Inspector Colbeck's Casebook (7 page)

Andrews was dejected. ‘Have I lost that money forever, then?’

‘Not necessarily,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’ll ask Sergeant Leeming to look into the case. When he was in uniform, he had a reputation for being able to spot pickpockets at work. Let’s see if he can still do it.’

When she heard what had occurred, Madeleine was torn between sympathy and amusement, sorry that her father had suffered the indignity of arrest yet able to see the irony of a self-appointed detective ending up behind bars.
Over dinner with her husband, she thanked him for his intervention.

‘It was very kind of you to step in, Robert.’

‘I couldn’t let my father-in-law get an undeserved criminal record. He was his own worst enemy, Madeleine. He should have come to us right away,’ said Colbeck. ‘How would
he
feel if I tried to drive a train without any qualifications for doing so?’

‘That’s an unfair comparison.’

‘I fancy that I’d make a better job of it than he did of being a detective.’

‘But you’d have the sense not even to try. Father, on the other hand, couldn’t be held back. He was determined that it would be his case. He’s always been rather impulsive. This is only the latest example.’

‘In principle, I admire what he did but I deplore the way he went about it.’

‘He’ll be terribly upset. I’d better go and see him tomorrow.’

‘That’s an excellent idea, Madeleine,’ said Colbeck. ‘Apart from anything else, it will keep him away from Euston. I don’t want him going there and stepping on Victor Leeming’s toes.’

‘What will the sergeant be doing there?’

‘He’ll be on the lookout for an old harpist and a cunning pickpocket.’

Victor Leeming was very unhappy about being sent to Euston on what he perceived as a rather demeaning errand. As a detective, he dealt with dangerous criminals and helped to solve major crimes. In his eyes, looking for a pickpocket
was in the nature of a demotion. The harpist arrived and selected a spot near the ticket office. Dog and cap lay beside him. As the old man began his recital, Leeming rolled his eyes and turned to the uniformed policeman next to him.

‘I hate street musicians,’ he said, bitterly. ‘When I set off for work this morning, there was a hurdy-gurdy man outside my front door. I turned the corner and almost walked into a barrel organ. Farther down the street, someone was playing a violin – it sounded as if he was trying to strangle a cat. But the worst of all was these two lads in kilts,’ he went on with a groan. ‘They were playing bagpipes and going from house to house in search of Scotsmen. The noise was deafening. People gave them money just to get rid of them.’

‘I quite like the harpist,’ said the policeman, defensively.

‘Then you shouldn’t be listening. You’re on duty.’

‘I could say the same of you, sir.’

‘Point towards the waiting room,’ suggested Leeming. ‘If anyone is watching me, I don’t want them to think I’m a policeman. Let them believe I just asked you for directions.’

The policeman obeyed. Leeming pretended to thank him before walking over to the waiting room. Once inside, he stood by the window so that he could see the ever-changing crowd around the harpist. Nothing remotely suspicious occurred. After a barren half an hour, he stamped his foot in irritation and went outside again, making for the bookstall where he bought a newspaper. While opening it up as if reading it, he kept one eye firmly fixed on the people enjoying the music.

By early afternoon, Leeming was becoming increasingly annoyed. He was even tempted to abandon his vigil and return to more important duties at Scotland Yard. Then
something of interest finally took place. A man came out of the ticket office in obvious distress. He scuttled across to the policeman to whom Leeming had spoken earlier. From the way that he patted one side of his chest and pointed towards the harpist, the sergeant deduced that the man’s wallet had been stolen and that the crime had only come to light when he went to buy a ticket. The policeman nodded soulfully as he heard the tale of woe but he didn’t walk towards the harpist to investigate. Having been warned why Leeming was there, he kept well away from the harpist for fear of frightening the pickpocket and accomplice – if such a person existed – away from the station altogether. But at least it was clear that a deft hand was at work. Leeming cheered up. His presence might be justified, after all.

Drifting towards the harpist, he stood a few yards away from the crowd around him, blocking out the music so that he could concentrate solely on watching them. The long wait eventually yielded a reward but it was an unexpected one. Having been certain that he was looking for a man, he was astonished when his chief suspect was a buxom woman of middle years with an expensive dressmaker. She looked altogether too grand to bother with an itinerant musician yet she produced a purse and took out a handful of coins to drop into his cap. The dog yawned in gratitude. What she did next alerted Leeming at once. She bumped into someone, apologised profusely to him then pushed her way gently through the crowd and headed for the exit. Leeming was after her immediately. Though she had a good start on him, he soon overhauled her.

