Points of Danger

by Edward Marston

  ‘I congratulate you, inspector.’

  ‘Save the praise for Sergeant Leeming. We were acting on his recommendation.’

  ‘I’m glad that his advice was sound.’

  ‘He told me that he tries to pattern himself on you.’

  ‘I don’t think the world is ready for two inspector Colbecks,’ said the other with a laugh, ‘but I take it as a compliment.’ He studied the map again. ‘What happened in Yarmouth?’

  ‘He disappeared, I fear. That’s to say, he must have reached his destination and didn’t need to ride quite as fast. He’s either got somewhere to hide or …’

  ‘He’s escaped by boat.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s still there, inspector. I’ve got some men still searching but they don’t really have a proper description of the man. They’re chasing a phantom.’

  ‘I can tell you something about him. He’s very agile and an expert horseman.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I found out where he held his rehearsals.’

  Colbeck went on to explain that the stationmaster had suggested that the killer would have needed to practise the murder. Armed with directions from Grigson, the inspector had managed to find a siding into which four carriages had been shunted.

  ‘It had to be the place,’ he insisted. ‘He rode up to the same compartment time and again. You could see where his horse had skidded to a halt over and over again, churning up the earth. He must then have learnt how to bend over in the saddle to open the door. That was no mean feat, believe me.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I put myself to the test,’ said Colbeck. ‘I mounted the horse that pulled my trap and leant over to the compartment. I almost fell off the first time. It took me several attempts before I actually opened the door.’

  ‘If rehearsals were needed, the murder must have been planned well in advance.’

  ‘Yes, inspector, and once again it points to assistance from a railway employee. It had to be someone who knew where to find a quiet siding with redundant rolling stock in it.’

  ‘Most of the people at the station would have that information.’

  ‘And so would a railway policeman.’

  After another glance at the map, Colbeck turned away and was lost in thought for a while. Becoming aware that he was keeping the other man waiting, he gave Jellings an apology. It was waved away.

  ‘What sort of a town is Yarmouth?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘It’s a bustling seaport,’ replied Jellings, ‘and the smell of fish will soon hit your nostrils. Yarmouth – or Great Yarmouth as some people prefer to call it – is built on a slip of land between the sea and the River Yare. There’s a drawbridge connecting it with Little Yarmouth or South Town.’

  ‘How big would it be?’

  ‘Oh, the population must be at least thirty thousand, I’d say, and that number is increased in warm weather by people who go there on holiday. It’s a very popular resort.’

  ‘I don’t think the killer went there to sit in the sun.’

  ‘Nor do I, sir.’

  ‘It’s quite an ancient town, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it used to be surrounded by a moat and fortified by embattled walls. There are four main streets, running parallel with each other. They’re intersected by alleys or rows, so narrow that most carts are too wide to go down them. I’m told there are over and hundred and fifty of them in all.’

  ‘In short,’ said Colbeck, ‘it’s a rabbit warren. There’ll be hiding places galore. I feel sorry for your men, inspector. In a place like that, they won’t know where to start looking.’

  Now that she was well clear of her stepson, Grace Swarbrick felt much better. She no longer had a sense of oppression. Dressed in black, she sat in a chair in the drawing room of the Freed residence, sipping tea and thanking her friend from what was tantamount to a rescue.

  ‘Sooner or later, Andrew would have tired of waiting,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why you needed to get out of there, Grace. All we had to do was to give instructions to one of the servants and we were driven here. I meant what I said,’ emphasised Anthea Freed. ‘Stay just as long as you wish. Your stepson will be kept well away from you.’

  ‘Thank you, Anthea.’

  ‘Treat the place as your own.’

  ‘What will Cecil say when he finds me here?’

  ‘He’ll give you as cordial a welcome as I have,’ said her friend, ‘and, like me, he’ll know when to leave you alone. Neither of us wishes to intrude on your grief.’

  ‘It’s more like despair,’ murmured Grace. ‘Before my first husband died, I had a warning well in advance. The doctor told me exactly what to expect. I was able to sit with Roland, watch him fade slowly away in front of me and then mourn him accordingly. There was nothing like the agony I suffered this time.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘My mind has been in turmoil ever since.’

  ‘That’s understandable. I know your time together was cut cruelly short, but you and Jarvis were so patently made for each other. He’d become morose after the death of his first wife. You turned him back into the person he’d been before.’

  ‘He did the same for me, Anthea. It was incredible.’ She muffled a yawn. ‘Would it be rude of me to ask you to leave me alone for a while? I feel the need for a brief nap.’

  ‘Then I’ll slip away at once and give orders that you’re not to be disturbed. When you wake up,’ said Anthea, indicating the little bell on the side table, ‘just ring that and somebody will come.’

  ‘Dare I hope that it might be inspector Colbeck with good news?’

  ‘We may have to wait a little while for that, Grace.’

  ‘He seems such a conscientious man,’ said the other, drowsily.

  Anthea was on her feet at once. ‘It’s time for your nap,’ she said. ‘You obviously need it. My thoughts will be with you.’

  After depositing a gentle kiss on her friend’s head, she went out.

