It had been a full day for Madeleine Andrews. She was up early to prepare breakfast and to make her father sandwiches to take to work. Once she had seen him off on his walk to Euston Station, she picked up a large basket and went off to do the first of her chores. She spent a couple of pleasant hours, haggling in the market, window-gazing among the shops, buying some artists' materials and talking to friends and neighbours she encountered along the way. The afternoon was largely taken up with a visit to relatives in Chalk Farm, consoling her aunt over the recent death of a much-loved family pet and chatting with her uncle, a retired stationmaster, about her latest lithographs. It was not until early evening that Madeleine was finally able to do some work at her easel.
By the time that her father returned home, she had a meal ready for him. Caleb Andrews followed a regular pattern. At the end of his working day, he liked to have a pint or two of beer in a public house frequented by railwaymen before strolling back to Camden. More often than not, he brought the day's newspaper with him. His daughter therefore never got to read it until late evening. As he came into the house, he gave her his usual cheerful greeting before hanging up his coat and his hat. The newspaper remained folded up in his coat pocket.
'Where have you been today?' asked Madeleine.
'Crewe was the farthest we went,' he told her, 'and we had an hour or more to look around. It's a railway town in the best sense, Maddy. I really feel at home there. I wouldn't mind living somewhere like that one day. Mind you,' he went on with a chuckle, 'the station does have one problem. If you're not careful, you can trip over a severed head on the platform.'
'That only happened once, Father.'
'It pays to keep your eyes open in Crewe.'
Madeleine understood the jocular reference. The previous year, a hatbox had burst open on the platform when a porter accidentally dropped a trunk on it. Out of the hatbox came a human head. The incident provoked a murder investigation led by Robert Colbeck and culminating in some arrests in the wake of the running of the Derby. Madeleine had been directly involved in the case, finding out vital information for Colbeck and being taken to Epsom on Derby Day by way of thanks. Unfortunately, it was different this time. She could not contribute. A new case had taken him across the Welsh border and excluded her in every way.
'What about you, Maddy?' asked Andrews. 'What have you been doing all day?'
'I'd like to say that I've been sitting down with my feet up,' she replied, 'but there was far too much to do.'
'Did you get across to Chalk Farm?'
'Yes, Father – Uncle Tom and Auntie Dolly send their love.'
'Have they got over losing that mangy dog of theirs yet?'
'Uncle Tom has but Auntie Dolly is still very upset. They had Chum for twelve years and he was like one of the family. Auntie Dolly says that she can't sleep properly, knowing that Chum is not curled up at the foot of the bed.'
Andrews wrinkled his nose. 'It was unhealthy,' he said with disgust, 'having that smelly old dog in their bedroom at night. A kennel is the proper place for an animal like that. Chum should have been in the back yard, guarding the property, not snoring away on the bedroom carpet. Apart from anything else, Chum had fleas.'
'His death distressed Auntie Dolly, that's all I know.'
'My sister should have had him put down years ago.'
'Father!'
'People get too sentimental about animals.'
'You worshipped Blackie when we had him,' she recalled.
'Cats are different,' he said. 'They don't wag their tails at you all the time and expect to share your bedroom. They've got self-respect and they know how to look after themselves. Blackie was easy to have around the house but a dog takes over your life.'
Madeleine did not argue. Her father had a deep dislike of dogs, fuelled by the fact that he was often bothered by stray mongrels on his way to and from work. It explained why he so rarely visited his sister and brother-in-law in Chalk Farm. Now that Chum had passed away, Madeleine hoped, he might feel able to enter their house with a measure of enthusiasm.
'Is there anything interesting in the paper today?' she asked, glancing across at his coat.
'Not really, Maddy,' he answered. 'I don't know why I buy it sometimes. There's another report about the Crimean War and that looks as if it might drag on for years. Oh, yes,' he added, casually, 'there was a brief mention of someone called the Railway Detective.'
'Why didn't you tell me?' she scolded, hurrying across the room to pull the newspaper out of his coat pocket. 'What does it say?'
'Very little – it's barely a mention.'
She opened the paper. 'Where is it?'
