‘So do I, dear lady, so do I. It’s the reason I retained the services of the man most likely to uncover the truth about Alex’s death.’
‘Geoffrey Hedley is starting to have doubts about him. At least, that’s what I’m beginning to suspect.’
‘Then his doubts are misplaced. Colbeck will vindicate his reputation, mark my words.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I’m sorry to intrude on you at such a time, but I wanted you to know that you’re in my thoughts. I understand how you must feel, and I sympathise.’ He took a step towards her. ‘There is one last thing I need to ask you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, for a period of time, you were closer to Alex than anybody.’
‘That’s what I believed,’ she said, ruefully.
‘He must have confided in you.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose that he did.’
‘Was there any mention of people he thought of as his sworn enemies?’
‘Yes – there were rather a lot of them.’
He smiled tolerantly. ‘Alex did love to cause trouble.’
‘I thought he went too far sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘Once he disliked someone, his mockery of them was quite relentless. He baited them.’
‘Did he never fear retribution?’
‘He shrugged off the very idea. Alex thought that people were too afraid of him to strike back.’ A memory surfaced. ‘Except for one man, that is …’
‘Oh? Who was that?’
‘It was Norman Tiller.’
When he went to the house that evening, Colbeck apologised for calling unannounced. Expecting to be invited into the cottage, he was instead taken into the bookshop and, even though it was very cold, he was glad to be able to see the place. Tiller lit the lamps then offered him a seat. Colbeck’s eyes roved the shelves.
‘You have a very eclectic stock,’ he said, approvingly.
‘I have to cater for all tastes, Inspector.’
‘It was kind of you to lend that book to Sergeant Leeming. I think it’s come as a revelation to him.’
‘He wanted to know more about the Lake District,’ said the bookseller. ‘I was happy to educate him.’
‘You are also a talented poet, it seems.’
‘That’s my true calling.’
‘The sergeant was struck by your poem about the way that a blacksmith went into a wood and was never seen alive again.’
‘I wanted to find out what happened to him.’
‘Why did you leave it so long?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Gregor Hayes vanished ten years ago, yet your poem wasn’t written until five or six years later.’
‘I brooded on the mystery until I felt I’d taken everything into account. There was a lot of research involved.’
‘I could see that.’
Tiller was shaken. ‘You’ve read the poem?’
‘After what I was told about it, I felt that I had to. Like the sergeant, I paid a visit to your friend, the barber, and he was kind enough to let me see all the examples of your work that he had in his possession. He’s a great admirer of yours.’
‘Reg Garside is rather overenthusiastic about my poetry.’
‘I, too, was impressed by it.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’
As they talked, Colbeck was trying to weigh him up. At first sight, Tiller was everything that Leeming had said about him – pleasant, soft-voiced, educated and seemingly contented with his lot. Colbeck sensed a muted resentment absent when the sergeant had called, and there was also a new watchfulness about him. The bookseller had done his best to befriend the sergeant. With Colbeck, however, he was circumspect, like a nervous cat in the presence of a stranger. Tiller didn’t yet know whether to purr or to show his claws.
‘I was intrigued by the way you shifted between third-person narrative,’ said Colbeck, ‘and the voice of the phantom. Yet even though he has a central role in the story, you never give us a description of him.’
‘Who can describe a phantom, Inspector? You refer to him as “he” but he could equally well be “she” or “it”. Apparitions change shape all the time. You can’t define them in words.’
‘Yet you told the sergeant you’d seen the phantom.’
‘I believe that I did.’
‘What form did it take?’
‘It was a human being in miniature.’
‘How close were you?’
‘It must have been … thirty yards or so.’
‘Then you had a much clearer view than I did. When I came back from Birthwaite on the train, I glimpsed a figure in black high up on a mountain. At that distance,’ remembered Colbeck, ‘he was almost tiny and stayed for only a few seconds before flitting away like a bird. Could that have been your phantom?’
‘No, Inspector,’ replied the other, ‘I’m sure that it wasn’t. It was probably a climber. They abound in this part of the country. If you visit Scafell Pike, the highest peak in England, you’ll see climbers swarming over it like bees.’
‘This person was not climbing. He ran off.’
‘Then he’s one of our many fell runners. Go out among the fells and you’re bound to see them running up and down for the sheer joy of it. It’s a common sight in the Lakes.’
‘You’ve disappointed me,’ said Colbeck.
‘Why is that?’
‘I was rather hoping I’d caught sight of a phantom – even, perhaps, the one who appears in your wonderful poem. You made him sound so real.’
‘He is real, Inspector. I’d swear that he is. You must have seen somebody else entirely. And since you were looking out of a moving train, your view would’ve been slightly impaired. If you’d really seen what I saw,’ affirmed Tiller, ‘you’d know that it was a phantom.’
Because he’d been told that she’d be there, Alan Hinton hurried along to the Colbeck residence that evening. He was soon talking to Madeleine while relishing the proximity of Lydia Quayle. The two women made him feel very welcome.
‘It’s so good of you to take an interest,’ said Madeleine. ‘We know how busy you must be.’
