jennings, will be there. Mr Kellow must have friends who need to be informed of the details.'
'I've put a notice in the newspapers.'
'That should bring some people in. Did his sister make any special requests for the service?'
'No,' said Voke, 'she was grateful to leave it all to me. After all that's happened, the poor creature can't think straight.'
'The sudden death of a loved one can have that affect. When that death is of such a violent and unnatural kind, of course, the agony is more searing.'
'Oh, I know all about agony,' groaned the old man.
Tallis did not let him wallow in his misery. He still felt that Voke, unbeknown to him, might have information tucked away at the back of his mind that could be of use in the investigation. The silversmith had so far refused to talk about his son unless it was to unleash a stream of vituperation. Hoping to provoke him into a more considered discussion, Tallis decided to tell him something about Stephen Voke that his father did not know.
'When your son left your employment, he changed somewhat.'
'Yes – he began to plot my destruction!'
'I was talking about his work,' said Tallis. 'I know that you thought him lazy but he seems to have applied himself to his craft. Not, I should add, when he was at Mr Stern's shop. This was when he was on his own. According to his landlord, Mr Meyrick, your son would spend almost all his spare time working on commissioned items for private customers.'
Voke was roused. 'Is this true?'
'He was so dedicated that he worked on into the night until there were complaints about the noise he was making with his hammer. Evidently, the walls in the house are rather thin.'
'I knew it!' yelled Voke. 'He stole my clients from me. I often wondered why people who had been very pleased with our work suddenly went elsewhere. Stephen must have poached them.'
'He could only do that by offering lower charges. The point is that he was not the complete wastrel you described to me. Your son obviously had a new incentive in life and it must be linked to the young woman who came into his life.'
'Which young woman, Superintendent – there were many.'
'This one concentrated his mind.'
'Yes,' said Voke, 'on how to abuse his father.'
'If he was prepared to run away with the lady, he was clearly committed to the liaison.' Tallis pulled a face. 'I'm bound to tell you that it's something I frown upon. Young men and women should not be allowed such free access to each other. It leads to depravity. There are social rules to obey. Unmarried couples should never be allowed to set up house wherever they choose. In some ways,' he conceded, 'this young woman seems to have been a good influence on your son. In other ways, I fear, she has led him off the straight and narrow path. Who is she, Mr Voke?'
'How should I know?'
'This is your son we're discussing.'
'He never brought friends home because he knew I'd disapprove of them. He shut me out of his life, Superintendent.' Something stirred in his memory. 'What about the advertisement you put in the press? Did anybody come forward apart from his landlord?'
'Not at first,' replied Tallis. 'Indeed, it took Mr Meyrick a while before he showed his face. Two other people did call on me but they were acquaintances of your son's rather than friends. They used to drink with him at some hostelry or other.'
'That's all Stephen ever did at one time.'
'Both of them told me the same thing – that your son wanted to move out of London altogether. Apparently, he kept talking about a holiday he'd had when he was much younger. It had made a big impression on him. The problem was,' Tallis went on, 'neither of them could recall the name of the place where you took him.'
Voke's eyes glazed over. 'I can tell you,' he said, wistfully. 'It was when Stephen was still a boy. My wife had a cousin who offered us the use of her cottage for a week. That was the only reason we went there. We had very few holidays after that. And yes,' he added, touched by the thought of happier times. 'Stephen did enjoy it. We were a real family then. We did things together.'
'And where exactly was this cottage, Mr Voke?'
'It was in Caerleon.'
Chepstow was a charming town that overlooked the River Wye near its junction with the Severn. Its forbidding castle was a reminder of the days when the Normans conquered England and extended their overlordship into Wales. Colbeck and Leeming were not detained there long. They spoke to three silversmiths and to the landlord of the town's largest public house. All four confirmed that nobody else intended to open a jewellery shop. Of these witnesses, the landlord was the most unequivocal, assuring them that very little happened in Chepstow that escaped his notice. After thanking this local oracle, the detectives adjourned to the railway station to await the next train.
Leeming was beginning to lose heart. 'Will we have any more luck in Newport, sir?'
'Wait and see,' said Colbeck.
