Sir David Pryde stood in front of the cheval-mirror as he adjusted his bow tie then ran a palm over his thinning hair. His wife, meanwhile, was seated at her dressing table, putting the finishing touches to her appearance. She issued a command.
'Don't drink so much champagne this evening, David.'
'I like it,' he protested.
'Sometimes, I fear, it does not like you. At the reception last night, I don't think you realised how many glasses you had. And what was the result?' she asked, swinging round to face him. 'You had one of your migraines yet again.'
'It wore off after a few hours, Martha.'
'That may be so but it meant that you spent the night in the other room instead of beside me. I prefer to sleep with my husband.'
'Then that's what you'll do tonight,' he promised. 'I'll take care to drink in moderation. I missed being with you last night but my head was splitting when we got home. It was excruciating. I would not have been good company'
His recurring migraines were a useful invention. They gave him an excuse to leave the marital couch occasionally and slip away from the house for an assignation. His wife was a heavy sleeper. Once she had dozed off, she would not hear the horse's hooves as he rode off into the darkness. When she had been awakened by her husband that morning, it never crossed her mind that he had spent the night near Llandaff Cathedral with another woman.
'Who else is dining with the Somervilles?' he asked.
'I've no idea – as long as it's not Winifred Tomkins and her husband. They're such dreary people. Agnes Somerville maintains high standards at her dinner table so I think we're safe from a brush with Winifred.'
'At the play last night, you actually wanted to see her.'
'That was only so that I could crow over her.'
'Had she been there, you should have ignored her altogether. Both she and Tomkins should be ostracised,' he said, testily. 'I won't have anyone speaking to my wife that way or casting aspersions on one of our children.'
'Dorothy does not have a squint,' declared Martha, getting to her feet like a combative speaker at a public meeting. 'She has a way of screwing up one eye, that's all. I've always thought it an endearing habit. Winifred only said that because I caught her on the raw when I told her that living in Merthyr was bound to blunt a person's finer feelings. It's an iron town, for heaven's sake – there must be ash and stench and pandemonium there all day long. How can anyone of taste live in such a godless inferno?'
'We should never have admitted them to our circle.'
'It was not merely our daughter whom she attacked. That vicious-tongued harpy made some unkind comments about you as well, David.'
'I don't want to hear them,' he said, having already done so many times. 'Neither she nor that husband of hers are fit to consort with us, Martha. They are personae non gratae – not that I'd expect either of them to understand Latin. We should be relieved that they didn't turn up to see Macbeth. Everyone of consequence was there.'
'That rules out Winifred.' They shared a brittle laugh. 'Did you happen to notice Carys Evans at the reception?'
'I caught a fleeing glimpse of her, I think,' he replied, turning back to the mirror to brush some non-existent dust off his shoulder. 'I was too busy talking to the mayor about the Council's plans for the town. I never miss an opportunity to mix business with pleasure.'
'She's starting to look her age.'
'Who is?'
'Carys Evans,' she said. 'She may be pretty enough now but her looks will soon fade. She should take advantage of them while she still has them. It's almost indecent for a woman to remain single for so long. I was barely twenty when you proposed to me.'
Pryde smiled. 'You were only seventeen when I first saw you,' he recalled. 'It took me three years to pluck up the necessary courage.' He spun round to face her. 'And I've been the happiest of men ever since, Martha.'
'You used to drink even more champagne in those days. I don't remember it ever giving you a migraine then.'
'I'm starting to suffer the defects of old age, my love.'
'Fiddlesticks! You're as hale and hearty as ever.'
'That's certainly true of you,' he said, dredging up the sort of compliment she required on a regular basis. 'You are still the lovely young bride I took to the altar.'
She was spiteful. 'If you want to see the defects of old age, look no further than Winifred Tomkins. A stranger would take her for seventy or more. Think of those bags under her eyes, that air of decay and that dreadful, unsightly, sagging body.'
He was too diplomatic to point out that his wife was much heavier than the other woman and had even more prominent eye-bags. Lady Pryde liked to inhabit a world where she was always praised and never contradicted. Her friends understood that and indulged her accordingly. It had been Winifred Tomkins' mistake to question the acknowledged perfection of Lady Pryde and her family. Honesty, she had learnt, had no place in any dealings with Martha Pryde.
'David,' she said, crossing to stand in front of him.
'Yes, my love?'
'How did you come to know of that silversmith – the one who made that absurd coffee pot?'