‘I can always find time for friends.’
‘Let me add my thanks, Alan,’ said Lydia. ‘Knowing that you’re involved has helped to calm Madeleine’s father down.’
‘Let’s go through the facts,’ he suggested.
Madeleine gave him the details once again. Her account was supplemented by comments from Lydia. Hinton was attentive. Since the information he gleaned could not be transferred to his notebook, he committed it to memory. He could see how seriously both women regarded what seemed to him like a petty crime. Anxious to help Madeleine and her father, he was even more concerned about winning Lydia’s approval.
‘I just hope that the superintendent doesn’t get to hear about this,’ he joked, ‘or he’ll roast me alive.’
‘I thought he was more subdued since his return,’ said Madeleine. ‘Robert’s word for him was “serene”.’
‘It didn’t last. When I said something out of place, he slapped me down at once. It was just like old times.’
‘But you’ve done so well,’ said Lydia. ‘Superintendent Tallis should be grateful to you. Has he forgotten that you helped to save his life?’
‘It was my own fault for provoking him. I went too far. He was right to yell at me. Well,’ he went on, ‘this crime won’t solve itself. I’d better get over to Mr Andrews’ house.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ volunteered Lydia, getting up. ‘It’s time for me to leave, anyway. We can share a cab, Alan. I’ll drop you off at the house.’
‘Thank you very much.’
Madeleine ushered the pair of them into the hall. ‘Don’t pay any attention to my father’s demands,’ she said. ‘He thinks that the entire resources of Scotland Yard should be put at his disposal.’
Hinton chuckled. ‘All he’s getting is me.’
‘That will be enough,’ said Lydia, fondly.
‘I’m glad you have such faith in me.’
‘You once c
ame to my aid, Alan, and solved a problem that was causing me a lot of distress. I’m sure that you’ll do the same for Mr Andrews.’
Taking pity on his neighbour for being stuck at home all the time, Caleb Andrews was playing cribbage with him. They were seated either side of a card table near the downstairs front window in Kingston’s house. Regular cups of tea were supplied by Kingston’s wife, Nan, a quiet, shuffling, careworn woman. Wrapped up in their game, the men hardly noticed her. She came and went in silence.
When he lost the fifth game in a row, Andrews was annoyed. He slapped his thigh hard.
‘You’re having all the luck, Alf,’ he said.
‘There’s skill involved as well.’
‘What use is skill if the cards let me down?’
‘That’s the way it happens sometimes.’
‘It’s so unfair on me.’
‘You had a run of bad luck, that’s all. It was good of you to come over. Thanks, Caleb.’
‘Shall we have another game?’
‘To be honest,’ said Kingston, ‘I’m getting tired.’
‘You’ve got to give me the chance to win one game at least,’ insisted Andrews. ‘I’m not leaving until I do that.’
‘All right – it’s your turn to deal.’
‘I’ll give the cards a good shuffle first.’
As soon as he picked them up, however, he was diverted by the sound of an approaching cab. When it came to a halt, it seemed to be directly outside. Andrews drew back the curtain and saw that it was parked beside his house.
‘I’m sorry, Alf,’ he said, getting up and dropping the cards, ‘I’ve got to go. Unless I’m mistaken, my detective has finally arrived. Alan Hinton is going to catch the villain who stole my medal and make sure that I get it back at last.’
Rodney Piper had never even seen his son’s house, let alone gone into it. Since their estrangement, he and his wife had been isolated from him in every way. They had to rely on letters from Emma’s brother for information about Alexander’s movements. After lengthy discussion, Lord Culverhouse had finally managed to persuade Piper to visit the house in order to see how his son had been living. Emma went with them. The carriage took them on the relatively short drive to the property. It suddenly rose up in front of them out of the gloom.
Piper and his wife still had reservations about going into it. Given the kind of wayward life they believed that Alexander had been living, they were afraid of what they might find inside. Led by Culverhouse, they approached the house with foreboding. Would there be garish colours everywhere and indecent paintings on the walls? If their son had led a defiantly heathen existence, there would surely be evidence of it. Melissa Haslam might have given him some stability and normality but even she couldn’t transform his character so completely in so short a time. It was even possible, they thought, that they’d find clear signs of their son’s immorality.
Their qualms were eased when they were admitted to the house by a servant and saw Geoffrey Hedley in the hall. He gave them a polite welcome and offered to act as their guide. Profoundly grateful to him, they followed Hedley from room to room and were pleasantly surprised by the tastefulness of the decoration. There was nothing at all to offend them. Their fears gradually ebbed away.
Culverhouse was curious. ‘What exactly are you doing here, Hedley?’ he asked.
‘It’s my second home,’ replied the other. ‘Because I spent so much time here, Alex kindly gave me the use of one of the bedrooms.’
‘You obviously know your way around.’
‘I helped him to choose some of the furniture.’
‘Miss Haslam would have lived here after they’d married. What was her opinion of the house?’
‘She was very pleased with it, my lord.’
