‘Will you get permission from Mr Tallis first?’
‘No, Victor. I’ll leave you to do that on my behalf. Persuade him that I simply had to dash off.’ He took his copy of Bradshaw from a drawer. ‘Now that he’s starting to appreciate your true value as a detective, he can hold no fears for you.’
Leeming was nonplussed. ‘What am I to say to him?’
‘Tell him that I’ve gone to see a dark lady.’
CHAPTER TEN
Tolerant by nature, Gordon Younger was nevertheless annoyed by the sudden departure of his guests. Without any explanation, Oxley and Irene had left without even drinking the tea they’d requested. What upset Younger most was the fact that they’d taken the newspaper with them. After the long walk to the station to get it, he felt that he at least had the right to read it. His wife was also distressed. She liked Oxley and had found Irene pleasant company. Having offered both of them hospitality, she’d expected gratitude. Yet during their hasty exit, there had been no whisper of thanks from their guests.
‘Have they gone for good?’ asked Younger.
‘They didn’t say.’
‘Have you looked in their room?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I’ll do that now.’
Susanna went upstairs and opened the bedroom door to peep in. Her guests had brought very little luggage with them but most of it was still there. She resisted the temptation to poke into a valise. It was private property. In any case, she and her husband had agreed never to look too closely into what Jeremy Oxley did. It was much more sensible to take him at face value. Whenever he came to them, he was invariably in trouble of some kind. Their job was simply to offer unquestioning help to a friend.
When she returned to the parlour, Gordon was on his feet.
His eyebrows arched. ‘Well?’
‘It looks as if they’re coming back.’
‘Then I’ll give Jerry a piece of my mind.’
‘Don’t start an argument,’ she said, querulously. ‘He’s always been well behaved with us but we know he has a temper.’
‘So do I, Susanna. Nobody is going to treat us like that.’
‘There’s probably an innocent explanation.’
‘You can’t excuse bad manners,’ he said, taking a stand. ‘If they want to remain here any longer, then they owe us a grovelling apology and a promise to mend their ways.’
‘Jerry is to blame. Irene simply does what she’s told.’
‘She was rude to us, Susanna, and I won’t stand for it.’
He paced up and down to relieve his anger, then he remembered something and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Reaching a decision, he headed for the door.
‘Where are you going, Gordon?’
‘Across the road,’ he said. ‘Martin Baber gets a copy of The Times most days. He’ll have finished with it by now.’
‘Jerry may bring our copy back.’
‘I can’t wait until he does that.’ He went out. ‘I only make the effort to get a paper once or twice a week, so I’m feeling deprived of news. I won’t be long.’
Susanna resumed her seat and thought about the time they’d spent with their unexpected visitors. They had been tense when they first arrived but had gradually relaxed. Irene, in particular, had loved the semi-rural location and the gardens. They had been quiet and undemanding guests, falling in with the daily routine of the Youngers. Oxley was a criminal and always at odds with the law, Susanna accepted that. It had been difficult for a person as law-abiding as herself but Gordon had pointed out that he knew the secret in their past. As a result, they had to maintain their friendship with him and make allowances for his irregular appearances on their doorstep. Oxley held the key to their continued existence under false names. They had to trust him as much as he clearly trusted them.
For that reason, she wanted to prevent any quarrel breaking out. By the time that they returned, she hoped, her husband’s ire would have subsided. Susanna was still going over details of their visit when her husband came back to the house. He waved the newspaper triumphantly in the air.
‘It’s pristine,’ he said. ‘I can catch up on almost a week of news that I missed. Martin hasn’t even looked at it yet. He’s had to go out at short notice. Rose said that we can keep the paper until he gets back.’
‘That’s kind of her.’
‘Such is the value of cultivating good neighbours, Susanna.’
‘Rose has a heart of gold,’ she said with a sigh. ‘There are times when I feel so guilty about having to deceive her and Martin.’
‘It’s not deception,’ he insisted. ‘We are Gordon and Susanna Younger now. We’ve grown into it and cast off our other identities like snakes shedding their skins.’
She pulled a face. ‘That’s a horrid comparison.’
‘Yet it’s an accurate one.’
As he settled down to read the paper, she reached for her embroidery. It was nearing completion now and she recalled how much and how wistfully Irene had admired it. Evidently, it was the sort of accomplishment she’d never had time to master. Putting the thimble in place, she extracted the needle and began work. She was soon interrupted. With a cry of horror, Gordon shook the paper.
‘This explains everything,’ he said.
‘What does?’
‘It’s a report of two policemen who were murdered in the Midlands. The police are hunting for two suspects – Jeremy Oxley and Irene Adnam.’ He was aghast. ‘We’re harbouring killers, Susanna.’
‘Irene was not involved, surely.’
‘According to this, she shot one man at close range.’
‘Dear God!’ she exclaimed.
‘No wonder he took my copy of The Times. He didn’t want me to see this. Now we know why they charged out of here.’
‘We must inform the police at once.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘It’s our duty, Gordon. They’re both guilty of murder.’
‘The same charge can be laid against me,’ he warned.
