‘He’s an actor who occasionally belongs to the company at our Theatre Royal.’
Michael Hern walked quickly through the streets until he came to a row of small, half-timbered Tudor cottages. The whole lot of them were at peculiar angles so that they looked like drunken revellers staggering home after a night of abandon. Hern went to the house at the far end and knocked on the door. It was opened by Horace Pryor. Delighted to see his visitor, he let him into the house immediately. The transaction took less than a minute. When it was over, Hern opened the front door and put his head out to check that nobody was about. He then glided back down the street and rejoined the main road where his cab was still waiting for him. As he was driven away, Hern felt a sense of achievement. He had orchestrated a perfect murder. Wallowing in self-congratulation, he failed to notice that he’d been followed by Robert Colbeck.
One mystery was solved. Leeming had wondered how Hern could respond to the news of the murder when he didn’t read the letter that told him of it. Written testimony of the crime was unnecessary. As soon as he saw David Le Brun – alias John Gorey - arriving on the island, Hern had sailed off to England. He’d had visible proof that Jarvis Swarbrick was dead. It had all become clear to Leeming. Once he’d been able to link the killer with Michael Hern, he realised that they’d been confederates.
His visit to the island’s prison had been a brainwave. It changed everything. Instead of feeling alone and befuddled, Leeming was now on the road to Gorey in a carriage with three policemen in support. The odds were at last in his favour. When they got close to the farm where the killer lived, Leeming ordered the driver to stop. He then told the three policemen to creep up on the farm from different directions, cutting off any avenues of escape. Having given them plenty of time to get into position, he sat back in the carriage and let the driver take him down the track towards the farm.
A young man with a dark beard was schooling a horse in the paddock, sending it round in circles at the end of a long lead rein and cracking a whip from time to time. Leeming reasoned that it had to be the man he was after. When the carriage rolled to a halt in front of the farmhouse, he got out and strolled nonchalantly across to the paddock. The man came over to him. Square-shouldered and muscular, he had a face of almost endearing ugliness. He spoke with faultless English.
‘Did you want something, sir?’ he asked.
‘I did, as a matter of fact. May I ask your name?’
‘I’m David Le Brun.’
‘Then I’ve got the wrong person,’ said Leeming. ‘The man I’m after is John Gorey. I’ve come all the way from Norwich to see him.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded the other, fists clenching.
‘I’m a policeman, sir, and so are they.’
Leeming pointed his finger and the killer looked behind him. Three men were coming resolutely towards him from different directions. He was surrounded.
‘You’re mistaken,’ he asserted. ‘I’ve never even been to England.’
‘Yes, you have. Michael Hern sent you there to murder someone.’
‘I don’t know anyone of that name.’
‘What about Jonas Yarrow? Do you know him? He would have sent his regards but he feels too let down by you. The governor had wanted to discharge you from prison with a clear sense of right and wrong. Obviously, he failed to do so.’
‘Yarrow was an idiot,’ snarled the other.
‘Don’t be so unkind to him. Mr Yarrow was an admirer of yours. He was hoping to bet on you again in the annual point-to-point but your racing days are over, aren’t they? The governor will have to put his trust in another rider.’
Le Brun looked over his shoulder again. The other policemen were closing in on him. His only option was flight. Running to the fence, he put a hand on it and vaulted nimbly over it. He then used the whip to drive Leeming backwards. After hurling the whip at him, Le Brun went haring off in the direction of the stables. Leeming yelled to the policemen to hurry up and they broke into a trot. Holding his hat in place, he ran towards the stables. His quarry had already disappeared inside. As he got close, Leeming slowed down and approached cautiously. Le Brun was desperate and would be prepared to kill his way out. The other policemen were still some way away. If someone was going to stop the fugitive, it had to be Leeming.
Twenty yards from the stables, he was suddenly thrown on to the defensive. Having no time to saddle a horse, Le Brun had slipped a bridle over one animal and was riding him bareback. He came out of the stables with a hay fork in his hand and every intention of using it on Leeming. With a horse and two vicious prongs heading straight at him, the sergeant wanted to jump out of the way but he couldn’t let the killer escape without at least trying to stop him. He therefore relied on instinct. Whisking off his hat, he waved it madly in the horse’s face and shouted at the top of his voice. The animal neighed loudly and reared up on its hind legs.
With no saddle to help him, even an accomplished rider like Le Brun could not stay on the horse. He was thrown backwards, landing on the ground with such a thud that the hay fork was knocked from his hand. The frightened horse immediately bolted. Leeming kicked the weapon out of the killer’s reach then dived on top of him. There was a fierce struggle on the ground. Le Brun squirmed wildly but, no matter what he did, he couldn’t dislodge Leeming. As they traded punches, the sergeant struck the more telling blows and his adversary’s strength was gradually sapped. When the man made one last effort to escape, Leeming used a head butt to stun him. He then hit him with another relay of punches. By the time that the other policemen came panting up, Le Brun was almost senseless. Covered in dust, Leeming got to his feet and looked down at the killer with contempt.
