The Silver Locomotive Mystery

by Edward Marston

  ‘Why, it’s you, superintendent,’ said Buckmaster with a flamboyant gesture. ‘I didn’t recognise you out of your uniform. You cut a fine figure in evening wear, I must say. Was this transformation brought about for any particular occasion?’

  ‘Yes, sir – I attended a performance of Macbeth.’ The others traded an uneasy glance and began to mouth excuses. ‘Perhaps we should discuss this in private,’ Stockdale said, interrupting them. ‘I promised the manager that I wouldn’t arrest you in public.’

  Buckmaster goggled. ‘Arrest!’

  ‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ protested Kate.

  ‘That’s exactly the point, Miss Linnane,’ said Stockdale. ‘Nothing wrong was done. I have been investigating a crime that never actually took place.’ His smile was glacial. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

  Followed by the superintendent, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth went up to Buckmaster’s room. They were not acknowledging an ecstatic audience now nor were they garnering praise from their enthusiastic well-wishers at the stage door. They were compelled to produce a very different performance and it was one they had never rehearsed. When they reached the room, Buckmaster unlocked the door with his key. After helping Kate remove her cape, he took off his top hat and cloak before turning up the gaslight to brighten the room. Taking a stance in the middle of the carpet, he launched into his defence.

  ‘We are deeply sorry, Superintendent,’ he said, one hand to his breast. ‘Common courtesy dictated that we should have told you of Miss Linnane’s miraculous escape from her kidnapper. The truth of the matter is that we simply didn’t have the time. Twenty minutes before the curtain was due to rise, Miss Linnane burst into the theatre and announced that – in spite of the appalling trial she’d had to undergo – she would honour her commitment to the company and take on her role. I’m sure you’ll agree that she did so with the brilliance we’ve come to associate with her.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Buckmaster,’ said Stockdale, curtly, ‘but I’ve heard enough speeches from you this evening and I don’t propose to listen to any more – even though you no longer wear that kilt.’ He turned to Kate. ‘What have you to say, Miss Linnane?’

  ‘I’m still haunted by the memory of it,’ she claimed, looking anguished. ‘I was snatched from my room, forced to travel to London and kept in a dark cellar for hours on end. When I managed to escape, I hastened back to Cardiff to play the part for which I’d been engaged. All else went from my mind.’

  ‘Who abducted you?’

  ‘It was a crazed fellow who has been stalking me for months, Superintendent. When he saw his opportunity, he pounced.’

  ‘Then I must ask you the question that Inspector Colbeck first put,’ said Stockdale. ‘Why did you not resist and call out? You almost screeched down the walls of the castle on stage tonight so I know that your lungs are in good order. What happened to your voice during the kidnap? Did he threaten to kill you if you raised the alarm?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, clutching at the suggestion. ‘That was it.’

  ‘Now you know the full story,’ concluded Buckmaster, ‘so you must excuse us. We are very tired and Miss Linnane has been through a very harrowing day.’

  ‘So have my men,’ said Stockdale. ‘Constable Roberts and Constable Parker made a totally unnecessary trip to London in pursuit of this mythical kidnapper and several other policemen went searching for witnesses in Cardiff itself. I put it to you, Miss Linnane, that this whole episode was devised by you for some personal reason, as a result of which the Cardiff Borough Police were needlessly distracted from pursuing real criminals.’

  ‘I was abducted!’ she cried, falling back on defiance.

  ‘Do you subscribe to this lie, Mr Buckmaster?’

  ‘I stand by what Miss Linnane has told you,’ said the actor.

  ‘Then perhaps you’d explain something to me, sir. When Miss Linnane returned to Cardiff after her dramatic escape from a dark cellar, why didn’t you inform us immediately of her return?’

  ‘I told you – we didn’t have time.’

  ‘The performance was delayed by half an hour. That gave you plenty of time to send someone to the police station. One of your underlings could run the distance in less than five minutes.’

  ‘We are actors, Superintendent,’ said Buckmaster, grandly. ‘The play must always come first. Our public awaited us.’

