The Silver Locomotive Mystery (18 page)

‘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.

‘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.

‘And you’re sure that nobody has made enquiries in the city?’

‘If they had, I’d have got to hear about it. We stick together for our own protection in this trade. We won’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry stroll in and open up a shop just because he likes to hear cathedral bells on a Sunday. No,’ said Grindle, ‘the people you’re after never came near Gloucester. You’ll have to look somewhere else.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

He and Leeming left the shop and closed the door behind him.

‘I don’t think he was any help at all,’ said Leeming. ‘If he’s as rude as that to customers, he won’t keep many of them.’

‘Mr Grindle is exactly what we need, Victor.’

‘Is he?’

‘Yes – he guards his own territory and bristles at the slightest hint of a fresh rival. In five minutes, he saved us the trouble of looking anywhere else in the city.’

‘So what do we do now, sir?’

‘We go on to Chepstow,’ said Colbeck, happily, ‘and we find someone exactly like Jack Grindle, Silversmith.’

Leonard Voke had been a principal victim of the crimes and despair had eaten into his soul. Since his safe was ransacked, he had had neither the confidence nor the need to open his shop. Without his tools he could make nothing. He spent most of the day sitting in his back room amid the ruins of his livelihood. Edward Tallis called on him and discovered Voke more demoralised than ever.

‘There is no God,’ said the silversmith, despondently. ‘If there had been, I would never have had to suffer like this. My assistant has been murdered, my safe has been emptied and my ungrateful son is responsible for both crimes. Where is God’s mercy in all that?’

‘This is not the time for a theological discussion,’ said Tallis, ‘but I can assure you that there is a heaven. God looks down on us all with true pity.’

‘I’m not aware of it, Superintendent.’

‘You are still dazed by the shock of what happened to you.’

‘Dazed?’ echoed Voke. ‘I’ve been smashed into pieces.’

Feeling that the old man deserved to be informed of the latest developments, Tallis had made the journey to Wood Street. There was no hope of cheering the silversmith up but he felt able to tell him that his detectives were closing in on the culprits. Voke listened to it all without comment. His mind was elsewhere.

‘It’s in two days’ time,’ he murmured.

‘What is, Mr Voke?’

‘The funeral – the arrangements have been made though there’ll be precious few of us to see dear Hugh lowered into the ground.’

‘There’ll be his sister,’ said Tallis, ‘and I’m quite certain that his landlady, Mrs Jennings, will be there. Mr Kellow must have friends who need to be informed of the details.’

‘I’ve put a notice in the newspapers.’

‘That should bring some people in. Did his sister make any special requests for the service?’

‘No,’ said Voke, ‘she was grateful to leave it all to me. After all that’s happened, the poor creature can’t think straight.’

‘The sudden death of a loved one can have that affect. When that death is of such a violent and unnatural kind, of course, the agony is more searing.’

‘Oh, I know all about agony,’ groaned the old man.

Tallis did not let him wallow in his misery. He still felt that Voke, unbeknown to him, might have information tucked away at the back of his mind that could be of use in the investigation. The silversmith had so far refused to talk about his son unless it was to unleash a stream of vituperation. Hoping to provoke him into a more considered
discussion, Tallis decided to tell him something about Stephen Voke that his father did not know.

‘When your son left your employment, he changed somewhat.’

‘Yes – he began to plot my destruction!’

‘I was talking about his work,’ said Tallis. ‘I know that you thought him lazy but he seems to have applied himself to his craft. Not, I should add, when he was at Mr Stern’s shop. This was when he was on his own. According to his landlord, Mr Meyrick, your son would spend almost all his spare time working on commissioned items for private customers.’

Voke was roused. ‘Is this true?’

‘He was so dedicated that he worked on into the night until there were complaints about the noise he was making with his hammer. Evidently, the walls in the house are rather thin.’

‘I knew it!’ yelled Voke. ‘He stole my clients from me. I often wondered why people who had been very pleased with our work suddenly went elsewhere. Stephen must have poached them.’

‘He could only do that by offering lower charges. The point is that he was not the complete wastrel you described to me. Your son obviously had a new incentive in life and it must be linked to the young woman who came into his life.’

‘
Which
young woman, Superintendent – there were many.’