The Silver Locomotive Mystery irc-6

by Edward Marston

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me he was getting married?’ muttered Voke.

  ‘He informed Sergeant Leeming that he didn’t think you’d be interested.’

  ‘Stephen is my son.’

  ‘Not any more, Mr Voke. He wants nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Have I really been that terrible?’ bleated the old man. ‘Both Stephen and Hugh have turned against me. Did I treat them badly enough to merit what’s happened?’

  ‘Only you can answer that question, sir,’ said Tallis.

  Voke shook his head in wonderment. ‘So my son went back to Caerleon after all this time – fancy that.’

  ‘Make no attempt to get in touch with him. He was very firm on that point. He made Sergeant Leeming promise to pass on that message. Your son’s world is elsewhere now, sir. Don’t try to see him.’

  ‘Hugh is the person I want to see,’ said Voke, rising to his feet in a rage. ‘I did everything for him. I took him in, I apprenticed him, I taught him all I knew – and this is how he repays me. I’d like to throttle him, so help me God!’

  ‘Leave that duty to the public executioner.’

  ‘Do you know where he is, Superintendent?’

  ‘No, but we soon shall. He and his “sister” will be apprehended in the not too distant future.’

  ‘I want to see him when you catch him.’

  ‘Let justice take its course, Mr Voke.’

  ‘I deserve the right to get at him for two minutes.’

  ‘I can understand your feelings,’ said Tallis, ‘but you are letting your fury blind you to the obvious. Hugh Kellow is a young man with blood already on his hands. You are more advanced in years. It’s foolhardy to think that you could overpower him. No,’ he went on, ‘leave Mr Kellow to my detectives. Inspector Colbeck will find him.’

  Robert Colbeck arrived at the house in Camden in time to act as an arbitrator. Having eaten supper with her father, Madeleine Andrews had cleared the table and washed the plates. When she came into the parlour, she found her father puffing on his pipe as he read Dombey and Son. There was a mild argument over the book. Madeleine wanted it back but Caleb Andrews refused to yield it up. Colbeck walked in on the domestic disagreement.

  ‘Tell him, Robert,’ said Madeleine, quick to enlist his aid. ‘You gave that book to me, didn’t you?’

  ‘’Yes,’ he replied, ‘but your father is welcome to read it as well.’

  ‘There you are!’ said Andrews with a cackle.

  ‘Though I’d assumed he’d have enough patience to wait until you’d read it first, Madeleine.’

  ‘Father just grabbed it when my back was turned.’

  ‘It’s your own fault, Maddy,’ Andrews pointed out. ‘You told me how wonderful the book was. I wanted to see what it says about Camden. I was here when the railway line was built. I remember the deafening noise and the terrible upset it caused.’

  ‘You’re the one causing the terrible upset now, Father.’

  ‘Why not take it in turns to read the novel?’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Mr Andrews is at work all day so you can pick it up whenever you have a moment, Madeleine. The only time he has a chance to read it is in the evenings.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she conceded.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said her father, getting up from his chair. ‘Anyway, you can’t read it while you have company, Maddy. I’ll finish this chapter in the kitchen.’

  ‘Before you go, Mr Andrews,’ said Colbeck, raising a hand, ‘I wanted a word. This is very unlikely to happen now but, if it did, could I have your permission to take Madeleine to the theatre?’

  ‘The answer is yes.’

  ‘I should warn you that the theatre is in Cardiff.’

  ‘Then the answer is no.’

  ‘Father!’ protested Madeleine.

  ‘I’m not having a daughter of mine travelling on the Great Western Railway,’ said Andrews, good-naturedly. ‘I know it links up with the South Wales Railway but that’s just as bad. Take Maddy somewhere on the LNWR instead.’

  ‘He was only joking,’ she said as her father went into the kitchen. ‘Now I have a chance to give you a proper welcome.’

  Colbeck embraced her. ‘Isn’t this better than reading Charles Dickens?’ he said before giving her a kiss. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve spent the whole day wondering where you were.’

  ‘We went to Gloucester, Chepstow, Newport and Caerleon,’ he said. ‘Then I sent Victor Leeming back to London and went on to Cardiff. It’s just as well that I like travelling by rail so much.’

  ‘Has the case been resolved?’

  ‘Not exactly, Madeleine – it’s taken a new twist.’

  ‘Do tell me about it.’

  They sat beside each other and Colbeck recounted the events of the day. She was startled to hear that the real villain was Hugh Kellow and that the woman claiming to be his sister was equally culpable.

  ‘So who was the murder victim?’