'The next stop after that will be Cardiff.'
'They won't stay there for obvious reasons, Victor. They'll want to put a little distance between themselves and the scene of their crimes. They could, however, have moved further west to Swansea.'
'Do we have to go that far?' asked Leeming, worried that his hopes of returning home that night would disappear. 'And why should anyone in their right mind want to live here when they don't speak that peculiar language?'
'You'll find a lot of English people in South Wales,' said Colbeck, 'especially among the ironmasters and coalmine owners. They knew how to exploit the rich mineral resources there. Then, of course, there's Jeremiah Stockdale, another Englishman who settled down on this side of the border. We could do with his help now. He knows Newport very well.'
'I'm not surprised. He told me he was sent here a few years ago to quell riots during an election.'
'I was thinking of a much earlier visit than that. In 1839 there was a Chartist demonstration in Newport. Violence broke out.'
'That's right,' said Leeming. 'The superintendent made his most famous arrest in Newport. I remember him telling us about it.'
'The arrest was actually made in Cardiff. Zephaniah Williams, one of the Chartist ringleaders, escaped there and hid in the Sea Lock Hotel waiting for a ship to carry him to France. The superintendent disguised himself as a sailor,' recalled Colbeck with an admiring smile, 'and was rowed out to the vessel that would have taken Williams to safety. He made the arrest before the fugitive was fully awake.'
'I wish that we could make an arrest,' said Leeming, glumly.
'The time will come, Victor.'
'When?'
'Very soon, I trust.'
'Do we have to visit many more shops like the ones we've already been in? I find it so depressing, sir.'
'Why is that?'
'They're full of things I could never afford to buy. That last place had a silver tankard worth more than my house.'
'It was made in the reign of Charles II,' said Colbeck, 'and you have to admit that it was beautifully decorated. But I can see that that wouldn't carry any weight with you.'
'Tankards are to drink out of and not just to look at.'
'I'll spare you any more silverware in Newport. There may be another way to find what we're after.'
'And what's that, sir?'
'Well, I've been thinking about something that Miss Evans said to me. Stephen Voke made a ring for her but not while he was working at Solomon Stern's shop. It was made at his lodging. In other words,' Colbeck went on, 'he was working on private commissions in his own time. Perhaps he has no intention of opening a shop at all. He may be able to earn a living by getting commissions and working from home. We must search for his house.'
'How will we ever find it, Inspector?' wondered Leeming as a train steamed towards them. 'Newport is much bigger than Cardiff. They must have thousands of houses there.'
'Granted, Victor, but they won't all have changed hands recently.' He raised his voice above the approaching roar. 'We need to speak to someone who sells property in the town.'
There were times when Jeremiah Stockdale disliked his job because it gave him a disturbing insights into the depths to which human beings could sink. A week earlier, he had led a raid on a house in notorious Stanley Street where no fewer than fifty-four people were found crammed into four rooms. The pervading stink of poverty and degradation had stayed in his nostrils for days. Now, however, he was relishing his reign as the town's police chief. He was brimming with optimism. He had forced Nigel Buckmaster to pay full compensation for the time wasted by his men on a pointless search for a supposedly missing actress. He had been able to return a stolen carriage and horses to Clifford Tomkins and earn a generous reward. He had endeared himself even more to Winifred Tomkins. And such was his unwavering confidence in Robert Colbeck that he knew the murder at the Railway Hotel would be solved in time, bringing with it lavish praise for Stockdale's part in the investigation.
When he returned to the police station, therefore, he was in a cheerful mood. As he entered the outer office, he found a letter awaiting him on the desk. After exchanging a few jovial words with the custody sergeant, he opened the letter and read it with interest. An anxious look came into his eye and he read the missive again with more care. An expression of horror spread slowly across his face.
'Inspector Colbeck needs to see this,' he said. 'Urgently.'
It took much longer than Colbeck had expected. A large number of properties in Newport had acquired new owners in recent months. None of the auctioneers and house agents they approached had ever heard of Stephen Voke, leading the detectives to wonder if he had changed his name. It was only after hours of trudging from door to door that they were eventually given the information they sought. Colbeck immediately hired a trap and they set off for Caerleon.
