The Silver Locomotive Mystery (22 page)

‘How long did the girl work for you, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘Oh – the best part of a year, I suppose,’

‘And was she satisfactory?’

‘As far as I know,’ said Dalrymple. ‘I don’t have much to do with the servants as a rule. I’m a great believer in delegation.’

‘But if there had been a problem, you’d have been told.’

‘Yes, Sergeant – and there never was. Of course, Effie was not always working here in the house. She did some cleaning for me from time to time.’

‘Do you have another property in London?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I’m a chemist, Inspector. I own a number of shops. I also import pharmaceutical drugs.’ He gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘Since I was not clever enough to be a doctor like my father,’ he admitted, ‘I went into an allied profession.’

‘So Effie would have cleaned some of the shops?’

‘Yes,’ said Dalrymple, ‘either first thing in the morning before opening time or last thing in the evening. I think she liked the work. I caught her in here once, flicking through one of my books. Though what interest she could have in the wonders of chemistry, I really can’t imagine. It did prove that she could read.’

‘The young lady can do a lot more than that, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘That’s why we’re anxious to find her,’ added Leeming. ‘Have you any idea where she went when she left you?’

Dalrymple pursed his lips. ‘None at all,’ he said. ‘I don’t
keep track of the comings and goings of my domestics. One day she was here and the next, she was gone.’

‘Along with your wife’s sewing box, it seems.’

‘I’m afraid so, Sergeant.’

‘Did you write a reference for her?’

‘I was never asked to do so.’

‘Then she was not expecting to go into service elsewhere.’

‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘I suspect that Miss Haggs already had another occupation in view. Thank you, Mr Dalrymple,’ he went on, ‘we’re sorry to have troubled you. What you’ve told us is extremely useful. There is one final question.’

‘And what’s that, Inspector?’

‘Do any of your shops sell sulphuric acid?’

‘It’s also known as hydrogen sulphate,’ said Dalrymple, ‘or oil of vitriol. And, yes, we do keep a stock of it because it has a range of uses if correctly mixed. Were you looking to purchase some, by any chance?’

‘Not at the moment, sir.’

They took their leave and waited in the street for a cab. Leeming was glad to have escaped from a house whose rich furnishings had made him feel uneasy. He was relieved that he had not accepted Colbeck’s earlier bet. Dalrymple did exist, after all. Effie had peppered her lies with truth.

‘What did you make of him, Victor?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I think he spent his entire life washing his hands. Did you see how clean they were? And I’ve never seen anyone’s skin shine like that before. I tell you,’ said Leeming, ‘that I felt quite dirty standing next to him. What kind of soap does he use?’

‘Go back and ask him.’

‘No, no – I don’t want to go back in there again, sir.’

‘That’s where Effie lived for a while,’ said Colbeck, studying the house. ‘She could have done a lot worse for herself, I suppose.’

‘Why did she pinch a sewing box before she left?’

‘For the same reason that she stole the acid, I expect.’

‘And what’s that, Inspector?’

‘She needed it.’

Effie pored over the book with a look of intense concentration on her face. She did not hear Kellow come into the room and creep up behind her. When he put his hands over her eyes, she screamed in surprise. He smothered the noise with a kiss.

‘What are you reading?’ he asked.

‘It’s one of those books I got from Mrs Jennings’ house,’ she said. ‘It’s amazing, Hugh. I never realised there was so much to learn.’

‘I know that book inside out. I could recite it to you. Next time you want to know something, just ask me.’

‘I was trying to understand what these marks meant.’

She pointed to an illustration of a dinner plate. On its reverse side were five separate marks in a line. Kellow used a finger to point to each one in turn.

‘These are the maker’s initials,’ he explained, ‘put there as a kind of signature. Then we have the sterling standard mark, that little lion. Next is the crowned leopard’s head, the London mark. The letter “P” tells us the date, which is 1810, and the duty mark at the end is the sovereign’s head. George III was still on the throne then.’

‘I’ll never remember all that.’

‘You don’t have to, Effie. Your job will be to sew tiny jewels on to fabric. I know how quickly you learn. I’ll take care of the silver and gold. There’s been a flood of cheap gold from California and Australia in the last few years or so,’ he told her, ‘so we must take advantage of it. We’ll be able to work side by side. While you’re sewing, I’ll be embossing or engraving or doing a spot of forgery.’