‘You released people from agony,’ she said. ‘That’s not murder.’
‘A jury would think otherwise. We have to be very careful, Susanna. If we start running to the police, our own secret will come out. That would be a catastrophe.’
‘Yet if we don’t report them, somebody else might. Martin and Rose must have seen them in the front garden.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but they don’t know their names. There’s a description of the pair of them here but it could apply to thousands of other people of their age. Martin and Rose are not suspicious. They’d never think that their neighbours were hiding two people on the run from the police.’
‘Let me read the article.’
‘You’d find it too disturbing.’
‘Did she really shoot a policeman?’
‘Irene also helped to throw the body of another out of a moving train. Jerry was under arrest and she planned his escape. Those are the people who’ve been sleeping under our roof as if they didn’t have a care in the world.’
Susanna let out a yelp. All the time they’d been talking, she’d been carrying on unthinkingly with her embroidery. As full realisation dawned, and as the faces of Oxley and Irene were conjured into her mind, she jabbed the needle into her hand by mistake and drew blood.
* * *
The letter was addressed to Colbeck but the superintendent had no hesitation in opening it. If it was relevant to the investigation, he wanted to see it immediately. When he read it through for the first time, he felt that it might be a hoax, but a second reading made him change his mind. It contained too many details that only Jeremy Oxley could know. The missive was genuine. Intended for Colbeck, it invited him to meet with the man he was trying to catch so that they could ‘discuss matters of mutual interest’. The phrase made Tallis snort. He looked up at Leeming.
‘Who brought this?’ he demanded.
‘A young lad,’ replied the other. ‘He said that a gentleman had given him sixpence to delive
r it.’
‘Did you take the money off him?’
‘No, Superintendent – he’s done nothing wrong.’
‘He’s consorting with a wanted man.’
‘The lad wasn’t to know that. He was picked at random. You could hardly expect Oxley to slip it under the front door himself. That would be taking far too big a risk.’
‘I don’t need to be told that, Leeming.’
‘It proves one thing, sir – Oxley has read today’s paper. It’s just as Inspector Colbeck predicted. He’s been seized by panic. He’s given himself away by revealing that he’s actually in London.’ He took a step towards the desk. ‘May I have a look at it, please?’
Tallis dithered for a few moments then handed it over to him. Leeming read it through twice before passing judgement. He put the letter back on the desk.
‘It’s him, sir, no question about it. He’s issuing a challenge.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s to the inspector and he’s not here, is he? No, he went charging off to Coventry on a whim.’
‘He felt that there was evidence to be collected there.’
‘This is evidence,’ said Tallis, snatching up the letter. ‘It’s evidence that Jeremy Oxley is here in the capital with that murderous doxy of his. It’s evidence that he has the nerve to taunt us.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Leeming, thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t get the feeling that he was taunting us. There’s a note of desperation there. Look at it, Superintendent. There are blots and squiggles everywhere. That letter was dashed off in haste by a man who is losing his nerve.’
Tallis glanced at it again. ‘You could be right,’ he conceded.
‘Inspector Colbeck has been after this man for many years. He knows how Oxley’s mind works. He’d be able to read between the lines of that letter.’
‘Well, he can’t do that from Coventry,’ said Tallis, waspishly. ‘It’s one feat beyond even his extraordinary powers. Oh, where is the man when we really need him?’ he continued, banging the desk. ‘And what was all that nonsense about a dark lady?’
‘I daresay that he’ll tell us when he returns.’
‘And when will that be, pray?’
‘He’ll no doubt catch the fastest train from Coventry, sir.’
‘Damnation!’ roared Tallis, hitting the desk again as if trying to split it asunder. ‘I want Colbeck here now!’
* * *
Coventry was a pleasant town that had retained much of its medieval flavour. Centuries earlier, it had been one of the largest communities outside London but its thriving cloth trade had declined somewhat and it had lost its pre-eminence. It was the home of over thirty thousand souls, a number that swelled on market days when people poured in from the surrounding villages. Colbeck enjoyed his walk through twisting streets lined with half-timbered houses that dripped with character. The Sherbourne Hotel, named after the river on whose bank it was sited, was of more recent construction, a solid and symmetrical edifice that offered its guests comfort, privacy, good food and excellent views.
Gwen Darker was the owner’s wife but, since he was now disabled by chronic arthritis, she had taken over the running of the hotel. She was a short woman in her fifties with a soaring bosom and surging backside that made her seem bigger. Impeccably groomed, she wore a dress of red velvet splashed with silver buttons. Coils of pearls hung around her neck. When Colbeck introduced himself, she was amazed that he’d come from London to see her immediately on receipt of her letter. Leaving her assistant to take over, she led her visitor into a private room.
‘May I offer you refreshment, Inspector?’ she said.
‘Later, perhaps,’ he replied. ‘First of all, I’d like to establish that the two people I’m pursuing did actually stay here.’
‘There’s not a flicker of doubt about that, Inspector. They were here less than a fortnight ago. As soon as I read the report in the newspaper, I recognised them – and so did my husband.’
‘Did they book in here as man and wife?’
‘Yes, they called themselves Mr and Mrs Salford.’