'This is the way to travel,' said Leeming, contentedly.
'Only over short distances,' argued Colbeck. 'Had we set out from London in this trap, it would have taken two days to get here.'
'What sort of a place is Caerleon, sir?'
'We'll find out before too long, Victor. It's not all that far.'
'That man said that we had to go on beyond the ruins.'
'Yes, Caerleon was a Roman town. It was the headquarters of a legion so it must have been a place of importance. Now, it seems, it's a trading centre through which iron and tin are shipped.'
'What about silver?'
'I daresay that Stephen Voke will answer that question.'
When they left the outer edges of Newport, they had a pleasant drive through open country. The cottage they were after was in an isolated position on the far side of Caerleon. It was a relatively small, squat building but it was in good condition and slate had replaced the original thatch. There was a well-tended garden at the front and a larger one at the rear given over mainly to vegetables. The whole property was surrounded by a low stone wall. As they came over the brow of the hill, they saw that outhouses ran at a right angle to the cottage itself, justifying the value put on it by the vendor. Leeming had expected something more impressive.
'It's not the home of a rich man, Inspector, is it?'
'Perhaps he doesn't wish to flaunt his wealth,' said Colbeck. 'And it's certainly an improvement on a single room in someone else's house. I think it looks very quaint.'
'It was bought with blood money,' said Leeming. 'Hugh Kellow helped to pay for that cottage.'
'I haven't forgotten that, Victor. These are merciless people. We need to take the utmost care.'
Tugging the reins, he turned the trap off the road then pulled it to a halt under the cover of some trees. After tethering the horse, Colbeck removed his hat and put it on the seat. Leeming followed suit, his wound starting to throb at the prospect of a meeting with the man who had inflicted it. They trod stealthily through the undergrowth until they had a good view of the cottage. Colbeck thought he saw a hint of movement through a side window.
'I suggest that you work your way around to the back,' he said. 'Be very careful – remember that they know us by sight. When I see you in position, I'll creep up to the front.'
'Let me arrest Voke,' said Leeming. 'He's mine.'
'As long as you're not too precipitate – he does have a pistol.'
'I doubt if he'll have it to hand, sir. Why should he? As you pointed out, he thinks that he's safe. The last thing he'll expect is that we tracked him here.'
'That's what I'm banking on.'
'I'll be off, Inspector.'
'Keep a wary eye on those outbuildings,' warned Colbeck. 'That's the most likely place for him to set up a workshop. There's not enough room in the cottage itself. He may well be at work there right now.'
Leeming nodded then set off. Keeping low and skirting the cottage, he made use of some bushes as temporary hiding places. When the sergeant finally reached the back of the property, he crouched down behind the wall. It was the signal for Colbeck to move. He, too, kept low, moving swiftly between any trees or shrubs that could offer concealment for a few seconds. Reaching the cottage without being seen, he straightened up, opened the wicker gate and strode quickly to the front door. Roses grew around the little porch, framing it attractively. A new doormat covered the flagstone. Fresh paint had been put on the door itself. There was the sense that someone cared for their property.
Colbeck pulled the bell rope and it produced a pleasing jingle. He heard footsteps then the door was opened by a handsome young woman with an enquiring smile.
'Can I help you?' she asked.
'I'm looking for Mr Stephen Voke,' he said, politely. 'Is he at home, by any chance?'
'Yes, he's out in his workshop. Did you wish to talk business with him, sir?'
'I do, indeed.'
'That's very encouraging. We've been here barely a week and already we are starting to have customers.' She stepped aside. 'You'd better come in, sir. May I have your name, please?'
'It's Colbeck – Robert Colbeck.'
'You'll have to duck your head. The beams are rather low.'
Something was wrong. The woman had recognised neither him nor his name. She certainly did not look like someone capable of taking part in a murder. He noted her wedding ring. Colbeck surmised that Voke must have had a different accomplice, one who was kept well away from the peaceful domesticity of his new life in Caerleon. Ducking into the cottage, he saw that it was larger than it looked outside. It was also well-furnished and silver ornaments glistened on the mantelpiece. Most of the furniture was very old but it had been recently polished.