  ‘A young man named Martin Henley,’ he said. ‘I’ve just come from the undertaker’s where I took his father to look at the body. He confirmed that it was his son. I’m sorry I’ve called at such a late hour but I’ve been rather busy since I got back to London.’

  ‘Call as late as you like, Robert.’

  ‘You might have gone to bed.’

  ‘Then throw stones at my window. You’re always welcome here.’ He hugged her again. ‘But don’t take Father’s side over that book next time. I want to read it.’

  ‘Would you rather be reading it now?’ They laughed.

  She became serious. ‘Do you have any idea where they’ve gone?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he confessed.

  ‘They could have fled abroad.’

  ‘I think that’s very unlikely,’ he said. ‘They’d have much more difficulty getting established in a foreign country and they’d have to learn the language. That would be enough to deter them. No, I think they’ve gone to earth somewhere well outside London.’

  ‘They may be difficult to find, Robert.’

  ‘We found Stephen Voke and his wife.’

  ‘That was different – they were not in hiding.’

  ‘They were in a sense, Madeleine. They were in hiding from his father. After listening to some of the things that Mr Voke did to his son, I’m not surprised that he wanted to break off all communication with the old man. But I agree,’ he said, ‘Hugh Kellow has taken the trouble to muddy the waters. It won’t be easy to track him.’

  ‘Where will you start the search?’

  ‘In Mayfair – that’s where Effie Kellow worked.’

  ‘But you thought that she might be using a false name.’

  ‘I’m sure that she did.’

  ‘Then why are you bothering to go to Mayfair?’

  ‘Because the name of her employer was genuine,’ said Colbeck. ‘At least, I believe it is. She showed us a letter from her so-called brother. It was all part of the deception, of course, and was never actually sent through the post. But it was written by him. It was addressed to Miss Effie Kellow, c/o Mr Dalrymple, Chesterfield Street. When she met Victor and Superintendent Tallis, she showed them another letter from Kellow, explaining that he was going to Cardiff. It seemed very convincing. Mr Kellow thought of everything and planned ahead meticulously.’

  ‘Then he must have planned his escape as well.’

  ‘If he’s still in this country, we’ll track him down.’

  ‘What if he and this young woman have gone abroad?’

  Colbeck was determined. ‘Then we’ll go after them, Madeleine. They can run as far as they wish but we’ll stay on their tail.’

  * * *

  Hugh Kellow rubbed the silver to a high sheen then stood back to admire the effect. Effie came into the room and saw him.

  ‘Have you been polishing it again?’ she said, clicking her tongue. ‘You’ll wear it away if you keep doing that, Hugh.’

  ‘It’s all mine now,’ he told her, admiring the detail. ‘And so
it should be. I did nine-tenths of the work and Mr Voke passed it off as his. He always did that. Stephen and I slaved over lots of pieces on our own then, when they were sold in the shop, we’d hear Mr Voke taking all the praise for them. It was unfair.’

  ‘You got your own back.’

  ‘He won’t ever do that again, Effie.’

  Kellow lifted the coffee pot and placed it on the sideboard where it could catch the light from the window. They were in the parlour at the back of a shop that had not yet opened for business. It was a large room with a floral-patterned wallpaper that had appealed to Effie. There were only a few items of furniture at the moment but they had enough money to buy what they wanted now. They intended to go in search of some armchairs that very morning. The one thing they did not need was a bed. It was their first purchase and had been delivered on the day when they moved into their new home. After scattering their spoils on the coverlet, they had made love with celebratory passion in a flurry of banknotes.

  ‘We’re going to be so happy here,’ she said, looking around.

  ‘It will be worth all the effort.’

  ‘Yes, it was an effort, Hugh. It took me weeks to persuade Martin Henley to meet me in Cardiff and book that hotel room in your name. I had to offer him all sorts of temptations.’

  ‘As long as they were only offered,’ he said.

  ‘You know me better than that, Hugh. You’re the only man for me. And you told me to pick someone who looked very much like you. That made it a lot easier,’ she recalled. ‘I could forget that it was Martin and pretend that it was Hugh Kellow.’

  ‘Hugh Kellow is dead.’

  She smiled. ‘Well, you seemed to be alive enough last night.’

  ‘As far as everyone is concerned,’ he boasted, ‘I was murdered in a hotel room. They’ve probably buried me by now with that miser, Mr Voke, weeping tears over my coffin. That’s the beauty of it, Effie. We’re in no danger because nobody knows that I still exist.’

  ‘What about Martin?’

  ‘He got what he deserved for chasing my girl.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she told him. ‘He lived at home with his parents. They’ll have started to worry about him. They’ll go to the police to report him missing.’