  ‘I’ve been awaiting you as well,’ said Stockdale, grimly, ‘and I got into conversation with the manager while I did so. Mr Pugh is a shrewd gentleman. He suggested that it was unlikely that anyone would simply charge in off the street and drag Miss Linnane out. To begin with, how would this fellow know where to find her room? Mr Pugh had the answer to that. He wondered if the kidnapper was already staying here as a guest.’ Kate clenched her teeth. ‘He allowed me to look through the register and do you know what I found? There’s someone who booked in two days ago by the name of Michael Linnane.’ The two of them wilted under his glare. ‘Do I need to say anything more?’

  After a night at home in the bosom of his family, Victor Leeming looked much happier and healthier. The bandaging around his head obliged him to wear his top hat at a rakish angle and he collected some curious stares as he and Colbeck walked along the platform at Paddington Station, but he was unperturbed by the attention. When they found an empty carriage, they removed their hats then sat down opposite each other. Leeming’s good humour was not only occasioned by the fact that he was hoping to arrest the man who assaulted him. He was relieved that they would not be staying away overnight and that he could return to the comforts of the marital couch in due course.

  ‘I’ve been looking at a map of where we’re going,’ he began.

  Colbeck patted his pocket. ‘I’ve brought one with me, Victor.’

  ‘The one I saw had part of South Wales on it and what puzzled me was this. Why didn’t they build a railway bridge across the River Severn? That would have been the most direct route.’

  ‘The most direct and the most sensible,’ agreed Colbeck, ‘which is exactly why it was suggested when the line was first mooted. There was a proposal for a long bridge across the river west of Gloucester. Local objection, alas, was so powerful that the scheme had to be abandoned. The line was diverted through the Forest of Dean so Mr Brunel had no need to bridge the Severn. His engineering skills were, however, put to the test.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – I saw the viaducts at Chepstow and Newport.’

  Colbeck was amused. ‘You’re improving, Victor. There was a time when you hardly looked out of the window of a train.’

  ‘I’m usually too busy praying that we’ll arrive safely.’

  ‘Accidents on the railway are not that common.’

  ‘Tell that to the passengers on the Brighton express,’ said Leeming. ‘The ones who survived the crash last year, that is.’

  It was a case that still troubled Leeming. The express had been involved in a head-on collision with a ballast train. He remembered the devastation caused. Though the accident had been deliberately engineered, Leeming’s fears were not stilled. Whenever he was tugged along at high speed by an iron monster breathing fire and pulsing with energy, he thought about the Brighton express and longed for the more leisurely days when the stagecoach was the principal mode of transport.

  ‘Where do we start, Inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘In Gloucester,’ replied Colbeck. ‘It’s a cathedral city with a pleasant aspect. It could well attract two refugees from London.’

  ‘You can see why they told nobody where they were going.’

  ‘They wanted to cut their ties with the past and start afresh. At least, that’s the way it looks. There was nothing to keep Stephen Voke in London and we must assume that the same is true of the young lady who went with him.’

  ‘All that we have is her Christian name – Bridget.’

  ‘I’m not convinced of that,’ said Colbeck. ‘If she did set out to entrap Hugh Kellow, she might well have given a false name. I’ve also
been thinking about those ransom letters sent to Mrs Tomkins. Two of them were written by a woman but the others – in block capitals – could just as easily have been penned by a man.’

  ‘What do you deduce from that, sir?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It worries me.’

  ‘Perhaps the young woman was not even in Cardiff at the time the last two letters were sent,’ observed Leeming. ‘The only person involved in the exchange was a man. He was operating alone.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’d have used his accomplice as a lookout. They’ve always been extremely careful in the past. We are up against people who take no chances.’

  ‘Then how do we catch them?’

  ‘We exploit their weakness.’

  ‘I didn’t know that they had one, sir.’