'If you'll excuse me, Mr Colbeck,' she said, 'I'll fetch Stephen.'
Leeming had saved her the trouble. The back door burst open and Stephen Voke was pushed into the kitchen, handcuffs pinning his wrists together behind his back. Leeming shoved him through into the living room with a grin of triumph.
'Here he is,' he announced, 'He didn't put up any fight.'
'What's going on?' exclaimed the woman.
'I don't know,' said Voke, pitifully. 'This man jumped on me and told me that I was under arrest.'
'Who are you?' she demanded, looking fearfully at the bandage around Leeming's head, 'and what do you mean by coming here?'
'Let me explain,' said Colbeck. 'This is my colleague, Sergeant Leeming, and I am Inspector Colbeck. We are detectives from London, investigating the murder of Hugh Kellow and the theft of a valuable silver coffee pot.'
'It must be in that workshop, sir,' said Leeming. 'There's a large safe out there. That's where they keep their spoils.'
'What spoils?' asked Voke. 'As for a murder, this is the first I've heard of it. Are you telling me that Hugh was killed?'
'Yes,' replied Colbeck. 'His body was found in the hotel room in Cardiff where you had left it.'
'But I haven't been to Cardiff for several weeks.'
'Then how did you manage to give me this?' demanded Leeming, indicating his scalp wound. 'You must have a very long arm if you could hit me from Caerleon.'
'What my husband is telling you is correct,' said the woman with evident honesty. 'We only took possession of the cottage this week. Until then, we were both in London. Stephen had no reason to go to Cardiff. He's been too busy planning the move here.'
'It's the truth, Inspector,' said Voke. 'I swear it.'
Colbeck pondered. 'Take the handcuffs off him,' he ordered at length. 'Go on.'
'But he could turn violent, sir,' said Leeming.
'Take them off, sergeant.'
'Why?'
'I think we have the wrong man.'
While the sergeant unlocked the handcuffs, Colbeck's mind was spinning like a wheel. Having arrested a large number of people in the course of his career, he was accustomed to the routine denial of guilt. That was not happening here. Stephen Voke was bemused rather than defiant. He showed none of the righteous indignation that criminals often dredged up when confronted with their misdeeds. Nor did he look like a killer. He was lean, trim and of middle height. Around the nose and mouth, there was a clear resemblance to his father. He had an open face and met Colbeck's gaze without dissimulation. When the handcuffs were removed, he did not immediately make a dash for the door. He simply rubbed his wrists before putting a protective arm around his wife.
'We must offer you our apologies, sir,' said Colbeck.
'I'm not apologising,' insisted Leeming. 'If it was left to me, he'd be clapped in irons.'
'Mr Voke is completely innocent, Sergeant.'
'But he can't be, sir.'
'We've been pursuing the wrong man.'
Leeming was bewildered. 'Well, if he didn't murder Mr Kellow,' he wanted to know, 'then who did?'
'Nobody.'
'That's impossible, sir.'
'I'm afraid that it isn't.'
'Somebody must have killed him.'
'Think of those ransom letters,' said Colbeck. 'Two were written by a woman but the two written, as I suspect, by a man were in block capitals. Do you know why that was done?'
'I don't have a clue, Inspector.'
'It was because he didn't want us to recognise his handwriting. He knew that we'd already seen examples of that in those letters to his sister, Effie. We'd have realised how cunningly we'd been tricked.'
'I'm still none the wiser,' said Leeming.
'Nor are we,' added Voke. 'What exactly has happened?'
'We were deceived,' said Colbeck, still working it out in his head. 'Hugh Kellow was not murdered in that hotel and the silver coffee pot was not taken from him. Nor were his keys to his employer's shop, for that matter. He knew exactly what to steal from Mr Voke's safe and made sure that he took his own tools as well as the valuables and the money.' He gestured an apology to Voke. 'You were wrongly accused, sir, and I deeply regret that. We owe your dear wife our sincerest apologies as well. The evidence that brought us here was misleading. The man we really need to arrest is Hugh Kellow.' Colbeck gritted his teeth. 'He's still alive.'