'I've told you that, Martha.'
'Tell me again,' she pressed. 'I've forgotten.'
'Jack Somerville gave me that silver snuff box for my birthday,' he told her. 'When I heard that it was made by a Mr Voke of Wood Street in London, I took note of his name. It was exceptionally well-made. That's why I engaged him to make that silver yacht for me.'
'I remember your going to London to meet him.'
'I was impressed by his work.'
'So his reputation rested on that little snuff box?'
'Of course not, Martha,' he said. 'I required more evidence than that before I committed myself. Jack showed me some candlesticks he got from the man. They were superb – solid silver and exquisitely fashioned. That's why I commissioned the yacht from Voke. If you want to blame anyone for putting Winifred Tomkins in touch with that silversmith,' he went on, 'then the real culprit is Jack Somerville – but please don't challenge him about it this evening.'
'I have more tact than that, David.'
After a final look in the dressing room mirror, she was ready to leave. They went downstairs to the hall where the butler was waiting to open the front door for them, inclining his head as they passed. Pryde helped his wife into the phaeton then sat beside her. The driver cracked his whip and the vehicle lurched forward. After a prolonged silence, Martha whispered a question to her husband.
'Do you think that Dorothy has a squint?'
Victor Leeming was in high spirits. All that he had to do was to go through the motions of handing over a substantial amount of money before apprehending someone responsible both for murder and theft. By checking the copy of Bradshaw that Colbeck always took with him when they left the capital, he had seen that there was a late train to Paddington. If the exchange went as planned, he might be able to shake the dust of Cardiff from his feet and travel back to his wife and family, basking in the fulsome praise he would unquestionably have received from Clifford and Winifred Tomkins. The crimes would be solved within the hour.
'Do exactly as that letter told you,' warned Colbeck.
'I will, Inspector.'
'They'll be watching for any false move.'
'Where will you be?'
'The nearest I can get without arousing suspicion is about a quarter of a mile away.'
'What about Superintendent Stockdale?'
'He's standing by at the railway station in case of mishap.'
'There won't be a mishap,' said Leeming, hurt that it should even be suggested. 'I've done this before, Inspector. I know what to expect.'
'I trust you implicitly, Victor. My fear is that, when you arrest one person, his or her accomplice will take flight. The obvious way to escape the town is by rail so that's why the superintendent will be guarding the station.'
Leeming was placated. 'Oh, I see. It makes sense when you explain it like that.' He put on his top hat and looked in the mirror. 'Do you think I'll be taken for Mr Tomkins?'
'I'm sure that you will,' said Colbeck. 'You're a far better double than me. I'm too tall and slim to fool anybody. You're much younger than Mr Tomkins but you're closer to his build – and your face won't be seen in the twilight until it's too late.'
'I'll have the handcuffs on him in two seconds,' said Leeming, taking them out and dangling them in the air. 'Stephen Voke will get the surprise of his life.'
'What if the person you arrest is a woman named Bridget?'
'She deserves the same treatment, sir.'
They were in the hotel room where they had spent the previous night. Leeming hoped that he would not have to stay there for the second time. It was up to him to ensure that he and Colbeck could catch the late train to Paddington. Putting the handcuffs away, he reached into a pocket to take out a thick wad of banknotes.'
'I've never held this much money in my hands before.'
'Don't be tempted, Victor,' teased Colbeck. 'Crime doesn't pay.'
'It pays very well if this is what you get by way of a ransom. Stealing a silver coffee pot is far better than kidnapping a person. You don't have the problem of guarding and feeding someone who's been abducted. A coffee pot is also much easier to hide.'
'That's assuming that they actually have it in their possession.'
'They must do, sir.'
'Must they?' asked Colbeck. 'Allow for every eventuality, Victor. It's not impossible that those ransom notes are part of an elaborate hoax. You saw the report in the local newspaper. Everyone in Cardiff is aware that Mrs Tomkins had her silver coffee pot stolen. What's to stop an enterprising local villain from claiming to have it in order to squeeze some money out of a wealthy man? Instead of pursuing a killer tonight, we could be on a wild goose chase.'
Leeming was deflated. 'Does that mean we won't be able to catch the late train back to London?' he asked, disconsolately.
As the evening wore slowly on, Clifford and Winifred Tomkins grew increasingly nervous. He was worried about the ransom money he had handed over and she was frightened that her silver coffee pot might have been badly damaged in some way. Doubts arose in her mind.