'Turn over the page. It's at the bottom.'
Madeleine turned to the next page and ran her eye down the left-hand column. The item at the bottom was short but explicit. It informed its readers that Inspector Robert Colbeck had been called to the Railway Hotel in Cardiff to investigate the murder of a young man from London who had been on his way to deliver a silver coffee pot in the shape of a locomotive. It had been stolen. The victim's name was not given but Madeleine nevertheless felt a surge of pity for him. She was also worried that the crimes might keep Colbeck away from London for some time. When her father had read the item, however, he had been less concerned about the fate of the victim. What interested him was the object that had been stolen.
'A silver locomotive!' he said with a whistle.
'It's supposed to be used as a coffee pot, Father.'
'That would only tarnish the inside.'
'It must have cost an absolute fortune,' she observed.
'I'm sure it did, Maddy – what a wonderful thing to own! I couldn't bear to have a dog in the house but a silver locomotive is another matter altogether.' He gave a cackle of delight. 'Now that's something that would stay at the foot of my bed at night – if not on the pillow beside me!'
Expecting to find her still distraught, Colbeck was pleased to see that Effie Kellow was a little more composed on the following morning. She was clearly making an effort to be brave in the face of tragedy. Though small and almost frail, she seemed to have an instinct for survival. She and her brother, he reminded himself, had been orphaned at a young age yet had managed to find a life for themselves that had some promise on the horizon. Robbed of her brother and deprived of her dreams of escape from service, Effie somehow gave the impression that she would not surrender to the vicissitudes of Fate. There was a muted determination about her.
She and Colbeck had breakfast together. While she was patently unaccustomed to eating in a hotel, she had regained her appetite and munched her food gratefully. Leeming joined them at their table, relieved to see that Effie was managing to control her anguish.
'Has the inspector explained what's happening today?' he asked after placing his order with the waiter.
'No,' said Effie. 'I want to take Hugh's body back with me.'
'That's what I've arranged,' Colbeck told her. 'Superintendent Stockdale will have the coffin put on the eight o'clock train and there'll be a ticket bought for you. Constable Roberts will then travel with you to London.'
She was upset. 'But I want to be alone with Hugh.'
'I think you need company, Miss Kellow, and the constable will have the necessary documents. He'll supervise the transfer of the coffin from Paddington to Wood Street where you and Mr Voke can discuss details of the funeral.'
'Very well,' she said, meekly accepting the decision.
'If you wish, Constable Roberts will make sure that you get back safely to your place of work.'
'No, Inspector – he doesn't need to do that. It's not where I want to go, you see. Not at first, that is. I prefer to go to Mrs Jennings' house.'
'Of course,' said Leeming. 'Anything belonging to your brother is your property now. It's a sort of inheritance.'
'All I want are the books that Hugh showed me,' she said. 'They fired him to be a silversmith. I'd like to keep them because they meant so much to him.' She looked up deferentially at Colbeck. 'May I ask you a favour, Inspector?'
'Of course, Miss Kellow?'
'Could you write me a letter, please? If I tell the landlady that I've come for Hugh's books, she might not believe that I'm his sister. Hugh said that she was very wary of strangers.'
'That's true,' Leeming put in. 'I had a job persuading her who I was. Mrs Jennings would be suspicious of her own shadow.'
'I'll happily jot a few lines down on paper for you,' said Colbeck. 'You won't lose anything of your brother's, Miss Kellow. I daresay there'll be property belonging to him at Mr Voke's shop as well. That will be rightfully yours.'
'It's those books that I really want,' she said, turning to Leeming. 'Can't you take me back to London, Sergeant?' she asked, plaintively. 'You so were kind to me on the way here. I don't know this other policeman.'
'I'm afraid that I have to stay here in Cardiff,' said Leeming, 'but I'm sure that Constable Roberts will look after you – and he won't be wearing his uniform. He'll look like just another passenger.'
'Oh, I see.'
That appeared to allay her fears somewhat and she continued to eat her food. When the meal was over, Colbeck probed for information.
'Did you brother have any enemies, Miss Kellow?' he asked.
