11 - Ticket to Oblivion

by Edward Marston

  Leeming’s education had been short and unremarkable. People from his humble background could never aspire to study at a place like Oxford. Intellectually, he and Colbeck were poles apart and he was grateful that the inspector never drew attention to the fact. Colbeck had come into the Metropolitan Police after working as a barrister, taking, in the eyes of his colleagues, a foolish fall of status as well as a substantial cut in income. Leeming, meanwhile, had been a uniformed constable on the beat in one of the most dangerous districts of London, gaining a reputation for bravery and tenacity. Fate had eventually brought them together and the two men respected each other so much that the profound differences between them became an irrelevance.

  Suddenly, those differences began to surface. Colbeck was back in a famous university where he was completely at ease. Leeming was already fidgeting. He felt like a stranger in a foreign land, having to rely on his companion to act as interpreter. Colbeck sensed his discomfort.

  ‘Don’t worry, Victor,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘The place won’t be overrun by undergraduates. They disappear in the summer and leave Oxford to the townspeople. You probably won’t even glimpse a gown or a mortarboard.’

  ‘Is that what you had to wear, sir?’

  ‘Forget about me. Just think about Mrs Vaughan and her daughter.’

  ‘I’ll feel like an interloper in that college.’

  ‘But you’ll behave like the good detective that you are. You’ll watch, listen and absorb every detail that may be of use to us. Sir Marcus was economical with facts about his daughter, perhaps because he saw so little of her. Mrs Vaughan, I hope, will be more helpful. From what we’ve heard about her, she sounds as if she’s very forthright.’

  Leeming shifted in his seat. He was as uneasy in the presence of forthright women as he was when confronted by members of the peerage. Adding to his discomfort was the scene that was conjured up slowly in front of him. It was a forbidding panorama. Oxford was an amiable jumble of spires, domes, towers, churches, colleges, civic buildings, shops and houses, all of them seemingly wreathed in a kind of medieval grandeur that gave them a sheen of nobility. Colbeck nudged him in the ribs and indicated an ancient structure to the right.

  ‘Is that a castle?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘It used to be,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s been converted into a prison.’ He saw his companion relax at once. ‘I thought that fact would please you, Victor. Don’t be overwhelmed by Oxford. There’s nothing sacred about it. St Aldate’s is as squalid and insanitary as Seven Dials. Like every other town, it has its fair share of villains and ne’er-do-wells. I venture to suggest that we’ll meet one or two of them in due course.’

  The Master of University College was slight of build with shoulders rounded by decades of study. When roused, however, he belied his appearance. Stunned at first by Tunnadine’s blunt accusation, he soon showed his resilience. His wife also recovered her composure with speed. She let him issue the first denial.

  ‘You are woefully mistaken, sir,’ said Vaughan, stepping towards their visitor. ‘I should have thought that a man of your intelligence had better things to do on a train journey than to invent such arrant poppycock.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said Cassandra on the sidelines.

  ‘Having unfairly traduced my wife and my daughter, you have the audacity to bear your fangs at my younger son. I can say categorically that George would never lower himself to the antics you allege.’

  Tunnadine sniffed. ‘Then you clearly do not know him as well as you should.’

  ‘Who knows a child better than his parents?’ demanded Cassandra.

  ‘George is no longer a child – though he still has the childish inclinations that guided me to my conclusion. Your niece and her maid did not disappear on that train. They were smuggled past you at the railway station as part of a jape conceived by your madcap son.’

  She flicked a hand. ‘George is above such nonsense.’

  ‘He wasn’t above stealing the chaplain’s dog and hiding the animal in a broom cupboard,’ said Tunnadine. ‘Nor could he resist the urge to purloin the false teeth belonging to one of the emeritus fellows. Then, of course, there was the time when he was so inebriated that he climbed onto the roof of the chapel and began to shed his clothing.’ He shared a crooked smile between them. ‘Must I go on?’

  ‘George has let his high spirits get the better of him at times,’ conceded Vaughan, ‘but that’s all in the past. He’s outgrown such behaviour and adopted a more responsible attitude to life.’