She was worried. ‘Forgery?’

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘Nobody will ever know. I’m too good at it. All the silverware I stole from Mr Voke has the London mark on it and that will be noticed here. The leopard’s head will have to be changed to an anchor.’

‘What about Mr Voke’s initials?’

‘I simply change the L to H so that Leonard becomes Hugh. We can leave the V there because I’m not Hugh Kellow any more, I’m Hugh Vernon. And you,’ he said, squeezing her gently, ‘are my wife, Mrs Vernon.’

She held up a hand. ‘I’ve got the ring to prove it.’

It was a gold ring that Kellow had made for her at the shop in Wood Street. They had decided to live as husband and wife without the normal prerequisite of a wedding. Indeed, they felt that recent events had brought them much closer than any married couples. They had been welded indissolubly together by murder.

‘Are you happy?’ he said, pulling her up from the chair.

‘I am, Hugh,’ she affirmed. ‘I never dreamt I’d end up in a place like this. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in service.’

‘That was before you met me, Effie. Do you have any regrets?’

‘None whatsoever – I won’t let you down, Hugh, I promise. I’m not afraid of hard work. When I’m with you, I could do
anything
.’

‘Just remember our new name. One slip could ruin us.’

‘It will never happen.’

‘Good,’ he said, kissing her and pulling her close. ‘Welcome to your new home, Mrs Vernon.’

As the cab headed east, Leeming became progressively more at ease. They were no longer surrounded by the London residences of the aristocracy or the prosperous middle class. When he saw down-at-heel tenements flash by, he was happy to be in the sort of district where he had once walked on his beat in uniform. Jewellers’ shops and splendid houses were not his natural habit. He felt constricted. At the sight of urchins fighting in the street and beggars scrounging from passers-by, Leeming was much more at home.

‘I know what the superintendent will ask us,’ he said.

‘How do we find them?’

‘Yes, Inspector, and, to be honest, I don’t have the answer.’

Neither do I, Victor,’ said Colbeck, ‘but there are a number of avenues we could explore. For instance, Effie Kellow – alias Bridget Haggs – told us that she and her non-existent brother came from Watford. That was almost certainly
her
birthplace though not Mr Kellow’s. I don’t think she would have invented a detail like that.’

‘So?’

‘We can visit every church in the town until we find a record of her birth recorded in the parish register. She’s still very young. It may even be that the priest who baptised her is
still there and can tell us what happened to the family. If he’s unable to help us,’ he continued, ‘then we look for families who baptised children near the very same time and who are still living in Watford.’

‘That could take us ages, Inspector.’

‘Exactly – we must try a different approach.’

‘Do we investigate Hugh Kellow’s past instead?’

‘I doubt if we could, Victor. He doesn’t seem to have one.’

‘Someone must know where he came from originally.’

‘That’s irrelevant now,’ said Colbeck. ‘Our main objective is to find out where he’s likely to be now.’

‘Anywhere in the whole country,’ said Leeming.

‘I think not.’

‘Then where is he, sir?’

‘He’ll have chosen somewhere that can guarantee him a good living as a silversmith.’

‘Then he won’t be in Gloucester, I know that much. Jack Grindle won’t let him set up shop anywhere near the town.’

‘We can eliminate Caerleon as well.’

‘Can we?’

‘Most definitely,’ said Colbeck. ‘Kellow has higher ambitions than Stephen Voke. He won’t settle for rural tranquillity and a life that revolves around private commissions he can deal with in his own home. Kellow desires real success and he has the skills to secure it. He’ll have headed for a large town or a city. I’m hoping that Mr Voke will tell us which one.’

‘How will he know?’

‘He won’t, Victor, but he’ll make an educated guess. He’s
been in the jewellery trade all his life and built up quite a reputation.’

‘What use is that to him now?’ asked Leeming. ‘Hugh Kellow must have reduced him to bankruptcy.’

‘Not quite,’ suggested Colbeck, ‘but he’s certainly lost a vast amount of money. According to his son, he had thousands of pounds in that safe along with his most expensive stock. Kellow got away with a fortune.’