'None that I know of,' she returned. 'Hugh was a very friendly person. He could get along with anybody.'
'What about Stephen Voke?'
'They worked together quite well for a time then things changed. Hugh thought that Mr Voke's son was jealous of him. He was always bickering with his father,' she remembered. 'Then one day, he was gone without any explanation. Hugh said that old Mr Voke would never talk about him after that.'
'Did your brother ever mention Stephen having a close female friend?'
'No, Inspector. He told me very little about him. We only met now and again and we had more important things to talk about than Mr Voke's son.'
'What about your own brother?' enquired Colbeck. 'He seems to have been a handsome young man. Was there anyone special in his life – apart from his sister, that is?'
'Yes,' she replied, 'I think there was. Hugh mentioned her in one of his letters,' she said, opening her reticule to look inside. 'He didn't write very often and only when he had something important to say. I carry all his letters around with me.' She took one out and passed it to Colbeck. 'This came over a month ago, Inspector.'
Colbeck read it through. It contained some gossip about his work and about his landlady then it ended on a hopeful note. Hugh Kellow confided that he had met someone called Bridget and that they had become good friends. Colbeck handed the letter to Leeming so that he could read it as well.
'I've no idea who Bridget is,' admitted Effie, 'and I'm worried for her. She ought to be told what's happened to Hugh. I'd hate her to find out the way that I did – by reading the newspaper.'
'But she may already have done just that,' Colbeck pointed out. 'If they were good friends, the chances are that your brother told Bridget he was going to Cardiff with that coffee pot.'
'Mr Voke forbade him to tell anyone about that, Inspector. Hugh may have told me but he wouldn't have said a word to anyone else. Well,' she added, searching for another letter, 'I can prove it. I showed this to Sergeant Leeming and the superintendent.'
'That's right,' agreed Leeming, returning one letter to her as she was giving the other to Colbeck. 'The funny thing is that there's no mention of any Bridget in his last letter. Perhaps the friendship didn't last. What do you think, Inspector?'
'We can only speculate,' said Colbeck, reading the letter before handing it back to Effie and noting the care with which she put it into her reticule. 'Mr Kellow was obviously very secretive about his visit to Cardiff and rightly so. Carrying a valuable item made him a target. What continues to puzzle me is how he ended up in this very hotel.' He turned to Effie. 'Can you throw any light on that?'
'I'm afraid not,' she said.
'Did he ever mention this hotel to you before?'
'Hugh had never been to Cardiff, sir – though he once did some work for a customer here. He was called Sir-Somebody-or-Other and he told Hugh what a good job he'd done.'
'Do you know what the item was?'
'Oh, yes,' she said. 'It was a large silver brooch in the shape of a dragon. Hugh made it last year. He showed me a sketch of the design. It was a wonderful piece of jewellery.'
Colbeck had a strong feeling that he could confirm that. He believed that he had seen that particular brooch being worn by the beautiful woman for whom it had been made – Carys Evans.
Carys Evans alighted from the chaise and went up the steps to the front door. When she pulled the bell rope, there was a loud, jangling sound from somewhere inside the house. The door was eventually opened by the butler. He recognised the visitor at once.
'Good morning, Miss Evans,' he said.
'Good morning, Glover,' she answered. 'Is Mrs Tomkins at home?'
'Yes, but I'm afraid that she's not available to callers.'
'I'm not a caller,' said Carys, easing him aside with a hand so that she could walk across the hall. 'I'm a close friend and I want to know how she is.' She knocked on the door of the drawing room and went in. 'Ah, there you are, Winifred!'
'Carys!' exclaimed the other woman in surprise, leaping to her feet. 'What are you doing here?'
'I came to see how you were, of course. When you didn't make an appearance at the play last night, I feared that you might be ill or something. You'd never miss an occasion like that as a rule.'
'We didn't feel like coming,' said Winifred.
'This business with the coffee pot has upset us both,' said Clifford Tomkins, who had been reading the newspaper when they were interrupted. 'We didn't want to spend an evening at the theatre, fending off questions about the theft.'