  ‘That’s not what Imogen told me. When she listed his escapades, she said she was bracing herself for another of George’s japes when she arrived here. Neither she nor I anticipated that it would involve kidnap. Much as she loves her cousin,’ said Tunnadine, ‘she does feel that she’s a target for his amusement. George needs putting firmly in his place and I intend to do exactly that.’

  ‘You’ve no call to interfere in our family matters,’ warned Cassandra.

  ‘I have a right to protect my future wife from being the butt of a joke.’

  ‘George would never go to the lengths that you claim.’

  ‘Apart from anything else,’ said Vaughan, ‘he’s not even in Oxford. He’s moved to London to pursue his career as an artist.’

  ‘What’s to stop him sneaking back without telling you?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘According to Imogen, he’s done it more than once. George told her that he’s a free spirit, subject to nobody’s control. He needs to be smacked down,’ growled Tunnadine. ‘I’ll put a stop to these confounded tricks of his.’

  ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, sir,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cassandra with well-bred venom. ‘You’ve already hurled false accusations at me, our daughter and our younger son. Why does Percy, our elder son, escape your censure? Or are you going to charge him with a crime as well?’

  Tunnadine was adamant. ‘George is the culprit here. I’ll wait until he tires of his silly game and releases Imogen.’

  ‘You’ll be wasting your time,’ declared Vaughan. ‘George is in London and no silly game exists. On the train journey back to London, I’d advise you to think of a more convincing explanation of the agonising situation that confronts us.’

  ‘I shall be staying in Oxford overnight.’

  Cassandra was blunt. ‘We’ll not be able to offer you hospitality.’

  ‘There’ll be a room at Brasenose for me. I’ve done so much on behalf of my alma mater that I may come and go there as I wish. And before you try to send me on my way,’ he went on as Vaughan opened the door wide to usher him out, ‘I must tell you that I intend to remain until I’ve met the two detectives on their way here.’

  Vaughan blinked. ‘I know of no detectives.’

  ‘They were engaged by Sir Marcus who sent telegraphs to Scotland Yard. We don’t need the celebrated Inspector Colbeck. His presence here has been rendered superfluous,’ said Tunnadine, complacently. ‘I’ve already solved the riddle of Imogen’s disappearance.’

  Two figures suddenly materialised in the open doorway.

  ‘I’ll be most interested to hear how you did it, sir,’ said Colbeck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Vernon Tolley did not know whether to be reassured or unsettled by the visit of the two detectives. Colbeck and Leeming had struck him as shrewd and approachable. They’d asked searching questions yet treated him with respect as they did so instead of adopting the condescending tone more usual among his social superiors. Their meeting with Tolley had given him more than a glimmer of hope. At the same time, he reflected, the very fact that they’d been summoned from Scotland Yard showed the gravity of the situation. They’d arrived at the house several hours after the fateful departure of the two women from Shrub Hill station. The trail would thus have gone very cold. It meant that Tolley’s hope was tempered with anxiety. No matter how clever or confident the detectives were, they would start their investigation at a severe dis
advantage. They could well fail. The thought that he might never know what had happened to his beloved Rhoda Wills made him shudder.

  He was coming out of the stables when a woman waddled towards him.

  ‘What are you doing out here, Vernon?’ she asked with concern.

  ‘The horses had to be fed.’

  ‘You always put them first. A coachman needs to be fed as well, you know. Come along inside and see what I saved for you.’

  ‘I’d rather stay out here, Win.’

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘I’ve too much on my mind to worry about food.’

  ‘I’m the same,’ she said, changing tack and investing her voice with a sense of foreboding. ‘This is a sad day for us all and no mistake. It’s tragic, that’s what it is. Sir Marcus and his wife have seen their only child snatched cruelly away from them. This house will be in mourning for a long time.’

  He was curt. ‘Don’t try to bury them before they’re even dead.’

  ‘I’m only saying what everybody else is thinking.’