‘And I’m sure he planned exactly how to use that money.’

‘No question about that.’

‘So where is he, Inspector?’

‘The best person to tell us that is Leonard Voke. If we can coax him out of his self-pity and get him to think hard, I feel certain that he’ll point us in the right direction.’ He glanced out of the cab. ‘It’s not long before we get to Wood Street,’ he noted. ‘It’s getting a name as the haunt of drapers, milliners and haberdashers but it has an illustrious silversmith as well.’ Colbeck was confident. ‘Mr Voke will help us.’

Leonard Voke arranged his surviving stock on the big table in his workshop. Massed ranks of silverware stood to attention like so many soldiers on parade. Sitting in his favourite chair, Voke checked that the weapon was loaded then placed the end of the barrel in his mouth. After a few minutes of recalling happier memories of his time in Wood Street, he looked at his future and was consumed by despair. His beloved wife was dead, his son had deserted him and his assistant had caused his ruin. He had nothing for which to live. All that lay ahead was despair. His finger jerked, the trigger was pulled, and there was a loud bang. The musket
ball shot up through the roof of his mouth, into his brain and out of his skull before lodging in the ceiling. The silver army on the table beside him was drenched in his blood.

‘He committed
suicide
?’ said Tallis in disbelief.

‘We arrived there shortly after it happened, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘Neighbours had heard the noise of a weapon being fired and gathered outside the shop. Inspector Colbeck and I forced our way in. As you can imagine, it was not a pleasant sight but at least we have no doubt about the identity of the corpse this time.’

‘What’s happened to the body?’

‘We had it removed by the undertaker, Superintendent. The inspector sent for a locksmith to repair the door though I can’t believe that any thief would want to steal items covered in blood.’

Shaken by the news, Tallis lowered himself into his chair. In his eyes, suicide was both a crime and a sin, an act of wilful self-murder and an offence against God. Yet he did not condemn Leonard Voke. His fear was that he himself was partly at fault. During his visit to the silversmith, Tallis had been characteristically blunt, telling Voke that he had to shoulder some of the blame for what had happened. It now looked as if his words had provoked the old man to take his own life. The sympathy welling up inside the superintendent was therefore tinged with guilt.

‘We thought you ought to know as soon as possible, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘This is one more horror caused by Hugh Kellow. That young man has left a trail of misery behind him.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Tallis, coming out of his reverie. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. It’s very disturbing news and I needed to hear it. But what were you and the inspector doing in Wood Street?’

‘We were hoping to speak to Mr Voke. It’s clear that his former assistant wanted to set up as a silversmith somewhere else. Inspector Colbeck felt that Mr Voke might suggest a place where Mr Kellow was likely to go.’

‘You got there too late for that, obviously.’

‘Yes, sir – discovering the body in that state was a real shock.’

‘Stephen Voke will need to be informed.’

‘I can give you his address, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ said Tallis, reaching for a piece of paper and dipping his pen in the inkwell. ‘But why did
you
bring me this news and not the inspector?’

‘He was talking to another silversmith,’ said Leeming, evasively. ‘Inspector Colbeck wanted some guidance. He sent me back here first then I’m to meet him at Euston Station.’

‘Why – where are you going now?’

‘We’re continuing the hunt for Hugh Kellow.’

Colbeck reached the house just in time. Madeleine Andrews was coming out of the front door with a large basket over her arm. As the cab rolled to a halt, Colbeck jumped down on to the pavement.

‘Robert!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to take you on a journey.’

‘But I was on my way to the market.’

‘You can do the shopping another time,’ he said, ‘unless
you’d rather not catch a train with me.’

‘I can’t go anywhere like this,’ she protested, indicating her dress. ‘You’ll have to wait while I change.’

‘You look fine as you are, Madeleine,’ he assured her, ‘though you might want to leave that basket in the house. I’m afraid there’s no time for you to change. Victor is waiting for us at Euston and we don’t want to miss the train.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Birmingham.’

‘Father will be travelling there and back today.’

‘Then he might even be driving the engine,’ said Colbeck. ‘And he can’t complain that I’m abducting his daughter. He did give me his permission to take you on the LNWR.’