The Silver Locomotive Mystery irc-6

by Edward Marston

  ‘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 futu
re 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.’

  Madeleine was flustered. ‘This is all rather sudden, Robert.’

  ‘That’s in the nature of police work, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Is this connected with your investigation?’

  ‘It’s very closely connected.’

  ‘Why are we going to Birmingham?’

  ‘It has a Jewellery Quarter,’ he said.

  While Hugh Kellow busied himself in the shop, Effie walked from room to room in wonder. The novelty of owning a home had still not worn off. Instead of cleaning someone else’s house, she would soon be hiring a servant to do all the mundane chores. In time, as the business expanded, Kellow would take on an assistant and perhaps even an apprentice. Mr and Mrs Hugh Vernon would be able to live in comfort and respectability, their crimes buried deep in the past. She was in the main bedroom when Kellow joined her.

  ‘What are you doing up here, Effie?’ he asked.

  ‘I was thinking that we needed some new curtains,’ she said, fingering the drapes. ‘The ones that they left are rather drab.’

  ‘You’ll have anything you want in here, my love.’

  ‘We could do with a painting over the bed, Hugh – something with animals on, a country scene. What about an ottoman under the window? That’s what Mrs Dalrymple had and I always sat on it for a few minutes when I was supposed to be cleaning their bedroom.’

  ‘Your cleaning days are over, Effie.’

  ‘And it’s all thanks to you,’ she said, taking his hands and looking up at him. ‘You’re the cleverest husband in the world, Hugh Vernon, do you know that?’

  ‘It took a lot of planning to get here.’

  ‘I could never have worked everything out like that.’

  ‘It all started when Mr Voke sent me here to deliver something,’ he recalled. ‘As soon as I stepped into the Jewellery Quarter, I knew it was where I wanted to be. It’s like a whole village devoted to precious metal. Whenever I had time off, I’d jump on a train and come to Birmingham just to walk around these streets.’

  ‘We were so lucky to find this place.’

  ‘I had to move fast, Effie. Property is snapped up around here. You’ll find people working in the jewellery trade in most of the houses as well as in the factories. What made the difference,’ he said, ‘was that I was able to pay in cash and outbid everyone else.’ He laughed. ‘That was partly due to Mr Voke, of course. The old fool didn’t realise that I’d been stealing money from his safe for months.’

  ‘You’d earned it, Hugh. You were doing all the work there.’

  ‘I’d hoped to have my name over the shop but it was not to be. I saw a copy of his will in the safe. He’d left everything to his sister in Kent and she’d have no reason to keep the place open. The stock would have been sold off and I’d have been looking for work elsewhere. I felt betrayed. So I decided to go at a time of my own choosing,’ he said, ‘and to teach Mr Voke a lesson in the process.’

  ‘Between us, we outwitted everyone,’ she said, giggling.

  He was complacent. ‘Yes, Effie – and that includes the police.’

  Colbeck had been to Birmingham before while investigating the train robbery that had resulted indirectly in his friendship with Madeleine Andrews. He knew what to expect. It was a big, thriving, major city with a continuous din, smoking chimneys, bustling thoroughfares, shops, offices and factories galore, and with the abiding smell of heavy industry in the air. When they arrived at the station, they took a cab to the police station near the Jewellery Quarter. While Colbeck went in, Madeleine and Leeming were left outside to look around. What seized their attention at once was the tall spire of St Paul’s Church.

  ‘It’s like the spire of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields,’ said Leeming. ‘I’ll be interested to see what the rest of the church looks like – if we get the chance, that is. The trouble with being a policeman is that we never have time to enjoy the sights of places we’ve been to. We’re always on duty.’

  ‘Tell me about Effie Kellow.’

  ‘The inspector did t
hat on the train journey.’

  ‘Robert only talked about the crimes she helped to commit. He didn’t really describe her appearance.’

  ‘She’s a very pretty young woman, Miss Andrews,’ he told her. ‘She’s quite short and slight but with lovely big eyes. Her real name is Bridget Haggs but she’ll be calling herself something else now – and so will Mr Kellow.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It would be too big a risk to keep it. If he puts the name of Kellow above a shop, there’s always the danger that someone might recognise it. He and Mr Voke were well-known in jewellery circles in London. Kellow is a name you’d remember.’

  They chatted amiably together. Leeming did not know how close Madeleine and Colbeck really were and he did not try to find out. He simply accepted that they were good friends and he was aware of how much help she had given them on some investigations. He found her extremely companionable. For her part, Madeleine was very fond of the sergeant, always asking after his family and keenly interested to hear how he reconciled married life with the time-consuming job of being a detective. She was still hearing about his children when Colbeck came out of the police station, holding a street map. He spread it out on a low wall.

  ‘Now,’ he said, jabbing with his finger, ‘we are here at the moment. That’s Caroline Street over there, leading to St Paul’s Square. It’s one place we can eliminate straight away.’

  ‘Why is that, sir?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘According to the desk sergeant, no property has been sold there recently. It used to be a residential area though he remembers that merchants, factors, solicitors, an auctioneer and a surgeon also lived there. Many of those fine big houses have now been converted into workshops.’ He pointed to the map again. ‘The sergeant suggested that we look here in Vittoria Street.’

  Leeming grinned. ‘It’s a funny way to spell the Queen’s name.’

  ‘The street commemorates a battle we won against Napoleon’s army,’ said Colbeck. ‘I suggest that we split up, Victor. If you go down Warstone Lane and on to Frederick Street, Madeleine and I will stroll down Vittoria Street. We’ll meet up here,’ he tapped the map, ‘at this point on Graham Street.’