'I can understand that,' said Carys, 'though you missed an absolutely splendid performance. And, for once in his life, the mayor managed to provide a reception worthy of the name. You were both sorely missed.'
'We can see the play another night.'
'I'd recommend that you do so, Clifford.'
'I'm not really in the mood for watching Macbeth,' said Winifred. 'I find it such a depressing play.'
'It was truly inspiring at the Theatre Royal. Everyone was there. But,' she went on, holding out the letter in her hand, 'I'm forgetting my other duty. I'm delivering your post this morning.'
Tomkins took it from her. 'Where did this come from?'
'It was handed to me at the gate,' explained Carys. 'As we slowed down to turn into your drive, a rather rough-looking individual stepped out of the bushes and asked me to bring this up to the house. I didn't see any harm in doing that.' She noticed the exchange of nervous glances between them. 'Have I done something wrong?'
'Not at all, not at all,' said Tomkins.
'I suppose I should have told that man to deliver it himself. All that he had to do was to walk up the drive and put it through the letterbox. But he lurked outside the gate as if he was frightened of doing that.' She looked from one to the other. 'Why was that, do you think?'
'I really don't know,' said Winifred.
'Did you get a good look at this fellow?' asked Tomkins. 'I mean, would you know him if you saw him again?'
Carys was uncertain. 'I'm not sure,' she replied. 'I remember his clothes rather than his face. They were so grubby. He wasn't a young man and he clearly hadn't shaved for days. Also, he was wearing a hat with the brim pulled down.' She gave a shrug. 'That's all I can tell you, really. Why are you so interested in the man?'
'No reason,' said Tomkins, moving to the door. 'And do forgive our manners, Carys. Come in and take a seat. Now that you're here, I'll organise some refreshments.'
He went off into the hall and the two women sat down. Caught off guard by the sudden visit, Winifred was obviously discomfited. Carys's inquiry was deliberately gentle.
'Is there any news about the coffee pot?'
'No,' said Winifred, 'but the police are looking for it. There's a detective from London in charge of the case.'
'Yes, I had a visit from Inspector Colbeck. He's a most engaging gentleman but I still don't know why he felt obliged to call on me. I don't suppose that you suggested he did so, did you?'
'No, no,' lied the other.
'I was sure you wouldn't do a thing like that. It's the sort of thing Martha Pryde might do in the circumstances but not you.'
Winifred's tone was vinegary. 'I suppose that she was at the play last night, trying to get as much attention as usual. I really don't know what I saw in Lady Pryde. She turned out to be a real monster.'
'Those of us who know her discovered that long ago.'
'Yet you still continue to see her.'
'Only now and again,' said Carys, 'and not with any pleasure. I'd hate to be thought of as a close friend of hers. I'm more of a distant acquaintance. It's her manner I object to – she will hector.'
She was about to pass some more remarks about Lady Pryde when they were interrupted by Tomkins. Opening the door, he thrust an anxious face into the room.
'Excuse me, ladies,' he said, forcing a smile. 'I wonder if I could have a word with you in private, Winifred? Something has arisen.'
Jeremiah Stockdale arranged for the coffin to be loaded into the guard's van of the train before Effie Kellow even arrived at the station. He felt that she would be upset if she saw her brother's body arriving in a wooden casket. Victor Leeming was touched by his friend's consideration and told him so. The two men stood on the platform to wave the train off. Constable Roberts, pleased to have a day that did not entail pounding his beat in Cardiff, waved back at them through the window. Effie did not even glance in their direction. As on the journey to the town, she sat motionless in deep silence.
Stockdale sighed. 'Poor girl!' he said. 'She'll never get over something like this.'
'I fancy that she will,' argued Leeming. 'Miss Kellow is stronger than she looks. I saw a glimpse of her willpower when she came to Scotland Yard. I think she'll recover in time.'
'I hope so, Sergeant. She's shown a lot more dignity than Mrs Tomkins. Effie Kellow loses her only brother yet somehow bears up well. Winifred Tomkins loses a silver coffee pot and carries on as if she's just had her arms and legs amputated with a blunt axe. When all's said and done,' he commented, 'a stolen coffee pot can be replaced. You can never replace a dead brother.'