  ‘Well, I’m not thinking it,’ he warned. ‘There’s still cause for hope.’

  ‘I know, I know and I’m glad.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I only came to see you because I’m worried about you.’

  Win Eagleton was the cook, a plump woman in her late thirties with a vulgar appeal that was offset by a gushing manner and by her habit of producing a broad grin that revealed huge gaps left by missing teeth. The coachman might have set his heart on marrying Rhoda Wills but the cook – even though given no encouragement – had long harboured designs on Tolley. With her rival apparently out of the way, Win thought she could begin to circle her prey.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ she said, brushing his arm with podgy fingers. ‘You’ve had a long and troubling day, Vernon. You need food inside you.’

  ‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’

  ‘You know how much you like my pies.’

  ‘Thank you, all the same, but I have no appetite.’

  ‘It’s always a pleasure to cook for you, Vernon.’ She moved closer to him. ‘But you’re right, of course,’ she went on, face solemn. ‘At a time like this, we shouldn’t be thinking about our bellies. Our minds and our prayers should be fixed on them. Whatever could have happened on that train?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Win. They were safe and sound when I waved them off.’

  ‘And were they alone in the compartment?’

  ‘I made certain of it.’

  ‘That was wise,’ she said. ‘You do hear terrible stories of nasty men who take liberties if they catch a woman alone on a train. I know that I wouldn’t dare to travel by myself. You can’t be too careful.’

  ‘Nothing like that happened,’ he declared. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘So am I, Vernon. I told them that the rumour was nonsense.’

  He turned to her. ‘What rumour?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t even want to repeat it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it except that they were all talking about it in the kitchen. It would only upset you,’ she told him. ‘It’s far better that you don’t even hear it.’

  ‘Don’t keep anything from me, Win,’ he insisted. ‘What’s this about a rumour? If it’s more than idle gossip, I want to know what it is.’

  Having got his attention at last, she wanted to flash a broad grin to signal her triumph but overcame the urge to do so and furrowed her brow instead.

  ‘It’s about the Mickleton Tunnel,’ she said, confidingly. ‘It’s always caused trouble. Well, it’s not so many years ago that we had that riot there with thousands of people fighting a battle. And there have been other problems since. Someone started a fire in there. Two people committed suicide together by standing on the track. Last year, they found another dead body in there, curled up against a wall. Some folk believe that the tunnel is cursed. That’s the rumour, Vernon. They say that, when the train slowed in the dark of the tunnel, someone might have been able to climb into their carriage and commit whatever crime he did. I don’t believe it myself,’ she said quickly, ‘but that’s what I heard. If anything really dreadful happened on that journey to Oxford, it would have taken place in the Mickleton Tunnel.’

  Vernon Tolley swallowed hard and his gloom deepened.

  After a flurry of introductions, Dominic Vaughan tried to dispel the tension in the room by producing a decanter of the college sherry and pouring a glass for all five of them. Everyone sat down. The person most grateful for the drink was Victor Leeming, perched on the edge of a chair and feeling so alienated in the strange environment that his throat had gone dry and his body numb. The sherry at least brought him back to life again. Colbeck complimented the Master on the quality of his sherry then invited Tunnadine to explain how he’d achieved the miracle of unravelling the mystery. The politician was disdainful, mocking the efforts of the detectives and boasting that he’d succeeded where they had floundered. Ignoring the sergeant as if he were not even there, his words were aimed solely at Colbeck. When he sat back at the end of his recitation, Tunnadine looked as if he expected a round of applause.

  Colbeck sipped some more sherry then shook his head in disagreement.

  ‘It’s an interesting theory, Mr Tunnadine, but it’s fatally flawed.’

  ‘I know what George Vaughan is capable of, Inspector.’

  ‘That may well be so, sir. Throughout its long and illustrious history, this university has been enlivened by undergraduate jests. When I was a student here myself,’ said Colbeck, deliberately letting him know his academic credentials, ‘I saw countless examples of what one might call youthful exuberance. One of my own contemporaries, for instance, thought it would be a splendid joke if he clambered up on the roof of the Sheldonian Theatre with a live sheep tied around his shoulders. Why do it? The answer is simple – he wanted to cause a stir.’

