The Circus Train Conspiracy

by Edward Marston

  It was left to Leeming to mumble an apology for the mistake. There would be no arrest, after all. As soon as he heard that, Goodhart curled up on the floor again.

  ‘What about Mr Enticott?’ asked Lill.

  ‘We ought to speak to him, I suppose.’

  ‘But he and his cousin were obviously not in league with each other.’

  ‘Enticott might have had another accomplice.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Leeming, ‘but I don’t want to tell Mr Darlow that we didn’t even bother to question him. He was quite fierce when I reported to him last night. I’m not going to give him another chance to blame us for not doing our job.’

  The train journey gave Colbeck the thinking time he always found invaluable in an investigation and, having been away from Northumberland, he was able to see it in a slightly different perspective. What had possessed Margaret Pulver to go there? Why had she exchanged the relative calm and cleanliness of Shrewsbury for the grime and industrial hubbub of Newcastle? Had she gone there willingly or under duress? It was conceivable that Donald Underhill had taken her there with a promise to show her the beautiful countryside not far from the city. It had now transpired that he knew the whole area much better than he’d cared to admit. But what motive could have compelled him to kill a woman on whom he obviously doted?

  Colbeck thought that the man was a bundle of contradictions, helpful yet obstructive, honest yet deceitful, married yet paying attention to another woman. The Reverend Berry had distrusted him and Mrs Pulver’s servants had disliked him. Yet he had many qualities that would appeal to a lonely widow. If there had been a close friendship between her and the solicitor, where had it developed into a more intimate relationship? Both were too well known in the locality to risk being seen together but each of them visited London on occasion. Had that been where trysts took place?

  Before he committed himself too early to the notion that Underhill was the killer, Colbeck reminded himself that it was the solicitor who had moved the case on significantly by identifying the murder victim. Had he not done so, she might have remained nameless for some time. When she failed to return home from her latest trip, Mrs Pulver would have been declared a missing person and attempts would have been made to find her but nobody would have suspected that she’d ended her life so far north. When she took the train to London, everyone who knew her believed that that was her destination. The search for her would be concentrated in the south. If he’d actually poisoned the woman, Underhill could have remained silent and joined in the search. That was how most men would behave in the circumstances. But, Colbeck decided, the solicitor was a complex character who might do the thing least expected of him. For that reason, he had to remain a suspect.

  The same applied to Owen Probert. He was younger than Underhill and had the kind of brooding intensity that some women might find attractive. He’d boasted about regular visits to London and might have arranged them to coincide with those of Mrs Pulver. Yet all that Colbeck had established was that Probert had befriended the family years before when they were members of a sailing club on the Welsh coast. Had he kept in touch with her after the death of her husband? It was possible but by no means certain. One way of finding out would have been to examine Mrs Pulver’s private correspondence but Colbeck had no warrant to do so and, in any case, he began to have doubts that he’d unearth anything that would point in the direction of the killer. Her status had to be borne in mind. By common consent, Margaret Pulver was a saint. Such divine beings, Colbeck knew, did not leave compromising billets-doux behind them.

  They were on the point of going out for a walk when the doorbell rang. Since they were in the hall at the time, Madeleine stepped forward to open the door. A fresh-faced man in his late twenties stood on the threshold.

  ‘Miss Quayle?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘I’m Mrs Colbeck.’

  He became deferential, ‘Oh, I do apologise. I didn’t realise that …’

  ‘I’m Miss Quayle,’ said Lydia, stepping forward cautiously.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Hinton. I’ve been asked to help you.’

  Lydia turned to her friend with a look of utter amazement.

  ‘I did tell you that Robert could move mountains,’ said Madeleine.

  Geoffrey Enticott was annoyed when he found two detectives on his doorstep this time. They increased his ire by insisting that they were invited inside the house. Having let them in, he rounded on them.

  ‘What is it now?’

  ‘We have a few questions to ask you, sir,’ said Lill.

  ‘I’ve answered them already.’

  ‘These are slightly different.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Leeming. ‘Do you have a cousin by the name of Jake Goodhart?’ Enticott refused to answer. ‘It’s no use denying it, sir. We have proof.’

  ‘Then why bother to ask me?’

  ‘We wanted to see your reaction.’

  ‘Have you ever met Jake?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘And I’ve had the privilege of arresting him more than once for disturbing the peace,’ said Lill. ‘We both know him.’

  ‘Would either of you want a boneheaded idler like that in your family?’ demanded Enticott.

  ‘Blood is thicker than water,’ said Leeming.

  ‘He’s an embarrassment.’

  ‘Yet you got him a job on the NCR.’

  ‘That’s true – but only because his wife begged me to do it.’

  ‘He told us that he asked you for help recently.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Enticott, ‘he had the brass neck to think that I should bail him out yet again. But I’m not taking him with me to my new company. In fact, I’m glad to be moving well away from him. Jake is a liability. I gave him some money and sent him on his way.’

  ‘He needs all the assistance he can get, sir.’

  ‘Then he can look elsewhere for it.’

  ‘Do you have any children?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I have twin boys. They’re fourteen.’