‘Good day to you, madam,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I may have a word.’

‘I’m in rather a hurry,’ she said, sizing him up at a glance and deciding that he was not fit company. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’

Leeming stood in her path. ‘I’m afraid that I can’t do that.’

‘If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll summon a policeman.’

‘I
am
a policeman,’ he told her, ‘and I’m here to arrest pickpockets. I’ve every reason to believe that you stole a man’s wallet earlier on and have just deprived another victim of his money. You’ll have to accompany me to the police station.’

‘I’ll be delighted to do so,’ she said, angrily, ‘because I wish to complain about the sheer impertinence of one of their officers. When he was alive – you may be interested to know – my late husband was an archdeacon. We led lives of absolute piety. Arthur would have been outraged to hear of the monstrous accusation that I was a criminal.’

She glared angrily at Leeming but he stood his ground resolutely.

‘I saw what I saw, madam,’ he said.

‘Then take me to the police station and search me,’ she said, defiantly. ‘You’ll find nothing incriminating.’

‘I don’t expect to – someone as intelligent as you would never risk being caught with any of the stolen items on you. An accomplice was at hand so that you could slip him wallets and purses as and when you lifted them from their owners. As soon as he sees me hauling you off,’ explained Leeming, ‘he’ll follow in order to rescue you. When he spots someone breaking away from the crowd, the policeman I alerted earlier will intercept him.’

The woman drew herself up to her full height. ‘This is absolute lunacy.’

‘Come this way, madam,’ he said, taking her arm.

She shook him off. ‘Unhand me, sir! Don’t you dare touch me!’

‘If you don’t do as I say, I’ll be forced to handcuff you.’

‘I’m a respectable woman and – on my word of honour – I’ve done nothing wrong. Surely, that’s all you need to hear, man.’

‘That excuse may have worked on the archdeacon – if that’s what your late husband really was – but it will not do for me. Every person I’ve ever arrested has pleaded innocence.’

‘If you don’t believe
me
, ask my sister.’

‘Yes,’ said a voice behind him, ‘I’ll vouch for Maud.’

Leeming turned to see a much smaller woman of similar age. Her benign appearance belied her character because she suddenly pushed him hard in the chest with both hands. As he staggered backwards, the other woman stuck out a leg and tripped him up. Both of them then lifted up their skirts and showed a surprising turn of speed. Before Leeming could drag himself up, they’d got to the exit and headed for the cab rank. He sprinted after them and gained ground at once. But he was too late to stop them reaching a cab and climbing into it. Before it could be driven away, however, a sprightly old man jumped into the road and grabbed the horse’s bridle to prevent it moving.

As Leeming came running up, Caleb Andrews cackled in triumph.

‘I was watching you all the time, Sergeant,’ he explained, ‘in case you needed help. Maddy tried to stop me coming here but I was determined to get that wallet of mine back.’

Maud and Lilian Grieves were indeed sisters and they lived in a fine house in a street just off Park Lane. Now that they’d been caught, they showed neither fear nor remorse. They insisted on taking the two men to their home and handing back the stolen property they’d accumulated. When they entered the premises, Leeming and Andrews were taken to a room that was filled with the spoils of the two pickpockets. Laid out on tables like museum exhibits were dozens and dozens of wallets, purses, handbags and other assorted items. Andrews spotted his wallet and dived forward to reclaim it.

‘The money is still inside,’ said Maud, piously. ‘We’re not thieves. We just like the thrill of relieving people of whatever they have in their pockets and handbags.’

‘It’s a sort of hobby,’ said Lilian, stroking a stolen cigar case. ‘Maud and I are well provided for, as you can see, but our lives lack excitement. Since our husbands died, life became very dull until we discovered how light-fingered we were. We take it in turns to pick pockets then pass it on for safekeeping to whoever is acting as a lookout. You’ve no idea how careless people are in a crowd.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Leeming. ‘I’ve seen too many examples of it.’

‘I was careless,’ admitted Andrews. ‘I never felt a thing.’

Maud beamed. ‘That’s because I lifted your wallet when you were listening to that old man on the harp. Unbeknownst to him, he’s been very helpful to us.’

‘All this will be advertised,’ said Leeming, indicating the display. ‘A lot of people are going to be very glad that we’ve recovered what was stolen from them.’