  ‘They do now, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘Their venture into crime is over. They committed murder and, with the keys stolen from their victim, they emptied Leonard Voke’s safe. They used the silver coffee pot cleverly to fleece Mrs Tomkins. Now that they’ve got what they want, they’ll have left Cardiff to begin a respectable new life. In short, they’ll think they got away with it. That’s their weak spot – they believe they’re completely safe.’

  ‘What about that carriage?’

  ‘You mean the one stolen from Mrs Tomkins?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – it would bring in a tidy sum if they sold it along with the two horses.’

  ‘It would also arouse suspicion,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that will deter them. Stephen Voke, I fancy, does not look like someone who is a legitimate owner of a splendid carriage. There’s another thing to consider, Victor. Have you ever driven a vehicle with two horses between the shafts?’

  ‘I’m not stupid enough to try, sir. They’d be a handful.’

  ‘Mr Voke will be no coachman either. I think he only stole the carriage in order to buy time for his escape. At the rate she walks, it would have taken Mrs Tomkins some while to get home and report what happened. The villains might have left Cardiff by then.’

  ‘What will they have done with the carriage?’

  ‘Abandoned it, more than likely,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s no use to them now. It would only get them noticed when they seek anonymity. No, it will turn up in due course.’

  ‘Where was it found?’ asked Clifford Tomkins, looking at the carriage.

  ‘A few miles from here,’ replied Stockdale. ‘It was standing beside a stream well away from the main road. The horses were cropping the grass. If it hadn’t been for a man who went fishing in that stream, the carriage might still be there.’

  ‘He deserves a reward.’

  ‘He’s already had it, sir. He was a poacher trespassing on private property. I overlooked that offence in return for the information he gave me.’

  They were standing on the forecourt of the Tomkins’ residence. A policeman had driven the carriage there with the superintendent as his passenger. Stockdale seized on the offer of money.

  ‘You’re very fortunate to get it back in this condition, sir,’ he pointed out. ‘The horses could have been harmed and the carriage damaged. You’d have incurred a sizeable debt. Since you are minded to give a reward, might I suggest that a donation to the Borough Police Force is in order?’

  ‘You shall have it, Superintendent.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. We need money to fight crime.’

  ‘I think you’ve earned it.’

  Tomkins was not speaking from a philanthropic impulse. The ironmaster was recalling Stockdale’s discretion with regard to his nocturnal antics in a brothel. That deserved recognition. They were still talking when Winifred Tomkins came out of the house.

  ‘We’ve got it back!’ she cried, coming over to them.

  ‘I’ll explain all the details later,’ said Tomkins.

  ‘That’s one load off my mind, Superintendent. We’ve had that carriage for years. One grows attached to things like that.’ She peered at it more closely. ‘Is it damaged in any way?’

  ‘No, Mrs Tomkins,’ said Stockdale. ‘We inspected it carefully. I suggest that you get your coachman to take it round to the stables. After all this time, the horses need to be unharnessed – they’re very restive, as you can see.’

  ‘I’ll organise that at once,’ said Tomkins, walking away.

  ‘Thank you so much, Superintendent,’ said Winifred. ‘I’ve been having nightmares about that carriage.’

  ‘I did promise that you’d get it back – and your money.’

  ‘Strictly speaking, it’s not mine any more.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Clifford – my husband – came round to my point of view in the end. Since he commissioned the coffee pot as a gift, he accepted that he should bear any costs pertaining to it. He’s agreed to pay me every penny that I lost.’

  Stockdale suppressed a grin. ‘That’s very handsome of him.’

  ‘Now that we have our carriage back, he can’t keep blaming me for losing it in the first place.’

  ‘You didn’t exactly lose it, Mrs Tomkins. It was taken from you by a man with a pistol. In those circumstances, your husband would have yielded up the carriage as well.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I told him.’

  ‘You’ll be able to sleep more soundly from now on.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ she said with gratitude. ‘You saved us from so much embarrassment, Superintendent. What happened with respect to the coffee pot can be kept secret but we could not have hidden the fact that our carriage had been stolen. Tongues would have wagged. You know the kind of rumours that can spread.’