  ‘I daresay they’ve been asking you to take them to the circus, then,’ said Leeming. ‘I have two sons as well. When there’s a circus in town, they snap at my heels until I agree to take them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Enticott, smiling for the first time, ‘we do have tickets.’

  ‘Then we have no more questions, sir.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Lill. ‘We haven’t covered all the ground we need to.’

  ‘Mr Enticott has saved us the trouble of doing that, Inspector.’

  Leeming looked his companion in the eye and transmitted a message. Lill understood it at once and followed him to the front door. When the detectives left the house, the sergeant had a final word for Enticott.

  ‘Goodhart has children as well, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s not their fault that their father is a boneheaded idler.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said the other, closing the door.

  ‘I shouldn’t have needed to be prodded like that,’ said Lill, apologetically. ‘You made the right decision, Sergeant. Why would a man who is taking his children to the circus do his best to prevent it reaching Newcastle?’

  ‘Mr Darlow is going to be very unhappy when I tell him that both men had nothing whatsoever to do with the derailment.’

  ‘If Goodhart and his cousin are in the clear, it only leaves one suspect.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leeming. ‘Owen Probert.’

  Colbeck changed trains at Carlisle and travelled on the NCR to Hexham. He shared a compartment with an assortment of companions. The one who stood out was a barrel-chested man in his late forties with a beard that made him look like a minor prophet. With a high forehead and gleaming eyes, he seemed to exude intelligence. Colbeck wondered why he wore gloves on such a warm day. Other people chatted to each other but the bearded man remained resolutely silent and virtually motionless. It was only when they sped past the site of the derailment that he looked out of the window
with interest. Colbeck did the same, pleased to see that everything had now been cleared away and that the only mementoes of the event were the deep channels gouged into the grass verge.

  When they reached Hexham, the inspector was the only person who alighted from the compartment. He walked from the station to Probert’s house. Over the garden wall, he could hear sounds of young children playing with their father. The Welshman was about to move to a new, more important managerial position in the coal industry. It seemed unlikely that he’d risk losing his wife and family because of an entanglement with a widow somewhat older than himself, but Colbeck had met husbands before who’d allowed themselves to get trapped in such a predicament. As a result, he made no hasty assumptions.

  When Probert’s wife let the inspector into the house, he had a few moments with her and established that she was a local girl from Bangor who’d been a near neighbour of Probert’s. Strikingly pretty and with long dark hair, she had the same pleasing accent as her husband. She was distressed that Colbeck had called again and went to fetch her husband. Probert confronted his visitor in a truculent mood.

  ‘What sort of game are you involved in?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not a game, sir.’

  ‘First of all, you come here and treat me like a criminal. Then your sergeant turns up to do the same and now you’re back to carry on the sport. Have you nothing better to do with your time than to harass innocent people?’

  ‘We have not yet eliminated you from our enquiries.’

  ‘Look,’ said Probert, palm to his chest, ‘I swear to you, hand on heart, that I had nothing to do with the derailment of the circus.’

  ‘I know that, sir.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’re a family man. You’d never dream of robbing the children of the fun of going to the circus.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about Mrs Margaret Pulver.’

  Probert’s immediate response was to move to the open door to close it tight.

  ‘Why did you mention her, Inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘I should have thought you could have guessed that, sir.’

  ‘Her name has been in the newspapers, I know that, and I’m desperately sorry for what happened to her. Beyond that, I have nothing to add.’

  ‘You seem curiously uninvolved, Mr Probert.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I visited Mrs Pulver’s home in Shropshire yesterday. During the time when she and her late husband were staying on the Welsh coast, I was told, they became acquainted with you.’

  ‘They met lots of people. Richard Pulver was a generous host.’

  ‘Since you enjoyed his hospitality, I’m surprised that you aren’t more upset to hear of his wife’s murder.’

  ‘I said that I was desperately sorry, Inspector.’

  ‘You didn’t say it in a way that made me believe you,’ said Colbeck. ‘When did you last see the lady?’

  ‘It must have been … years ago.’

  ‘Have you never visited her in Shropshire?’

  Probert was offended. ‘What call would I have to do that?’

  ‘It’s in the nature of friendship, sir. When we hear of the untimely death of someone, we often have the impulse to offer sympathy to their nearest and dearest.’

  ‘I wasn’t really a friend, Inspector.’

  ‘I’m beginning to see that.’

  ‘Look, why exactly are you here?’ asked Probert.

  ‘I was intrigued by the way that things turned out. Years ago, you meet a woman on the Welsh coast, then, you imply, you lose touch with her completely.’

  ‘That’s the truth!’

  ‘Out of the blue, Mrs Pulver then turns up dead only a relatively short distance away from where we’re standing. Did someone entice her here, I wonder?’

  ‘It was not me, Inspector. I’d take my oath on the Bible.’

  ‘Are you a man of faith, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Mrs Pulver was very religious as well, so you had that in common.’

  ‘We lost touch ages ago,’ said Probert, regaining his composure. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘What about your wife, sir? Would Mrs Probert confirm that?’

  ‘There’s no need to speak to her.’