'How much faith can we place in Inspector Colbeck?'
'He seems to know what he's doing, Winifred.'
'I think that you should have taken the ransom.'
Tomkins spluttered. 'And run the risk of being hurt?' he said in alarm. 'We're up against a killer. I think it's very brave of Sergeant Leeming to confront him.'
'But the letter said that it should be you, Clifford.'
'Nobody will know the difference in this light.'
They were in the library, a large, oak-panelled room with well-stocked bookshelves around three walls. Most of the volumes would never even be looked at but Tomkins had felt it important to have a library for show. Crossing to the window, he peered out.
'It's starting to get dark already.'
'I just wish I had more confidence in Inspector Colbeck.'
'Stockdale has been singing his praises aloud.'
'He can't be relied on,' complained Winifred. 'There's corruption in the police force and, according to Lady Pryde, the superintendent takes bribes.'
'That's wicked gossip,' said Tomkins, who had not parted with a penny to secure Stockdale's silence about the nocturnal raid on a particular brothel. 'One or two constables have been dismissed for drunkenness, it's true, and others have been slack in their duties but that's to be expected. There will always be a smattering of drunks and idlers in any organisation. Look at the problems we had with the police in Merthyr – it was far worse there. I think the superintendent is to be commended with the way he runs things here.'
'Lady Pryde knows him better than we do.'
'She thinks that everyone is either corrupt or untrustworthy. I'm amazed to hear you quoting her, Winifred. Lady Pryde is a ferocious snob and I'm glad we've severed all links with her.'
'She said the most unforgivable things about Merthyr.'
'That was only because she's never been there.'
'She called it a disgusting and uncivilised hole populated by the dregs of humanity.'
'Sir David should take her for a walk around Butetown at night,' he said, grimly, 'then she'd see just how uncivilised Cardiff can be.'
'She laughed when I told first told her about my coffee pot,' said Winifred, still wounded by the memory. 'That's when I realised how much I loathed her. Well, she may laugh on the other side of her hideous face when everyone tells her what a magnificent object it is.'
'Let's get it back here first.'
'What time is it, Clifford?'
He pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. 'It's almost time for the exchange,' he told her. 'In a few minutes, Sergeant Leeming will be apprehending the thief. The money and the coffee pot should be safely returned here before very long.'
From the moment he started to walk along the path, Leeming knew that he was being watched. Though he could not see anybody, he was aware of their presence. Light was fading in the park and trees and shrubs were taking on a ghostly shape. Obeying the instructions in the letter, he was carrying a small bag containing the ransom money. As he walked past a fountain, he lifted the bag up in his right hand to indicate that he was following orders. Then he strolled on, looking neither to right nor left. Heading for a stand of trees in the middle distance, he quickened his step. That was where the exchange would be made, he decided. Someone with a telescope was probably watching every step that he took.
Halfway there, he had to go past a clump of bushes. Eyes fixed on the trees, he ignored all else. It was a serious error. No sooner had he passed a large bush than someone jumped up from behind him, knocked off his top hat then struck his head with something hard and heavy. Oblivious to what had happened, Leeming collapsed in a heap. It was some time before he began to regain consciousness. His head was pounding like a drum, the wound was smarting unbearably and blood was trailing down the back of his coat. His brain was on fire. Trying to stand, he keeled over at once. He finished on his hands and knees. When it finally dawned on him that he had fallen into a trap, the ransom money was a mile away.
Nothing that Robert Colbeck said could moderate the passion of Clifford and Winifred Tomkins. They were thoroughly outraged. Tomkins had been relieved of his money and Winifred had nothing to show for it in return. No shred of sympathy was shown towards Victor Leeming.
'You let us both down, Inspector,' said Tomkins, seething with fury. 'I shall be informing your superior of this fiasco.'
'You misled us,' howled Winifred. 'You assured us that we'd have that coffee pot back where it belonged before nightfall. Now I have no hope of ever seeing it here.'
'Your conduct has been appalling, sir.'
'We feel utterly cheated.'
'Well?' demanded Tomkins. 'What have you to say?'
'My thoughts are with Sergeant Leeming,' said Colbeck, coolly, 'and I'm shocked that neither of you has given him a second thought. He was the person who walked into danger on your behalf. At the very least, that might merit an ounce of gratitude.'