  ‘So?’ He gave an elaborate shrug. ‘People go missing all the time. Nobody will connect him with the corpse at the hotel because they know that was me. His parents will just think Martin ran away – you told me that he hated living at home.’

  ‘He had no real privacy there.’

  ‘Well, he’ll have all the privacy he wants in the grave.’

  They laughed harshly and hugged each other. Effie was wearing a new dress that made her look older and more elegant. There was no hint of the servant about her now. She was mistress of her own house. Kellow broke away and appraised the silver coffee pot again.

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to make coffee in that,’ she warned, ‘because it’s far too big.’

  ‘I prefer tea, Effie.’

  ‘Mrs Tomkins will have to order a new one.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be from Mr Voke because he could never make it. His eyesight is really bad now. Without me, he’s completely lost.’ He smirked. ‘I wish I could have seen the look on Mrs Tomkins’ face when she took that tin replica out of the bag. That would have been a sight to behold.’

  ‘There’s no crime in taking money from rich people.’

  ‘That’s what I believe.’

  ‘We earned every penny, Hugh.’

  ‘We did,’ he said, ‘and when the shop is open and I start to have customers, we’ll earn a lot more. Being my own master has always been my ambition and, when I realised that Mr Voke was not going to let me take over his shop, I knew I had to do something drastic. Shall I tell you something, Effie?’

  ‘What?’

  His eyes sparkled. ‘I enjoyed every moment of what we did.’

  ‘So did I – except when I had to let Martin Henley touch me, that is. I hated that bit. He was so desperate. What I did like,’ she went on with a giggle, ‘was the fun of deceiving people. They believed every word I said – even those detectives.’

  ‘We can forget about them now. Inspector Colbeck will never know the truth of what happened. We’re free to live exactly as we want, Effie,’ he declared, lifting her up by the waist and swinging her in a circle, ‘and that’s what we’ll do.’

  Victor Leeming had never liked venturing into Mayfair. Its abiding whiff of prosperity offended his nostrils. He was much more at ease in the rougher districts of the city, the teeming rookeries and the dark alleys festering with crime. As he and Colbeck sat in a cab that morning, he looked at the fine Georgian houses that went past.

  ‘This area always brings out the Chartist in me,’ he said. ‘Why should some people have so much money when most of us don’t? I can’t believe they got it honestly.’

  ‘You can raise the subject with Mr Dalrymple.’

  ‘I still don’t believe that he exists, sir.’

  ‘Then you’re going to be surprised,’ said Colbeck. ‘A good liar always uses enough truth to make a lie convincing. I don’t think that Effie plucked a name like Dalrymple out of the air.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean she actually worked for him.’

  ‘No, Victor, but I’m ready to bet that she did.’

  Leeming ignored the offer of a wager. The cab turned into Chesterfield Street with its tall, symmetrical houses of plain brick. Some of the dwellings had been altered by the addition of porticos, stucco facings, window dressings and even extra storeys. The overall impression was that it was a fashionable and civilised place in which to live. They went to the address they remembered seeing on the letters supposedly sent there by Hugh Kellow. When they explained who they were, they were invited into the house and shown into the library. Eliot Dalrymple soon joined them. He was a portly man of medium height with an excessively pale and well-scrubbed face. They also noticed how white his hands were. Although in his sixties, he looked very well-preserved. After introductions had been made, Colbeck took over.

  ‘I believe that you once employed an Effie Kellow,’ he said.

  ‘That’s not a name I recognise,’ replied Dalrymple, ‘though I did have a servant who was called Effie below stairs because she hated her given name. Her grandmother had been called Effie, it seems, and she preferred that.’

  ‘What was her real name, sir?’

  ‘Haggs – Bridget Haggs.’

  ‘That’s where she got the name from, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘Don’t you remember? She said that her brother was friendly with a young lady called Bridget.’

  ‘To that extent,’ said Colbeck, ‘she was telling the truth. What she omitted to explain was that she was that friend.’

  ‘Where is all this tending?’ asked Dalrymple. ‘I really don’t want to press charges against her.’

  ‘Why should you do that, Mr Dalrymple?’

  ‘If you’re here about the girl, then I assumed you’d come to ask about the theft. Before she left, she took some things with her. I was annoyed at the time,’ he said, ‘but the cost involved was not great so I didn’t report it to the police. My wife urged me to do so because she was the real victim.’

  ‘What did Effie steal from her?’

  ‘A large sewing box, Inspector,’ said the other. ‘My wife’s hobby is embroidery. I had to buy her an even larger box to placate her.’

  ‘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.