'That's true, Superintendent.'
'She's in good hands on that train. Idris Roberts has a daughter of his own. He'll look after Miss Kellow.'
As the train vanished from sight, the two men headed towards the exit. While his sympathy was with Effie, his mind was on another young woman altogether.
'I'd like to know more about Bridget,' he said.
'Who's she?'
'A friend of Hugh Kellow – a special friend, judging by what he said about her in a letter to his sister. She showed it to us this morning. Inspector Colbeck and I had the same reaction,' he went on, 'but we didn't say anything to Miss Kellow, of course.'
'Why not?'
'It would only have alarmed her. If you ask me, the less she knows about the details of her brother's murder, the better.'
'I agree – but who is this Bridget?'
'She could – just could, perhaps – be the person we're after,' said Leeming, thoughtfully. 'Someone led Mr Kellow astray and persuaded him to go into that hotel. From everything we've heard about him, he's not the sort of person to fall into the clutches of a woman who accosts him for the first time in the street. No, it would have to be someone he knew and thought he could trust.'
'Do you believe this woman befriended him on purpose?'
'It's a possibility, Superintendent. She could have wormed her way into his affections. It may even be that they arranged to meet here at the hotel.'
'But the room was booked by a young man.'
'That must have been Bridget's accomplice – Stephen Voke.'
'Maybe,' said Stockdale, unconvinced, 'and maybe not. Do you know anything about this young woman?'
'Nothing at all beyond her name,' confessed Leeming.
'So you could be spitting in the wind.'
'We shall see.'
As they left the railway station, their attention was diverted by the roll of drums. Looking resplendent in their red uniforms, a small detachment of soldiers was marching in ranks towards St Mary Street accompanied by four drummers.
'Recruiting officers,' said Stockdale. 'They're after young men to send off to fight in the Crimea. I lost one of my constables to them this week. I told him it was suicide but he was dazzled by the promise of glory. If the enemy don't shoot him out there, he'll die of fever.'
'The war is happening such a long way away.'
'Don't you believe it, Sergeant. We very nearly had some of the action right here on our doorstep.'
'How could that be?'
'When the war first broke out,' explained the other, 'we had a Russian ship moored alongside a Turkish one in the East Dock. Back in the Crimea, of course, Russians and Turks were killing each other for the sheer love of it. I got word that the Turks were sharpening their scimitars and threatening to cut the Russians into thin slices.'
'What did you do, Superintendent?'
'I ordered the vessels to be berthed on opposite sides of the dock so that the crews weren't looking into each others' eyeballs any more. Then I made certain that the Russian ship left as soon as possible. To stop them from fighting each other at sea,' Stockdale said, 'I found an excuse to keep the Turks here for another three days.'
Leeming grinned. 'That was clever of you,' he said, admiringly. 'It sounds as if you averted a nasty international incident.'
'We do that all the time in Butetown. My men spend a lot of time keeping different nationalities apart. Last month a group of Spaniards started a fight in an opium den posing as a Chinese laundry. And there's always trouble in the brothels when some foreign sailor decides he didn't get what he paid his money for. Cardiff would be a much quieter place if only the Welsh lived here,' he concluded, 'but then it wouldn't be half as interesting. I'd hate a population made up entirely of people like Archelaus Pugh and Tegwyn Rees. They're too religious and well-behaved for my liking. I need a bit of real danger to keep me on my toes. I daresay it's the same with you, Sergeant.'
'It is – and there's always plenty of danger in London.'
'I don't want you to think the town is out of control,' warned Stockdale, 'because we rule the roost here. We raided eighty brothels last year – and you'd be surprised what we found in some of them,' he said as the image of a nude Clifford Tomkins came into his mind. 'Most of the people here are law-abiding or I'll want to know the reason why. And we do have our choirs, concerts and plays. There's always something to see. Talking of which,' he added, 'they had a great success at the Theatre Royal last night.'
'Inspector Colbeck was hoping to go there one evening.'
'Make sure that you go with him.'
'Why?'