Tomkins was unrepentant. 'He lost my money.'
'No, sir – he had it taken away from him by a brutal attacker. The sergeant had no call to be there,' Colbeck told them. 'That letter specified that you would carry the money, Mr Tomkins. Had you not been spared that task by a brave officer, then it would have been your head that was battered with a chunk of stone.' Tomkins put a hand protectively against the back of his skull. 'Would you have had the courage to take part in the exchange, sir?'
'I would not,' conceded Tomkins, shamefacedly.
'Then show some pity for the man who did.'
'How is he?' asked Winifred, much more subdued now.
'The doctor is with him at the moment,' said Colbeck. 'With luck, there'll be no permanent damage but the sergeant has a nasty scalp wound. When I spoke to him, he was still unsure what actually occurred. In the circumstances, I can understand that. If you'll excuse me,' he continued, 'I'll get back to him.'
'Wait!' said Tomkins.
'I'll disturb you no longer, sir. You'll want to write your letter of complaint to my superior. His name is Edward Tallis, by the way. He holds the rank of superintendent.'
'Perhaps I was being too hasty, Inspector.'
'Selfish is the word that springs to mind, Mr Tomkins.'
'I'm entitled to worry about losing that money.
'And I'm entitled to feel thoroughly upset about my coffee pot,' said Winifred, returning to the attack. 'We're sorry about Sergeant Leeming, of course, but we have to face facts. You promised that everything would go as planned and this happens. We're bound to question your judgement, Inspector.'
'Yes,' said her husband, revived by her show of spirit, 'we'll not be made to feel guilty. We're the victims here, after all. Thanks to you, we'll never see that money or that coffee pot ever again.'
'Then you have little insight into the criminal mind, sir,' said Colbeck. 'You've not heard the last of them yet.'
'What do you mean?'
'They will want every penny that they can get from you. It's only a question of time before you get another ransom note.'
Tomkins turned puce. 'Pay for that damned coffee pot a third time!' he shouted. 'I simply refuse to do that.'
'To be precise, you've only paid in full for it once.'
'Plus the fifty pounds I paid on deposit.'
'That went to Mr Voke,' noted Colbeck. 'All that you sacrificed today was the full price of the item. If you have another demand – as I'm sure you soon will – it will be for a second payment.'
'They won't get a brass farthing from me.'
'Clifford,' said his wife, warningly.
'I wish I'd never bought that confounded thing!'
Winifred bit back what she was going to say. Containing her rage with palpable difficulty, she gritted her teeth and turned to Colbeck.
'My husband and I need to discuss this matter, Inspector.'
'No discussion is needed!' Tomkins blurted out.
'Could you give us some privacy, please?' she asked.
'I was going to leave in any case, Mrs Tomkins,' said Colbeck, heading for the door. 'My place is with Sergeant Leeming. Please excuse me,' he added with a mischievous smile. 'I know that you and your husband have much to talk about.'
'How does it feel now?' asked Stockdale, bending solicitously over him.
'As if someone is trying to bore a hole in my skull,' said Leeming, gingerly touching the back of his bandaged head. 'It's like being very drunk without the pleasure of having touched alcohol.'
'How much can you remember?'
'Not a great deal, Superintendent – I was striding past some bushes then everything suddenly went blank. I must have walked into an ambush.'
'I wish I'd been closer,' said Stockdale, 'instead of being stuck at the railway station. I should have ringed the whole area with my men.'
'That would have scared them off completely.'
'Maybe – but it would have saved you a nasty headache.'
'Estelle hates it when I get injured in the line of duty.'
'Is that your wife?'
'She thinks that being a policeman is too hazardous. Estelle would prefer it if I worked for her father in his ironmonger's shop. I want more out of life than selling tin baths,' asserted Leeming. 'I need the feeling that I'm doing something really useful.'
They were in the superintendent's office at the police station in St Mary Street. Leeming was slumped in a chair, partially revived by the glass of brandy he had been given but still faintly groggy. The wound had been examined, cleaned and stitched by a doctor and thick bandaging tied in place. It might still be possible to catch the late train to Paddington but – not wishing to return home in that condition – he resigned himself to spending another night in Cardiff. By the next day, he hoped, the agony might have eased and the swirling fog in his mind might have cleared.
There was a tap on the door then Colbeck entered.
'How are you now, Victor?' he asked.
Leeming was stoical. 'I'll survive, sir.'