‘He’s all yours,’ he gasped.
After reaching the siding, Colbeck waited for a quarter of an hour before a train thundered past. It was as he thought. Confident that the noise of the train would have masked the sound of a shot, he walked over to the first-class compartment used beforehand by the killer. He opened the door and hauled himself up into it. A diligent search of the upholstery behind one seat soon yielded the treasure that he sought. Colbeck had four separate bullets in his hand. They’d been embedded in the upholstery during rehearsals.
When he set off to start his shift, Horace Pryor found it hard to keep the smile off his face. The reward he’d been given earlier was more than he’d earn in five years and all he’d had to do was to arrange for a friend to switch the points when nobody was looking. He’d wept no tears for Jarvis Swarbrick. In his eyes, the man was a rich, arrogant, detestable politician who treated people like Pryor as if they weren’t so much as dirt. His smile lasted as far as the railway station. The moment he appeared, Pryor was confronted by Jellings and two policemen.
‘Hello, Horry,’ said the inspector. ‘We’d like a word with you.’
Pryor’s face flushed. ‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘You had a visitor earlier on, didn’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Inspector Colbeck thinks otherwise – and so do we.’
Pryor was still protesting loudly as they hustled him away.
The warm weather had brought them all into the garden. Cecil and Anthea Freed were seated on the terrace with Grace Swarbrick and her brother. The women enjoyed the cover of a sunshade while the man wore hats to shield them from the glare of the sun. Talk had turned to the question of the future.
‘I want Grace to come back to Jersey,’ said Hern, ‘so that we can look after her properly.’
‘It’s too early to make that decision, Michael,’ she said. ‘I want to take things one step at a time. The inquest is tomorrow. Let me get that ordeal out of the way first.’
‘Your home is here in Norwich,’ Anthea pointed out. ‘You’ll inherit a beautiful house and we’d love you to stay.’
‘We would, indeed,’ said Freed. ‘I know that Andrew is going to contest the will, but his father’s wishes will be upheld. There may be some unpleasantness involved but that s
houldn’t trouble you.’
‘It might be more sensible to sell the property,’ said Hern, ‘and return to the place where you were born. Norwich holds so many bad memories for you, Grace.’
‘It holds many good memories as well,’ said Anthea, stoutly.
‘That’s true,’ agreed Grace. ‘I feel that I belong here.’
‘Forgive this interruption,’ said Colbeck, coming into view from behind a yew hedge nearby. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you just said, Mrs Swarbrick. It’s just as well that you feel at home here because the law will insist that you remain.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Hern.
‘Don’t worry, sir. You’ll be required to stay with her.’
‘My sister is in mourning for her husband. Barging in here like this is unforgivable.’
‘Let’s be honest, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mrs Swarbrick is not your sister. The last time I was in this garden, I saw the two of you alone and there was an intimacy between you that helped me to understand what’s been going on.’ He looked from Anthea to Freed. ‘It’s my painful duty to tell you that you, and everybody else in Mrs Swarbrick’s social circle, have been grievously misled.’
‘That’s slander!’ howled Hern, rising angrily to his feet.
‘Do you deny that, when you left here, you went straight to the home of Horace Pryor to pay him for his part in the plot?’ Hern blanched. ‘He is presently in police custody. I’m confident that the same can be said of the man who shot Mr Swarbrick dead. He came to this country under the false name of John Gorey then fled back to Jersey.’
‘This is nonsense,’ said Hern, scornfully.
‘Sergeant Leeming has gone to the island to arrest the man. My job is to arrest the people who employed him.’ Colbeck signalled with his hand and two uniformed policemen came out from behind the hedge. ‘I brought these gentlemen to assist me.’
Freed was outraged. ‘What, in the name of God, is going on?’
‘You and Mrs Freed have been victims of a grotesque confidence trick, sir. Mrs Swarbrick used her charms to entice Mr Swarbrick when he was at his most vulnerable in the wake of his wife’s death. As he learnt to his cost,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the marriage was a charade. The new Mrs Swarbrick had no intention of being a real wife to him. She pleaded ill health to avoid sharing a bedroom with him.’
Anthea was aghast. ‘Is this true, Grace?’
‘Of course, it isn’t,’ said the other.
‘Mrs Swarbrick is not in mourning,’ said Colbeck. ‘She and Mr Hern have been congratulating themselves on their success in fooling everyone. I don’t think you realise what an extraordinary woman you befriended, Mrs Freed. She was fearless. The murder was not only meticulously rehearsed by the killer with the help of a disused carriage, his victim’s wife was also involved. She agreed to sit in the compartment so that the pistol could be fired close to her. Only a professional actress would play the part to the hilt like that.’
‘This is sheer lunacy!’ yelled Hern.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Colbeck. ‘It’s the voice of a trained actor. When I first met Mr Hern, I was impressed with the way that he spoke. He and Mrs Swarbrick gave us a beguiling performance.’
‘This is monstrous,’ said Anthea, trembling with anger. ‘You betrayed us, Grace. I can’t believe we were so gullible.’