  Horace Pryor was too frightened to disobey orders. When he saw Leeming alighting from a London train, he made sure that he intercepted him and talked to him at length. As soon as the sergeant departed, Pryor went in search of Duff. He found him behind the waiting room, lounging against a wall and stuffing tobacco into a clay pipe.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Duff.

  ‘Sergeant Leeming has just come back.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘We had a long talk, Bart.’

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there. What did he tell you?’

  After clearing his throat, Pryor repeated all that he could remember of the conversation. Though he got the sequence of events confused, he passed on the relevant facts. Lighting his pipe, Duff listened impatiently. When he’d heard everything, he wanted the details confirmed.

  ‘So, he reported to his superintendent, did he?’

  ‘Yes, Bart.’

  ‘What’s this about a letter to Colbeck’s wife?’

  ‘It saved her having to wait another day for it.’

  ‘So instead of trying to track down a killer,’ said Duff, curling his lip, ‘the inspector is writing a billy-do for his wife. Then, when he’d handed the letter over, the sergeant went home to see Mrs Leeming.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I come to work to escape my wife. I’d never dream of sneaking home to see her. We’ve got nothing to say to each other.’

  Pryor smiled hopefully. ‘Did I do well?’

  ‘You did as you were told, Horry, that’s the main thing.’ He stopped to pull on his pipe before exhaling a cloud of aromatic smoke. ‘So where has the sergeant gone now?’

  ‘He’s gone to meet inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘Yes, but where?’

  Pryor bit his lip. ‘I forgot to ask, Bart.’

  As he’d promised, Colbeck was sitting at a table in the Ribs of Beef with a glass of whisky in his hand. The moment he saw Leeming enter, he ordered a pint of bee
r, giving him plenty of time to take the first reviving gulps of it before pressing him for a report. Colbeck was upset to hear of the way that Tallis had behaved both with Leeming and, earlier on in the day, with Alan Hinton. He was glad to hear that Captain Wardlow would be contacted that very evening. In a situation seemingly approaching a crisis, the superintendent was in need of a close friend.

  ‘Do you have a letter from Madeleine?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming, retrieving it from his pocket and handing it over. ‘Your wife and daughter send their love and want you home very soon, please.’

  ‘We’ve a crime to solve first, Victor, so “very soon” could mean weeks, even longer.’

  ‘Are we going to be in Norwich indefinitely?’

  ‘Let me read my letter, then I’ll tell you.’

  After handing him the menu to look at, Colbeck opened his letter and skimmed through it. He was pleased to hear that Madeleine had written to Lionel Fairbank but irritated that his father-in-law had taken it upon himself to call at the art gallery in order to find out what he could about the man. When they’d ordered their meals, Colbeck told his companion how he’d spent his day. Leeming sat up in surprise at the stationmaster’s shrewd observation.

  ‘Why didn’t we think of that, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Our minds were fixed elsewhere, Victor.’

  ‘And are you sure you found the right place?’

  ‘No doubt about it,’ said Colbeck. ‘I went to all three locations and only one of them had such distinctive hoof prints. Also, it was the most isolated of the three sidings. He could have practised there unseen.’

  ‘The stationmaster deserves a pat on the back.’

  ‘And so do you, Victor.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Inspector Jellings was singing your praises. It was you who told him to deploy his men along the road to Acle in search of witnesses. He did just that and it paid off.’

  ‘Did they pick up a trail?’

  ‘They did, indeed,’ said Colbeck. ‘As a result, I can now answer your earlier question. Are we going to be in Norwich indefinitely? No, we’re not. Tomorrow morning we’re going to Great Yarmouth.’

  While she was relieved that her husband had welcomed the idea of her accepting a commission, Madeleine Colbeck was still worried that her father’s visit to the Red Gallery might have imperilled it. Late that afternoon, therefore, she took a cab to the art shop so that she could speak to Francis Sinclair, the owner. He was a slim, elegant, ginger-haired man in his fifties with expressive features and a high voice. Since there were no customers on the premises, they were able to talk in private.

  ‘Good day to you, Mrs Colbeck,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you here.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sinclair.’

  ‘Have you come to look at your latest prints?’

  ‘No,’ said Madeleine, clearly embarrassed. ‘I’m here to apologise.’

  ‘I see no reason for you to do that.’

  ‘My father called here yesterday.’

  ‘That’s right. Mr Andrews was asking after one of our clients, a Mr Fairbank. He said something about a commission. Ordinarily, of course, I’d never reveal personal details about anyone who comes through that door, but your father was rather insistent. I told him what he must have passed on to you.’

  ‘He had no business coming here, Mr Sinclair.’

  ‘I assumed that you’d sanctioned his visit.’

  ‘I’d never have done that,’ said Madeleine. ‘It put you in the awkward position and was, in any case, quite unnecessary. The letter from Mr Fairbank spoke for itself. He has a genuine interest in my work.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m here to ask two favours of you. The first is that I’d be very grateful if you made no mention to Mr Fairbank of my father’s ill-considered attempt to find out more about him.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to say a word on the subject, Mrs Colbeck,’ he assured her. ‘What’s the second favour?’