'I'm sorry I couldn't wait until the doctor had finished. I felt that Mr and Mrs Tomkins ought to know as soon as possible what had transpired.'
'I'd much rather you told them than me.'
'I can't imagine that they showed much gratitude for what the sergeant did,' said Stockdale. 'They're a mean-minded pair.'
'You're placing too kind a construction on their behaviour,' said Colbeck. 'They were abominable. They ranted at me for betraying them and took no account of Victor's injury. I don't think he'd have elicited genuine compassion out of them if he'd been killed in the attack. It's difficult to say which of them is worse – the blustering husband or the wrathful wife.'
'They're tarred with the same brush,' said the superintendent with asperity. 'It's a shame they were not feathered at the same time.'
Colbeck was philosophical. 'They're not the most likeable human beings,' he conceded, 'but we have to remember that they are the victims of a crime.'
'So is Victor Leeming – thanks to them!'
'The culprit has so far committed murder, robbery and violent assault,' said Leeming, ruefully, 'and that makes me certain it's a man. No woman could knock me cold like that.'
'They could if you walked around the docks at night,' warned Stockdale with a ripe chortle. 'There are some wild creatures down there – Big Ruth, for instance. She once floored one of my constables with a belaying pin. It took four of them to arrest her.'
'The woman we're looking for is less of a virago,' said Colbeck, 'but her charm is as just as effective as a belaying pin. It's clear that she has a male accomplice to do her dirty work. We'll be hearing from them before too long, I daresay.'
'Won't they simply take the money and run?'
'No, Superintendent – they can sniff an even bigger pay day.'
Leeming gaped. 'Will I have to go through that again?'
'I'll go in your place, Sergeant,' offered Stockdale.
'Thank you.'
'I look far more like Clifford Tomkins than you do.'
'Neither of you will be called upon,' decided Colbeck. 'They won't repeat the same trick again because they know we'd be ready for it next time. We tried to fox them and they outwitted us. The rules will be changed for the second exchange.'
'I can't wait to catch up with Stephen Voke,' said Leeming with quiet determination. 'He won't find it quite so easy to get the better of me when my back isn't turned.'
'I look forward to meeting him as well,' said Stockdale, harshly. 'We've got an empty cell all ready for the bastard.'
Colbeck brooded. 'The person who really interests me is the woman,' he said at length. 'All that we know about her so far is that she's beautiful, persuasive and highly resourceful. She must also be utterly pitiless to condone such brutality. I'd love to know what the lady is doing right this minute.'
'I'm terribly sorry I'm so late,' said Carys Evans to her hosts. 'I hope that I haven't held you all up.'
She arrived at the Somerville residence when the other guests were still enjoying a pre-prandial glass of champagne in the drawing room. There were almost a dozen people there and she knew them all well. Everyone gave her a cordial welcome but it was Lady Pryde who bore down on her with a possessive glint. Carys was very glad that someone put a glass into her hand. She took a preparatory sip of champagne.
'There you are!' said Martha, taking by the elbow to guide her into a corner of the room. 'We'd given you up, Miss Evans.'
'I was delayed at the last moment. I'm afraid.'
'Well, at least you're here now. Tell me – do you have any news of that deplorable Winifred Tomkins?'
'I do, as a matter of fact,' said Carys. 'I called at the house this morning to see why she and her husband were absent from the play.'
'What did they say?'
'That they didn't relish the idea of spending a couple of hours being asked about the theft of that coffee pot. To listen to Winifred talk, you'd have thought there'd been a death in the family.'
Martha smirked. 'She's been really hurt by this, hasn't she?'
'Yes, Lady Pryde.'
'That will teach her to criticise me! I hope that someone has taken that ludicrous coffee pot hundreds of miles away from here.'
'Then I have to disappoint you,' said Carys, 'because I was given the firm impression that it's still here in Cardiff.'
'What makes you think that?'
'It was their behaviour this morning. As I arrived at their house, I was given a letter for them by a shabby-looking fellow who'd been skulking at the bottom of their drive. He asked me to deliver it then scurried off.'
'Who was this mysterious individual?'
'He was clearly no friend of Winifred and her husband or he'd have delivered the letter himself. When I handed the missive over,' Carys continued, 'Clifford Tomkins went out of the room to read it. The next minute, he put his head back into the room to summon his wife. He looked apprehensive.'
'What did you make of it, Miss Evans?'