‘That’s a suburb of Manchester,’ noted Colbeck, ‘so I can guess why it was chosen. Irene Adnam hails from Manchester.’
‘She did sound as if she came from further north.’
‘How long did they stay here?’
‘Almost a week,’ said Gwen, proudly, ‘and I thought that was a compliment to us. I mean, you don’t stay long at a hotel unless it treats you well. They did say that they might come back again one day but, in view of what I know about them now, they’ll get no welcome at the Sherbourne.’
‘What was your impression of them, Mrs Darker?’
‘They seemed to be a nice, quiet, respectable couple. I usually know if people are not really married and reserve the right to turn them away if they ask for a double room. In their case, I had no qualms. They looked as if they’d grown into a true partnership, the way that only married couples do.’
‘I understand.’
‘We don’t allow impropriety here, Inspector. We conduct our business on sound Christian values and we’d hate to get a name as a place that permitted any licence.’
‘It’s why the hotel obviously has such a good reputation.’
Colbeck had noticed on arrival that the lounge was full of guests, all patently happy with the facilities on offer. Prices were quite steep but they were matched by exceptional service. The place was spotlessly clean, well appointed and efficiently run. To stay there almost a week, Oxley and Adnam must have been able to foot a substantial bill. When they were not engaged in criminal activities, he concluded, they could afford to live in a degree of luxury.
‘How well did you get to know them?’ he wondered.
‘We exchanged a few words each day,’ said Gwen, ‘but they were not very talkative. They liked to keep themselves to themselves. Mr Salford – or whatever his real name is – told us that he’d worked in a bank for many years.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Colbeck, wryly. ‘What he really meant was that he was closely acquainted with the banking system. To be more exact, Mrs Darker, Oxley is linked to at least three bank robberies.’
‘You’d never have guessed it by looking at him. He fooled me completely, but then, so did the young lady. I’d marked them down as a harmless couple, not as a pair of vicious killers.’
‘What did they do all day?’
‘They took the train to Birmingham a couple of times.’
‘Did they say why?’
‘They were moving on there when they left here and wanted to spy out a good hotel.’
‘So when they left here, they went on to Birmingham.’
‘Yes, they said they were visiting his relatives.’
‘Why didn’t they stay with them?’
‘There was no room, apparently. The house was too small. Besides, Mrs Salford – Irene Adnam, that is – confided to me that she preferred to stay in a hotel.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That was the curious thing, Inspector.’
‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
‘Well, she treated me with respect, of course, but she did tend to order the staff around. It was almost as if she’d never dealt with servants before and wanted to make the most of it. She could be quite sharp with them at times.’
‘What else can you tell me about them, Mrs Darker?’
Gwen was an observant woman and was able to give Colbeck enough detail to make it absolutely certain of the real identity of her two guests. He was astonished to learn that they’d attended church on Sunday but less surprised to hear that Jeremy Oxley had been seen consulting a copy of Bradshaw. Railway timetables were as important to him as they were to Colbeck. Trains were his means of escape after a crime. He’d stayed in Coventry until the day before the robbery. Once he struck in Birmingham, he and Irene fled instantly with the takings. It was while he was in hiding in Wolverhampton that he’d been caught. Colbeck did not believe for a moment the claim that the couple were going to
stay with Oxley’s relatives. They did not exist. As in all his previous robberies, he had chosen the right moment to make his move then ran swiftly away from the scene of the crime. It was a time-honoured pattern.
When she came to the end of her tale, Colbeck thanked her profusely and told her that the information she’d been able to give him had more than justified his visit to Coventry. Gwen was gratified. Horrified to have given accommodation to ruthless criminals, she was desperate to help somehow in their capture.
‘I’ll never forget her face,’ she said. ‘It was truly beautiful.’
Colbeck thought about Helen Millington, the woman whom Irene Adnam resembled in every way. He recalled the delicate loveliness of her features, the exquisite splendour of her hair and the honeyed softness of her voice. He could see her, hear her and inhale her fragrance. He could actually feel her presence.
‘Yes,’ he said at length. ‘She is beautiful – very beautiful.’
There was safety in numbers. As long as they were in a crowd, Oxley and Irene would not be recognised from the description in the newspapers. To passers-by, they looked like any other young middle-class couple, walking arm in arm along the pavement. When they adjourned to a restaurant, they found that the other diners were far too preoccupied with eating their food to take any notice of them. Irene began to voice her concerns.
‘What if the inspector doesn’t turn up?’ she asked.
‘He’ll be there,’ said Oxley with confidence. ‘Colbeck can’t resist a challenge.’
‘I thought you’d never met him.’
‘I haven’t. My case never came to court.’
‘Then how will you recognise him?’
‘He’s the dandy of Scotland Yard, by all accounts. I’ve seen it mentioned in newspaper reports. He likes to dress a little better than other detectives. Well, his days as a peacock will soon be over.’ He patted the gun concealed in his belt. ‘I’m going to put a bullet into Beau Brummell.’
‘I still think it’s too dangerous, Jerry.’
‘Leave the thinking to me.’
Blood on the Line Page 13