  ‘I’ve written to Mr Fairbank to suggest that he and I meet here in the first instance. I hope that you have no objection?’

  Sinclair laughed. ‘Why should I object to the arrival of one of my artists and one of my most respected clients? The pair of you can come and go as you, please.’

  ‘Thank you so much. That’s a great relief.’

  They chatted for a few minutes then Madeleine was ready to leave. As he opened the door to let her out, he remembered something.

  ‘Did you know that your father was here again?’

  Madeleine started. ‘When?’

  ‘It was earlier today.’

  ‘I do hope he wasn’t pestering you again, Mr Sinclair.’

  ‘Oh, no, he didn’t come anywhere near me. As a matter of fact, he made a point of staying on the other side of the street. I was rearranging something in the window when I saw him.’

  ‘Did he acknowledge you in any way?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘Mr Andrews was looking wistfully in this direction until he realised that I’d seen him. He hurried away with his head down as if trying to hide from me.’

  Madeleine’s stomach lurched.

  It was evening when Colbeck drove the trap to the relevant siding. Some distance from the station, it was shielded by thick bushes. When the vehicle came to a halt, Leeming looked carefully at the four carriages.

  ‘They’re all third class,’ he pointed out.

  ‘We can’t expect the ECR to have left a first-class carriage here for the benefit of the killer. He pretended that the one at the far end was the carriage that Mr and Mrs Swarbrick used and knew they’d be travelling in the last compartment.’

  Getting out of the trap, Colbeck beckoned to Leeming to follow him. As they walked alongside the four carriages, they could see dozens of hoof prints gouged into the turf, showing that someone had ridden up and down many times. Colbeck paused at the last compartment of the fourth carriage and explained how difficult it had been to open the door from the back of a horse.

  ‘Try it for yourself, Victor. Sit on our horse.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Leeming, holding up both hands. ‘You know the trouble I always have with horses. They don’t like me. I’ll take your word for it that opening that door takes skill.’

  ‘It takes skill, balance and dexterity. After practising here, the killer was well prepared. What do you deduce from that?’

  ‘He knew that he’d have to get it right first time, sir.’

  ‘Exactly – speed was essential.’

  ‘Explain one thing to me,’ said Leeming. ‘If his aim was simply to kill Mr Swarbrick, why did he pretend to rob him first?’

  ‘He wanted to provoke resistance because that’s what he’d be told he’d get. Mrs Swarbrick said that her husband refused to hand over any valuables. The killer had his excuse to shoot.’

  ‘Who told him that he’d meet with refusal?’

  ‘The person who hired him,’ said Colbeck. ‘He knew the victim well enough to be certain that Swarbrick would confront the man.’

  ‘Then it must have been someone very close to him.’

  ‘Andrew Swarbrick was closer than anyone.’

  ‘What about that Oliver Trant?’

  ‘Oh, I think that he could foresee how Swarbrick would react. They’ve tussled with each other for many years. You learn a lot about a man’s character if you’re in a constant battle with him.’

  ‘You do,’ said Leeming, thinking of his relationship with Tallis.

  ‘From what his wife could remember of the incident, it seems that Swarbrick was indignant that anyone should demand his wallet and watch. He was a man of substance in this part of the country. He didn’t think that anyone would dare to give him an order in that way.’

  ‘That mistake led to his death.’

  ‘Let’s recapitulate,’ said Colbeck. ‘So far we have a trained killer who did what he was told. He was hired by someone wealthy enough to pay a high price and well acquainted
with Swarbrick’s character. Then there’s the third person, a railway employee who told the killer about this siding and who contrived a diversion for him.’

  ‘Horace Pryor?’

  ‘It’s possible but I’d have reservations about accusing him.’

  ‘He’s changed since we got here, sir. At the start, he tried to dodge questions and keep out of our way. When he sees me now, he pounces on me and asks where I’m going and who I’m off to see.’

  ‘Perhaps he wants to know if we’ve stumbled on any significant evidence. That could mean he’s anxious about his safety.’

  ‘Should we question him more closely?’

  ‘There’s no need for that at this stage’ said Colbeck. ‘Give him the impression that he’s not under any suspicion. Make him lower his guard.’

  ‘What about Sergeant Duff?’

  ‘We’ll both keep him in mind.’

  ‘Is he our man?’

  ‘It’s too early to say, Victor.’

  ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Let him stew in his juice until we’ve gathered more facts. Duff and Pryor are not going anywhere. If they were involved, we’ll find out in due course.’

  After another glance at the door of the last compartment, Colbeck headed back to the trap with Leeming beside it. When they drove away, neither of them looked over his shoulder to see a man emerging slowly from the bushes. Bartram Duff had heard every word.

  Returning home from a day in his office, Cecil Freed was greeted by the news that Grace Swarbrick was now living with them. He was pleased that she’d been taken out of reach of her stepson and hoped that being in a much friendlier environment would aid her recovery.

  ‘We seem to be acting as a sanctuary, my dear,’ he said.

  ‘Grace couldn’t possible stay where she was,’ argued his wife.

  ‘You brought her here to hide from Andrew and I invited the detectives so that they weren’t dogged by the press. I wonder who else is in need of somewhere to hide?’