  ‘If you’re telling me the truth, you have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Can’t you take my word for it?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘I can’t, Bible or no Bible.’

  He tried to move to the door but Probert stepped sideways to block his path.

  ‘I’ve just remembered something, Inspector.’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘Since her husband’s death, I did bump into Mrs Probert once.’

  ‘And where did this encounter take place?’

  ‘It was at the sailing club in Bangor.’

  ‘Can you remember the date?’

  ‘Oh, it must have been three or four years ago,’ said the other, expansively. ‘To be candid, I didn’t recognise her at first. If she hadn’t stopped me, I’d have walked straight past her.’

  ‘Was Mrs Probert with you at the time?’

  ‘No, no, she wasn’t, as it happens.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Colbeck. ‘If she had been there, she could have told me that such a meeting did take place. Since you claim to have been alone, I’m bound to tell you that your story is a complete fabrication. I have it on good authority that, after the tragedy, Mrs Pulver never went back to the Welsh coast and why should she when it held such sad memories? I warned you about telling lies before, Mr Probert. Do you wish the rest of this conversation to take place in a police station?’

  The colour drained instantly from the Welshman’s face.

  Lydia Quayle was simultaneously pleased and discomfited by the fact that a detective had been assigned to her case. Glad that it was being taken seriously, she was self-conscious when forced to reveal certain details to a complete stranger. Hinton was polite and efficient, jotting down everything in his pad before promising to pay a visit to the hotel where the theft had occurred. By the time that he left, Lydia had overcome her embarrassment. She went in search of Madeleine and found her in the studio, looking wistfully at her paintings. Her friend told her what had happened.

  ‘You’re so lucky to have a detective looking after your case. When my father reported a stolen bag some years ago, he made a statement at the police station and heard nothing more. The police simply don’t have the resources to solve every case of theft.’

  ‘This was more than a case of theft, Madeleine.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s far worse.’

  ‘Constable Hinton said that it will be so much easier to catch him once we know his name. My brother would have got my letter today. With luck, I should have an answer from Lucas tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t wait to ask Robert how he did it. Ordinarily, the superintendent would never look into a case like this. He’d dismiss it as being too petty.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel petty to me, Madeleine,’ said Lydia.

  ‘I’m sure that Robert made that point to him.’

  ‘Perhaps he appealed to the superintendent’s finer feelings.’

  Madeleine laughed. ‘He doesn’t have any.’

  ‘Let’s go for that walk, shall we?’

  They let themselves out of the house and strolled along the pavement. Madeleine was grateful to be out in the fresh air. Because her plight had been taken seriously by the police, Lydia felt liberated.

  He was given the use of Mulryne’s tent to change his clothes. When he emerged, Leeming could pass for a labourer once more.

  ‘I’m sorry I can only offer you a tent,’ said the Irishman.

  ‘I’ve got no complaints, Brendan.’

  ‘One day, I’d like to own one of those pretty, brightly painted caravans but I’ll have to save up for a long time before I can do that.’

  ‘You’re going to stay w
ith the circus, then?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the best job I’ve ever had.’ He broke off to catch Jacko as the monkey jumped down from the edge of the marquee. ‘Did you make any arrests?’

  ‘No,’ said Leeming, ‘we didn’t.’

  ‘I thought you went off to nab two suspects.’

  ‘They were both innocent. We were badly misled by Mr Darlow.’

  ‘Is he the man who runs that railway company?’

  ‘Yes, Brendan, he’s been cracking the whip over us ever since we got here. He had the cheek to blame me for going after Enticott and Goodhart when he was the one who put us up to it in the first place. Honestly, you don’t get much in the way of gratitude when you become a policeman.’

  ‘That’s why I joined the circus instead.’

  ‘You all seem to get on so well together.’

  ‘Mr Moscardi insists on that. He likes everyone to be happy.’

  ‘I wish our superintendent had that attitude,’ said Leeming, gloomily.

  The next moment, there was an explosion of noise. Dozens of voices were raised and people started running past them. The commotion quickly grew in volume. As one of the clowns charged towards them, Mulryne put a hand out to stop him.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Someone has just seen Bev Rogers.’

  ‘Then we have to catch him at once. Come on, Sergeant,’ said Mulryne, breaking into a run. ‘We’re chasing the Strong Man who’s been trying to close this circus down.’

  Leeming joined the pack at once and raced through the camp.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bevis Rogers was a big, hefty, rugged man in his fifties with broad shoulders and well-developed muscles in his arms and legs. Given his bulk, he could run remarkably well. But the very things that had qualified him to become a circus Strong Man now began to work against him. Moving so much weight at speed took its toll on him and he was soon panting. Since he’d retired from performing, he’d acquired a paunch and a slight stoop. Ageing legs, burning lungs and the increasing burden of his own body combined to slow him down. He managed to get as far as the trees but there was no way he could outrun the dozens of angry people now haring after him and creating such a hullabaloo. Forcing himself on and ignoring the intense pain, he reached a clearing at the very moment when they caught up with him. Someone flung himself on to Rogers’ back and brought him crashing down to earth.