  ‘What has that got to do with George Vaughan?’

  ‘He and my old college friend are two of a kind, Mr Tunnadine. Both like to shock people with their bravado. But a shock, by definition, is a temporary event. Once accomplished, its effect soon wears off. If, as you argue, the Master’s son is responsible for what you refer to as devilry, why has he let it drag on for such a long time? The joke had worn thin several hours ago.’

  ‘That’s precisely what I told him,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘George would never make us all suffer like this,’ added Cassandra. ‘He’s grown up in the last year. He’s finally seen the error of his ways.’

  ‘Once a joker, always a joker,’ argued Tunnadine. ‘I’ve met him. He can’t stop himself from being the family clown.’

  ‘Clowns perform in search of immediate applause, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘They never extend their act ad nauseam until it causes pain and anguish. I’m sorry, Mr Tunnadine, but your so-called solution is utterly worthless.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ agreed Cassandra.

  ‘Nor could I,’ said Vaughan. ‘You cast unjustified slurs on the honour of our younger son, Mr Tunnadine. I’d say that an apology was in order.’

  ‘None is deserved and none will be given,’ said Tunnadine, stonily.

  ‘Inspector Colbeck has exposed your theory for the gibberish that it is.’

  Looking from one face to another, Tunnadine saw that he was outnumbered. Since nobody took his explanation seriously, he began to have his first niggling doubts about it. Too wily to admit defeat, he tried to turn the tables on Colbeck.

  ‘What progress have you made, Inspector?’ he demanded.

  ‘We’re still harvesting information, sir.’

  ‘You must have reached a conclusion.’

  ‘I never do that on insufficient evidence,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘So, in effect, your investigation has yielded nothing of consequence.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it like that, Mr Tunnadine.’

  ‘Then how would you put it?’ pressed the other.

  ‘Possibilities are beginning to emerge.’

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sp; ‘I’m not interested in possibilities,’ said Tunnadine with vehemence. ‘The dear lady I intend to marry may be in some kind of danger. She must be found quickly and returned safely to me. The culprit – and I still name him as George Vaughan – must be subjected to the full rigour of the law.’ After draining his glass, he rose to his feet, set the glass on the desk, then plucked a card from his waistcoat pocket. ‘This is where I may be reached in London,’ he said, thrusting the card at Colbeck. ‘I’ll be spending the night at Brasenose before returning there.’

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ said Colbeck, getting up to see him off.

  ‘Good day to you all!’

  After snatching up his hat, Clive Tunnadine let himself out and slammed the door behind him to indicate his displeasure. Colbeck resumed his seat.

  ‘We can now begin to have a less fraught discussion,’ he observed.

  ‘I’m sorry that you came when you did, gentlemen,’ said Vaughan. ‘He was in a foul mood when he barged in here. We’ve only met Mr Tunnadine twice before and he doesn’t improve on acquaintance.’

  ‘He was obnoxious,’ said Cassandra. ‘I loathe the fellow.’

  ‘What he said about our younger son was quite scandalous.’

  ‘We must make allowances for his natural apprehension,’ said Colbeck, easily. ‘Anyone told that his future bride has just disappeared is bound to be at the mercy of wild fantasies. Mr Tunnadine was casting around for someone to blame and he happened to alight on your younger son.’

  ‘George can be a clown at times but he’s not that irresponsible.’

  ‘At heart,’ said Cassandra, fondly, ‘he’s the soul of kindness.’

  ‘Leaving him aside for the moment,’ said Colbeck, ‘let’s turn to the moment when the train from Worcester actually arrived at the station here. What did you and your daughter see, Mrs Vaughan?’

  ‘Everything but what we wanted to see – namely, Imogen and her maid.’

  ‘Could you be more specific?’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, when Sergeant Leeming and I arrived at the station earlier, we were part of a swirling crowd, yet we could pick out some of its constituent members.’