‘I’m one of them,’ said Andrews, holding up his wallet. ‘It never crossed my mind that I’d been robbed by a woman.’

‘Nor me,’ confessed the sergeant. ‘You fooled me completely. I was looking for two hardened criminals, not a pair of respectable ladies who happened to be sisters.’

‘That was our disguise,’ boasted Lilian. ‘Nobody suspected us.’

‘It was wonderful while it lasted,’ added Maud. ‘It was a family business, so to speak. I’m sorry that it’s over but we always knew it would have to end one day.’

‘It’s finished for good,’ said Leeming, bluntly. ‘You’ll have to come with me to the police station. Oh,’ he went on, turning to Maud. ‘There’s one thing I’m curious to know. Was your husband
really
an archdeacon?’

‘That’s exactly what Arthur was,’ replied Maud with a nostalgic smile, ‘and Lilian will confirm it. He was the light of my life in every way. I would never lie to you about his eminent position in the church. There was, however, some deception involved,’ she conceded. ‘Unfortunately, Arthur was not my husband. We simply pretended that he was.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He and I had an understanding, you see.’

As they walked hand in hand beside the rippling stream, they felt the early morning sun on their backs. Alaric and Liza Bignall had been married for over nine months now but they still had the glow of newly-weds. The route was among their favourites and held a special significance because it was beside that same stream that Bignall had proposed to her. Since they’d both been overwhelmed by excitement at the time, they could not remember the exact spot where the event had taken place. All that Bignall could recall was that it was near a point where they’d been able to cross the stream by using a series of small boulders as stepping stones. The problem was that boulders were strewn everywhere in the water, creating eddies and miniature cascades at irregular intervals.

‘I think that it was here,’ he said, coming to a halt.

‘No, it wasn’t, Alaric. It was much farther on than this.’

‘It feels like the right place, Liza.’

‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ she said.

‘Look at the way the stepping stones are set.’

‘That’s what I am doing and they’re wrong. There was a very large boulder in the middle of the stream, much bigger than the one here.’

‘Your memory’s playing tricks on you.’

‘When we find the right place,’ she said, firmly, ‘I’ll know it at once.’

Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of an approaching train. It was travelling at full speed. They turned to look up the embankment and watched the train thunder past. From an open window, a top hat suddenly shot out and rolled crazily down the embankment. The door of a compartment was then flung open and a man dived out, hitting solid earth and tumbling helplessly towards them. Gathering pace, he fell on and on until he reached the stream itself, plunging into the water and striking his head against a jagged rock.

By the time they got to him, the blood gushing from the wound was being carried away by the stream. Liza was aghast.

‘He’s dead!’ she cried.

When they eventually got to Sheffield station, they alighted from the train and hired a cab to take them to the outskirts of the town. Victor Leeming was not at all convinced that their journey was necessary.

‘All this fuss over a top hat,’ he moaned. ‘When carriages had no roofs on them, hats were being blown off all the time and there were dozens of cases of people chasing after them. That’s obviously what happened here, sir.’

‘Unlike you,’ said Colbeck, wryly, ‘I’m not gifted with second sight so I can’t make such an authoritative judgement. Neither, it seems, can the railway company that
asked us to investigate. They want an answer to a simple question – did he jump out of the train or was he pushed?’

‘He jumped out after his hat, sir.’

‘When the train was going full pelt?’

‘Some people are very vain about their appearance,’ said Leeming, pointedly. ‘They’d die rather than be seen in public without a hat.’

‘I’m one of them,’ said the other with a laugh, ‘and I freely admit it. But even my vanity doesn’t extend to risking my life in order to retrieve a top hat. Headgear can be easily replaced, albeit at a cost. I’m conceited enough to believe that Detective Inspector Robert Colbeck would not be so easily substituted.’

They lapsed into silence and watched houses, civic buildings and factories slide past. Earlier in the century, Sheffield had been a pretty South Yorkshire town with the most famous cutlery industry in England. The advent of railways had increased its population markedly, pushed out its boundaries and given its burgeoning enterprises an international market. Cutlery remained its main product but steel, carpets and furniture were also produced. The invention of the silver-plating process enabled the town to manufacture Sheffield Plate, another claim to fame. Growth came at a price. Billowing smoke and industrial clamour seemed to be everywhere.

‘Do you know what a hat trick is?’ asked Colbeck, resuming the conversation.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Leeming with a grin. ‘It’s keeping the thing on your head instead of letting it blow off.’