'It's a marvellous performance, from what I hear. Harry Probert, the Town Clerk, told me that he was thrilled by it – especially by Lady Macbeth. He said that he couldn't keep his eyes off her.' He laughed merrily. 'Harry's a lecherous old devil and he's going to the play again tonight. He's bought a seat in the front row so that he can ogle Miss Kate Linnane.'
Seated on the couch, Kate Linnane read the card then smiled before putting it aside. A number of admirers had sent her flowers and she was surrounded by them. As she picked up another card, there was a tap on the door.
'Yes?' she called.
'Ah,' said Nigel Buckmaster, opening the door. 'It's not locked this morning.' He closed the door behind him. 'It was different last night.'
'I was very tired and needed my sleep.'
'You could have at least let me bid you good night.'
'I didn't wish to see you.'
'Is that so?' he said, peevishly. 'You changed your tune quickly. When I talked to Miss Evans at the reception after the play, you dragged me away from her like a jealous lover. Yet when we returned to the hotel, you barred the door against me.'
'It had been a long day, Nigel. I was exhausted.'
'So was I – we could have collapsed into each other's arms.'
'I was not in the mood.'
He mastered his irritation. 'Very well, let's leave it at that. I just trust that it won't happen again.' He glanced around. 'You have quite a floral display in here.'
'Certain gentlemen seem to have enjoyed my performance,' she said, holding up the card. 'This one is from the Town Clerk.'
'I, too, had my admirers.'
'Welsh women always have such a peculiarly bovine look to them,' she said, tartly.
'That's not true of Carys Evans – she was radiant.'
'I thought her rather dowdy.'
'Is that why you pulled me so rudely away?'
'I felt it was time to get back to the hotel.'
'After a triumphant performance like that,' he reminded her, 'we usually celebrate. You were wont to be in a more receptive mood hitherto. But,' he said, holding up both hands, 'I won't dwell on that lapse. Let's put it behind us, shall we? The important thing is that we conquered our audience. They will tell their friends and we can rely on full houses all week.'
'The Town Clerk is coming to see us again tonight,' she said as she put the card aside. 'When I told him that we'd be performing Hamlet in Newport next month, he promised to come and see that as well – even though he was rather surprised.'
'By what, pray?'
'The fact that I'll be playing Gertrude,' she replied. 'Mr Probert assumed that I'd be Ophelia. He said that I was far too young to play Hamlet's mother whereas you were far too old to play the Prince.'
'That's nonsense!' he cried, stung by the comment. 'It's my greatest role and it's brought me acclaim all over the country. I expect to play Hamlet for at least another decade.'
'At that age, you ought to be playing Claudius – if not Polonius.'
'I need no advice about casting from you, Kate!' he snarled. 'I think you should remember what you were when you first came to my attention. You played non-speaking parts in that execrable touring company. I rescued you from that misery. I saw your true promise. I taught you the essence of the actor's art. Within a year, you were playing Ophelia to my Hamlet.'
'Yes,' she said, pointedly, 'a part that I've now yielded to Miss Tremaine. Where did you pluck that useless creature from, Nigel?'
'Laura Tremaine has a talent.'
'For what – it's certainly not acting!'
He grinned wolfishly. 'Do I detect a note of envy?'
'I could never envy that empty-headed little baggage. Her Lady Macduff is ludicrous but it pales beside her appalling Ophelia. Be prepared, Nigel. When the audience in Newport realises that Ophelia has drowned herself, they'll break into spontaneous applause.'
'Let's have more respect for a fellow-actress, please!'
'Then cast one worthy of the name.'
'A company must pull together, Kate.'
'Spare me, please – I've heard that speech too many times.'
'There's no talking to when you're in such a fevered state,' he said, moving to the door. 'I hope you'll have come to your senses by the time we go on stage this evening – and when we get back here.'
'Knock on someone else's door,' she advised, rising to her feet to strike a pose. 'I daresay Miss Tremaine will leave hers unlocked for you. Lady Macduff would fawn at your feet.'
'Stop it, Kate!' he ordered.
'Or perhaps Miss Carys Evans is more to your taste.'