'I fancy that the letter might have had some connection with the stolen coffee pot. This is mere speculation, of course, and I may be well wide of the mark but supposing the thief wishes to sell it back to Winifred?'
'Sell it back?' repeated Martha in annoyance.
'At a high price, I daresay.'
'So she may have her coffee pot, after all. This is dire news.'
'It's not news, Lady Pryde – it's pure guesswork on my part.'
'Either way, it's still very disturbing.'
'Good evening, Miss Evans,' said Pryde, descending on them with a broad smile. 'I'm so glad that you've joined us at last.'
'Thank you, Sir David,' said Carys.
'My wife always says that being late is a lady's privilege.'
'I stayed at the cathedral this afternoon rather longer than I intended to – Llandaff is so beautiful in the sunshine.'
'I agree, Miss Evans. It's always a pleasure to visit.' He saw the grimace of Martha's face. 'You look as if you've just eaten something very disagreeable, my dear. Has something upset you?'
'Yes,' grunted Martha. 'That silver coffee pot is still in Cardiff.'
Victor Leeming was a robust man but he had still been shaken up by the attack. Spurning the offer of a meal, all that he wanted to do was to return to the hotel room to rest. Colbeck accompanied him there, leaving the sergeant propped up on pillows so that there was no pressure on the back of his head. The inspector then returned to the lounge to talk with Stockdale over a drink. They went methodically through all the facts at their disposal. Colbeck ventured one possible conclusion.
'I keep coming back to the name of Carys Evans,' he said.
'No,' argued Stockdale, 'I've been thinking about that. I reckon that Carys is far too ladylike to get tangled up in serious crimes.'
'She's not too ladylike to become someone else's mistress and we know that she was actually in the hotel at the time of the murder.'
'There may be an explanation for that, Inspector. Sir David Pryde is a major shareholder in this hotel. One of his perquisites is to have a room permanently reserved for any business associate who visits the town.'
'Are you telling me that he and Miss Evans might have made use of that hotel room on the day in question?'
'It's only a suggestion.'
'Would they be quite so blatant? Why risk being seen together in broad daylight when they could arrange a rendezvous after dark in a less public place? No, I fancy she was here for another purpose.'
'It's the question of motive that troubles me, Inspector.'
'Miss Evans has expensive tastes,' said Colbeck. 'She loves silver above all else and, I suspect, would have no scruples about stealing that coffee pot in order to cause a flutter in the Tomkins household. Though she claims to be a friend of Winifred Tomkins, she is more than ready to ridicule her.'
'The one thing that does support the theory,' said Stockdale, reflectively, 'is that Carys is eminently capable of luring a man into a hotel room simply by looking into his eyes. I can tell you that I would not need a second invitation from her.'
'She is a very striking lady and that would incline me to absolve her of any real suspicion.'
'Why?'
'Carys Evans is a woman of quality. She moves among the elite here in Cardiff. If – for the sake of argument – we accept that the killer is Stephen Voke, then we encounter a problem. Would someone like Miss Evans concoct a plot with a young silversmith? How did she meet him? What would she see in such a person?'
'You answered that question earlier, Inspector. She dotes on silver. Who better to woo her than a talented silversmith?'
'But she already seems to have all that she needs.'
'Women always want more,' said Stockdale, cynically.
'She seems to live very comfortably.'
'Much of what you saw there was provided by her admirers. Sir David is only the latest to enjoy her favours. There have been others, squeezed for what she can get out of them and then discarded. I bow to none in my esteem for her,' said the superintendent, 'but I never forget that she is, in essence, a heartless predator.'
'Is she capable of being party to a murder?'
The question hung unanswered in the air. Archelaus Pugh came over to them with a letter in his hand. He gave it to Colbeck.
'This has just arrived for you, Inspector,' said Pugh.
'Who brought it?'
'I can't tell you, sir. It was simply tossed into the foyer.'
As the manager withdrew, Colbeck opened the letter and read the message that was written in large capitals. It berated him for sending someone in place of Clifford Tomkins with the ransom money and gave strict instructions for a second exchange. When he had finished it, he passed it over to Stockdale.
'Is it from the killer?' asked the superintendent.
'Yes,' replied Colbeck. 'He's doubled the price of the coffee pot and insists that Mrs Tomkins hands over the money next time. As you can see from the taunts made to me, he – or she – knows exactly who I am and why I'm here. That will make things much more difficult.'