‘Nor me,’ said her husband. ‘We owe you our thanks, inspector. We’d never have suspected that we were dealing with confidence tricksters. But the real victim was Jarvis Swarbrick.’
Grace laughed harshly. ‘He was the biggest fool of you all.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ warned Hern.
‘It’s too late, Michael. The inspector knows.’
‘I do,’ said Colbeck. ‘When I said that you’d be remaining in Norwich, I meant that you’ll be condemned to death here. There’ll be no return to Jersey for either of you. The last audience you’ll entertain is the one that comes to watch your executions.’
After the excitement of the arrest, Leeming was brought to a dead halt. Before he could take the prisoner back to England, legalities had to be observed. It meant that he had to stay on the island. David Le Brun, meanwhile, was able to renew his acquaintance with the governor when he spent the night at Newgate Street Prison. Leeming had no qualms about the return journey. He’d been promised the assistance of two policemen to guard the prisoner during the voyage, and he was told to expect a report of his bravery when he opened the newspaper on the following day. He would arrive back in Norwich as a hero.
Having left the whole city bemused by the turn of events, Colbeck caught the train back to London, delivered his report to the acting superintendent then went home to his wife and daughter. He was pleased to find Lydia there and interested to hear that she and Constable Hinton had taken part in the investigation of Lionel Fairbank.
‘Alan Hinton is very modest,’ said Colbeck. ‘He made no mention of that when I spoke to him at Scotland Yard. What he did pass on was good news about Edward Tallis. The superintendent is now on the road to recovery. He’s on extended leave and will not return to work until he feels that he’s fit enough to discharge his duties.’
‘That’s very heartening,’ said Lydia.
‘He sent you his regards, by the way.’
She was astonished. ‘Superintendent Tallis?’
‘No – Constable Hinton.’
‘Thank you, Robert.’
‘Alan is the person you need to thank,’ said Madeleine. ‘But my husband has kept us in suspense for long enough already. I want to know everything about the case.’
‘You’ll have to settle for the salient facts, my love.’
‘What are they, Robert?’
He gave them a concise account of the investigation, leaving out a great amount of peripheral detail. Colbeck pointed out the irony in the fact that it was Andrew Swarbrick who instinctively distrusted his stepmother.
‘Had his father listened to him,’ he said, ‘there would have been no second marriage. The son was right about that woman all along. When Mr Swarbrick visited what he thought was her family home in Jersey, it was filled with members of Michael Hern’s theatre company, all playing their assigned parts. And the house wasn’t owned by Hern at all. He’d rented it in order to impress Mr Swarbrick.’
‘What about her first husband?’ asked Lydia.
‘He didn’t exist,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Strictly speaking, he did exist but he was never married to her. Roland Coutanche was simply a name she picked off a gravestone. When she took Swarbrick to see it, he was convinced she’d told him the truth.’
‘It sounds as if she’d never do that.’
‘Why did Mr Swarbrick have to be murdered?’ asked Madeleine.
‘He’d served his purpose,’ replied Colbeck. ‘The point at which he became disposable was when he changed his will and made her the chief benefactor. My guess is that, in exchange, she promised to behave like a real wife to him instead of occupying a separate bedroom. Before she needed to do that, he was murdered.’
‘She was just as evil as her brother.’
‘Michael Hern was her lover. That’s why she never gave herself to another man. The moment Mr Swarbrick married her, he signed his own death warrant.’
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EDWARD MARSTON has written well over a hundred books, including some non-fiction. He is best known for his hugely successful Railway Detective series and he also writes the Bow Str
eet Rivals series featuring twin detectives set during the Regency, as well as the Home Front Detective series.
edwardmarston.com
By Edward Marston
THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE SERIES
The Railway Detective • The Excursion Train • The Railway Viaduct
The Iron Horse • Murder on the Brighton Express
The Silver Locomotive Mystery • Railway to the Grave • Blood on the Line
The Stationmaster’s Farewell • Peril on the Royal Train
A Ticket to Oblivion • Timetable of Death • Signal for Vengeance
The Circus Train Conspiracy • A Christmas Railway Mystery
Points of Danger
Inspector Colbeck’s Casebook
THE RESTORATION SERIES
The King’s Evil • The Amorous Nightingale • The Repentant Rake
The Frost Fair • The Parliament House • The Painted Lady
THE BRACEWELL MYSTERIES
The Queen’s Head • The Merry Devils • The Trip to Jerusalem
The Nine Giants • The Mad Courtesan • The Silent Woman
The Roaring Boy • The Laughing Hangman
The Fair Maid of Bohemia • The Wanton Angel
The Devil’s Apprentice • The Bawdy Basket
The Vagabond Clown • The Counterfeit Crank
The Malevolent Comedy • The Princess of Denmark
THE HOME FRONT DETECTIVE SERIES
A Bespoke Murder • Instrument of Slaughter • Five Dead Canaries
Deeds of Darkness • Dance of Death • The Enemy Within • Under Attack
THE BOW STREET RIVALS SERIES
Shadow of the Hangman • Steps to the Gallows
Points of Danger Page 29