'I'll have no more of it, do you understand? You're acting like a dog in a manger – you may not want something yet you're determined that nobody else will have it.'
'Close the door when you go out, please.'
Buckmaster fumed. 'I'll see you later,' he said, angrily, 'when I trust that you will behave like a grateful member of a company that I happen to manage. Remember that.'
Storming out of the room, he left the door wide open.
Robert Colbeck studied the letter with interest. It was written by the same person who had penned the earlier ransom note. He handed it to Victor Leeming to read. Clifford and Winifred Tomkins had sent for the detectives and now watched them carefully. Winifred was excited at the prospect of getting her coffee pot back while her husband was resenting the cost involved. As a businessman, he had been used to driving a hard bargain, paying the lowest price for something he could sell at the largest profit. It appalled him that he would have to buy back something on which he had already spent fifty pounds deposit.
'These instructions seem quite clear,' said Colbeck. 'The money is to be handed over this evening. Do you have it ready, sir?'
'Yes, Inspector,' said Tomkins, 'but I'm loathe to let it out of my hands. Supposing that the thief simply grabs it and runs away?'
'Sergeant Leeming will make sure that doesn't happen.'
'I'm still unhappy about the whole thing.'
'It's the only way to get my coffee pot back, Clifford,' said his wife. 'You promised me that you'd pay anything to retrieve it.'
'Anything within limits,' he corrected.
'With luck, it won't cost you anything at all. The sergeant will arrest the thief so that the money and the coffee pot are both safe.'
'There is one debt to discharge, Mrs Tomkins,' said Colbeck. 'Mr Kellow died before he could collect the balance from your husband. All that's been paid to Mr Voke so far is the deposit. I'll be glad to take the rest of the money to him on your behalf.'
'Let's make sure that we've still got it,' said Tomkins.
'I've no reason to doubt that, sir.'
'According to this,' said Leeming, handing the letter back to the inspector, 'Mr Tomkins is supposed to hand over the money. If, as we suspect, the villain is Stephen Voke then there could be a problem. We know that he was still working for his father when Mr Tomkins went to the shop to commission the coffee pot.'
'That was a long while ago, Sergeant,' said Tomkins.
'And there's something else you should have noticed,' said Colbeck. 'The exchange is to be made when evening shadows are falling. In bad light, you could certainly be taken for Mr Tomkins, I fancy. Stephen Voke – if, indeed, it is him – will see little of your face.'
'Didn't you say you thought a woman might be there to take the money?' asked Winifred. 'I find that hard to countenance, I must say.'
'Look at the handwriting, Mrs Tomkins,' suggested Colbeck. 'It is patently a woman's. I think that significant. Well, you've both seen the instructions. Has she chosen a good place for the exchange?'
'Yes,' said Tomkins, grudgingly. 'Sergeant Leeming will be seen from a long way off. If the thief has the slightest suspicion, he or she can simply vanish.'
'That's why the sergeant will be alone.'
Leeming grinned. 'Carrying all that money,' he said. 'It will be a new experience for me to be so well off, if only for a short while.'
'Take care of every penny,' urged Tomkins.
'And please bring my coffee pot back to me,' said Winifred.
Colbeck held up the letter. 'How was this delivered?'
'There was a man loitering at our gate, apparently,' she explained. 'When a friend arrived in her chaise, he thrust it into her hand and asked her to bring it to us. All she can recall of the fellow was that he was badly dressed and was in need of a shave. Oh, and he was not young.'
'He was probably paid to do exactly what he did. It's unlikely that he has any connection with the murder and the theft. By the way,' he went on, giving the letter to her, 'who was the friend who brought this to your door?'
'It was Carys Evans.'
'How interesting!' said Colbeck, thinking of a silver brooch in the shape of a dragon. 'And were you expecting the lady to call?'
'Oh, no,' replied Winifred. 'She came without warning. Carys had some flimsy excuse about being worried because my husband and I failed to attend the play last night. I think that she just came to enjoy my discomfort at losing that silver coffee pot.'
Colbeck could imagine another reason altogether for the visit.