‘I can see that you don’t follow events in the world of cricket.’

‘Tug-of-war is the only sport that I was any good at. When I was a young constable, I was part of a winning team.’

‘To some degree,’ said Colbeck, ‘you still are. We’re engaged in a non-stop tug-of-war against the criminal fraternity. We have to fight hard to retain our footing. However,’ he continued, ‘I ask about a cricketing term because it recently came into being in this very town. Sheffield has a long association with the sport. Does the name H. H. Stephenson mean anything to you?’

Leeming shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of the man, Inspector.’

‘His remarkable feat has introduced a new phrase into the English language. A mere fortnight ago, Stephenson was playing for the All-England Eleven here in Sheffield. With three consecutive balls, he bowled out three of the opposing batsmen.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘It’s extremely unusual, Victor. I daresay that it’s happened before but it’s never been accorded its full merit. In this instance, a hat was taken round the spectators and they tossed coins into it in appreciation of what they’d seen.’

‘Nobody did that when we won a tug-of-war. The most we got was a free pint of beer and – if we were lucky – a stale pork pie.’

‘Anyway,’ concluded Colbeck, ‘that’s how the notion of a hat trick emerged into the light of day. I fancy that the expression will stick. The fact that it was coined in the very place we’re visiting is a pleasing coincidence.’

‘It doesn’t please me,’ murmured Leeming.

Alaric and Liza Bignall were practical. When they’d got over the initial shock, they established that the man was still alive though knocked unconscious. From the unnatural angle at which he lay, they realised that one of his legs had been broken. They pulled him carefully out of the water. Since the head wound was the major concern, Liza tore a strip off her petticoat to use as a bandage. Leaving his wife to look after the man, Bignall had run off to summon help. He later returned in a horse and cart driven by a farmer. While the two men lifted the patient gently onto the cart, Liza retrieved his top hat and set it down beside him. The farmer had driven them to the home of a doctor who lived on the very edge of Sheffield and it was there that the detectives made the acquaintance of James Scanlan, a portly man in his late fifties with heavy jowls and watery eyes.

‘He’s still in a coma,’ Scanlan explained, ‘and is very unlikely ever to come out of it. To be quite frank, he already has one foot in the grave. I’ve put splints on a broken leg but it’s the internal injuries that are the real threat.’

‘Shouldn’t he be moved to an infirmary?’ said Leeming.

‘There’s no point. He’d probably die on the way there. The journey here all but killed him. I can make his last few hours alive as dignified as possible.’

‘What do we know about him?’ asked Colbeck.

‘This may help you, Inspector.’

Scanlan handed over the injured man’s wallet and Colbeck examined the contents. There were several five-pound notes inside and a first-class return ticket to Sheffield but the most useful item was a business card, identifying him as Rufus Moyle, a solicitor from York.

‘He was brought here by a farmer who’s one of my
patients,’ said Scanlan, ‘but he was actually found by a young man and his wife. Their prompt action probably saved his life – for a time at least.’

‘Do you have their names and address?’

‘I do, Inspector. I imagined that you’d wish to speak to them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, taking the sheet of paper that was offered to him. After a glance at the address, he handed the paper to Leeming. ‘There you are, Sergeant. Take the cab and see what Mr and Mrs Bignall have to say.’

‘Yes, sir – where shall we meet?’

‘I’ll see you at the police station.’

When Leeming had gone, Colbeck was conducted into a room at the rear of the house. Stripped of most of his clothing, Rufus Moyle lay on a bed with a sheet over his body. Heavy bandaging encircled his head and his face was bruised. He was a tall, slim man in his fifties. His elegant frock coat had been ripped apart, his trousers were covered in dirt and his shoes were badly scuffed. At a glance, Colbeck could see that the top hat, though soiled, was of the finest quality. Clearly, Rufus Moyle was something of a dandy.

Eyes closed tight, the patient hardly seemed to be breathing.

‘He was obviously a successful man,’ decided Colbeck. ‘He can afford an excellent tailor. In the course of my work, I’ve dealt with many solicitors. They are usually sharp-witted gentlemen. They’re highly unlikely to plunge out of a moving train in pursuit of a hat.’

‘Could it have been a suicide attempt, Inspector?’

‘I doubt that very much. Had that been his intention, Mr Moyle would have left nothing to chance and – as you
can see – he survived. There are much quicker and more foolproof ways of killing oneself. Also, of course, he’d bought a return ticket. Nobody would spend money on a journey they never intended to make.’

