The Silver Locomotive Mystery (12 page)

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.’