  ‘They’ve been nipped in the bud, Mrs Tomkins.’

  He looked up to see her husband returning with the coachman and pointing to the carriage. Strutting along with his chest out and his stomach pulled in, Tomkins gave the impression that he had retrieved the vehicle in person. He snapped his fingers and the coachman took over, first patting the horses to calm them down then climbing up on to the seat to drive the carriage away.

  ‘I can see why you wanted it back,’ said Stockdale. ‘It’s a very comfortable ride.’

  ‘Far more comfortable than Lady Pryde’s phaeton,’ Winifred interjected. ‘I can assure you of that.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it, Mrs Tomkins. I can’t envisage myself ever being invited to sit beside Lady Pryde.’

  ‘Then you should be grateful.’

  ‘What happens next, Superintendent?’ asked Tomkins. ‘When will you recover my money?’

  ‘More to the point,’ said his wife, ‘when will I finally have my silver coffee pot?’

  ‘I’m in no position to answer either of those questions,’ said Stockdale, ‘because I am no longer involved in the investigation. It’s moved outside Cardiff and thus out of my hands. Inspector Colbeck is pursuing the matter elsewhere. I have to confine myself to finding kidnapped actresses and recovering stolen carriages.’

  Winifred’s brow creased. ‘Kidnapped actresses, you say?’

  ‘There was a slight problem with the theatre company, Mrs Tomkins, but it’s been resolved now. Mr Buckmaster was so grateful that he gave me several free tickets for Saturday’s performance. He was also kind enough to donate some money to us.’

  ‘But who was kidnapped?’

  ‘Nobody – it was all a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Well, the theft of that coffee pot was not a misunderstanding,’ said Tomkins, sulkily. ‘It’s cost me almost as much as the locomotive on which it was modelled. I hope that Inspector Colbeck realises that.’

  The fugitives were not in Gloucester. That was established without any difficulty. After alighting at the railway station, Colbeck and Leeming walked to a silversmith near the centre of the city and asked him if he was expecting to have more competition in the area.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ said Jack Grindle, gruffly. ‘There’s barely enough work to keep the rest of us going.’

  ‘This looks like a fairly prosperous town,’ said Colbeck.

&n
bsp; ‘People don’t always want to spend their money on jewellery, Inspector. When farmers make a profit, they buy more stock and their wives have little desire for my handiwork. New dresses and pretty bonnets are what they prefer. There’s over 17,000 people living in Gloucester and most of them work in the docks, the foundries, the timber mills, the flow mills and such like. You won’t find much interest in silverware there. It’s a luxury they can’t afford.’

  It was a small shop but the silverware on display was of a high quality. Grindle had an apprentice and an assistant in the back room so he clearly had enough work to justify their wages. He was a big, raw-boned, hirsute man in his forties with the build of a blacksmith yet his hands were small and delicate. He blinked constantly.

  ‘Where would you go, Mr Grindle?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘I’m staying right here,’ rejoined the silversmith, truculently. ‘This is my shop and nobody will turn me out of it.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, sir.’

  ‘Then why not say so?’

  ‘What the sergeant is asking,’ explained Colbeck, ‘is only a hypothetical question.’

  Grindle was baffled. ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘Supposing that you did want to move elsewhere and start afresh, which part of the country would you choose?’

  ‘It would have to be London. That’s where the money is.’

  ‘The person we’re interested in has just left the city. We think that he might have headed in this direction.’

  ‘Then he’d better not show his nose in Gloucester.’

  ‘Is there anywhere in the area that might attract him?’

  Grindle scratched his head. ‘I can’t name a place, Inspector,’ he said with a sniff, ‘but I can tell you this. If I was starting up again, I’d choose somewhere that was close to rich folk in large country houses. It’s the aristocracy and the gentry that like silver tableware. Find someone who wants plate and cutlery and you find a good living.’

  ‘Where would you suggest that we look?’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Anywhere but here,’ was the blunt reply.