He searched the pockets of the coat, waistcoat and trousers but found nothing apart from a handkerchief and an enamelled snuffbox.

‘His family needs to be informed as soon as possible,’ he said, considerately. ‘Sergeant Leeming has taken our cab. Could I prevail upon you to get me to the police station somehow?’

‘One of my servants will drive you there in the trap.’

‘Thank you.’ Colbeck glanced down at the patient. ‘I hope to find him still alive when we get back here.’

Doctor Scanlan shrugged. ‘That’s in God’s hands, Inspector.’

Alaric and Liza Bignall were both at home when Leeming arrived. The cobbler’s shop where Bignall worked was closed for renovation so he’d brought some of the boots and shoes in need of repair back to the house. He was hammering away in the garden shed when the visitor called. Liza called him into the house and introduced him to the sergeant. Bignall was impressed.

‘You’ve come all the way from Scotland Yard because someone jumped out of a train?’ he said in amazement.

‘There may be more to it than that, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘What I need you and your wife to do is to tell me what exactly happened and where you were at the time. I’ve brought this so that you can give me a precise location.’

Producing an Ordnance Survey map from his pocket,
he opened it out and set it on the table. Husband and wife pored over it. After a while, Bignall jabbed his finger at a spot on the map but Liza felt that it was slightly further to the left. When they’d reached a compromise, Leeming marked the place with a pencil that he then used to make notes. Bignall recalled the events of the morning and his wife either confirmed or amended the details.

‘You are to be congratulated,’ said Leeming when the joint recitation ended. ‘You did the right thing in a difficult situation. Let me come back to something you said, sir,’ he went on, referring to his notebook. ‘According to you, the man
dived
from the train? Is that correct?’

‘Yes, it is,’ replied Bignall.

‘Are you certain that he didn’t jump?’

‘I am, Sergeant. My wife will confirm it.’

‘The man dived out headfirst,’ she said. ‘We both saw him.’

Leeming’s interest in the case quickened. Ready to dismiss what occurred as an act of folly on the part of Rufus Moyle, he was now forced to confront the possibility that a crime had taken place. Someone in pursuit of a hat would surely jump from a train and land on his feet before tumbling down the embankment. A man who dived might well have been pushed from behind.

‘I hope that we’ve been helpful,’ said Bignall.

‘You’ve been very helpful indeed, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘This case is not as trivial as I first thought. I’m grateful to both of you.’

As soon as he saw the return ticket in the injured man’s wallet, Colbeck felt certain that Moyle had somehow been ejected from the train. Other passengers might have seen him careering
down the embankment but they couldn’t be sure from which compartment he’d been shoved out and the person responsible would hardly admit what he had done. The accident had been reported at Sheffield station and a telegraph was sent to the headquarters of the railway company. They, in turn, fearing foul play, had contacted Scotland Yard. Colbeck knew that the anonymous attacker could be hundreds of miles away. The case might never be solved.

Dropped off at the police station, he thanked the driver of the trap and went into the building. His assumptions were immediately challenged.

‘We
know
who was in the same compartment with him, Inspector,’ said the duty sergeant, Will Fox, ‘because he was kind enough to come here and report the accident.’

Colbeck was surprised. ‘Did he claim it was an
accident
?’

‘Oh, yes. There were only two of them in the compartment, apparently, and they were strangers to each other. A few miles outside Sheffield, one of them peeped out of the open window and his hat blew off. On impulse,’ said Fox, ‘he opened the door and went after it. He was well dressed, I’m told, and he obviously cherished the top hat.’

‘Then why didn’t he take more care of it? I always remove my hat before I look out of a window on a train. It saves me a lot of money and inconvenience. Mr Moyle must have known there was a risk of losing the hat.’

‘We all do odd things in some situations, sir.’

‘What was the name of the gentleman who came forward?’

‘He left his business card,’ replied Fox, picking it up from the desk and handing it to Colbeck. ‘He’s a Mr Humphrey Welling, a company director.’

‘He’s rather more than that,’ observed Colbeck when he saw the card. ‘He’s a director of the Midland Railway. Did he have business in the town?’

‘So I would imagine.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He was planning to return home to York this afternoon.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll seek him out,’ said Colbeck. ‘We have to go to there to break the sad news to Mr Moyle’s family. We can call on Mr Welling afterwards.’ He glanced at the card. ‘What manner of man was he?’