‘I daresay she’d have wanted some changes in time,’ said Culverhouse, gently nudging his sister. ‘Women always do.’
‘You’re such a cynic,’ she scolded.
‘It’s exactly what my dear wife did.’
When they’d seen the rooms on the ground floor, Hedley asked his visitors what else they’d like to view. Relieved by what she’d already found, Emma was happy to end the tour, but her husband was keen to go upstairs.
‘I’d like to see Alex’s bedroom,’ he announced.
‘Then I’ll take you there at once,’ said Hedley, dutifully.
While the two men set off, Culverhouse and his sister adjourned to the spacious drawing room and sat down. Emma was bound to compare its relative luxury with the more restrained ethos of their home in Ambleside. Rodney Piper, meanwhile, was being led along the landing by Hedley. When they stopped outside a door, the lawyer indicated that his companion should go in. Piper hesitated. If there was any sign of his son’s decadence, he believed it would be in his bedroom and he was glad that his wife was not there to witness it.
‘Go on in,’ encouraged Hedley.
‘I’m just composing myself.’
‘It’s exactly as Alex left it. I told the servants to keep a lamp burning in there at all times.’
‘That was kind of you, Mr Hedley.’
‘He’d have expected it of me.’
Overcoming his reluctance, Piper opened the door and strode into the room. It was large, comfortable and well appointed, but the visitor was quite unaware of that. His gaze was fixed on something that lay on the bedside table.
It was his son’s Bible.
Caleb Andrews was delighted to see that help had finally arrived. After inviting Hinton into the house, he bombarded the young detective with facts that the latter already knew.
‘How many years will he spend in prison?’
‘We have to catch the thief first, Mr Andrews.’
‘It ought to be a life sentence.’
‘That’s out of the question.’
‘But the loss of that medal has caused me grief.’
‘I understand that.’
‘Do you know what it’s like when somebody invades your house? It’s terrible. You don’t feel safe any more. You can’t sleep properly. Every time a floorboard creaks, you think that you’re in danger.’
‘That’s a common reaction, I’m afraid,’ said Hinton. ‘I’ve investigated a lot of burglaries and the victims always say the same. Their sense of security has been shattered. You are one of the lucky ones, Mr Andrews.’
‘Lucky!’ howled the other.
‘Only one item was stolen from you.’
‘It was the most valuable thing I own.’
‘I would have thought that there’s something much more valuable here,’ said Hinton, looking at the painting above the mantelpiece with admiration. ‘Miss Quayle told me what a wonderful piece of work it was. I’m so glad that I had the chance to see it. Your daughter is a real artist.’
‘Forget about Maddy. I want you to concentrate on me. How soon do you think you’ll recover the medal?’
‘That’s anybody’s guess, Mr Andrews.’
‘What’s your first step?’
‘Well, I’d like to see where the medal was kept.’
‘It was in there,’ said the other, pointing to the cupboard.
‘Is it kept locked at all times?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘And where’s the key?’
‘It’s in its hiding place.’
‘Could you find it for me, please?’
Andrews went straight to the vase on top of the little sideboard and thrust a hand into it. He pulled out the key and held it up for inspection.
‘That’s what I mean when I said you were lucky,’ Hinton told him. ‘Most thieves ransack a house in search of valuables. They leave the place in a complete mess. Sometimes,’ he added, ‘they leave something else as well and it really disgusts me.’
Andrews was appalled. ‘Do you mean …?’
‘Be grateful that you didn’t find that in the middle of the carpet. The first time I saw what a thief had done out of sheer spite in someone’s house, my stomach turned.’
> ‘You’re right,’ said Andrews, sobered. ‘I was lucky.’
‘Open the cupboard, please.’
‘What’s the point? There’s nothing in there.’
‘I was told the medal was kept in a box.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Then I’d like to see it.’
‘Heaven knows why,’ grumbled the other. ‘Who wants to look at an empty box? Maddy and I searched every inch of this house together. The medal is simply not here.’
‘I’d still like to look at that box.’
‘I want you out there looking for the thief instead.’
Still grumbling, Andrews unlocked the cupboard door and took out the wooden box before handing it to Hinton. The tiny key to the box was still in the lock. After turning it gently, the detective lifted the lid of the box and saw the pouch inside. The moment he touched it, he could feel something. Holding out a hand, he shook the pouch and the medal dropped into his palm.
Andrews was astounded. Hinton turned to him.
‘Is this what you thought was lost, sir?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was the best part of a minute before Caleb Andrews could find his voice. Until then, all he could do was to gurgle, splutter and stare at his medal in wonderment. It was only when Hinton gave it to him that he was able to speak.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he gulped.
‘It looks as if you don’t need me any more,’ said Hinton. ‘The case is closed.’
‘But it’s not. We haven’t caught the thief.’
‘Are you sure that there was one, Mr Andrews?’
‘Of course there was. You ask Maddy. When she was here, that box was empty and the medal was nowhere to be found. Someone put it back.’
‘Thieves are not in the habit of doing that.’
‘This one is, and I want him caught.’
‘But your property has been restored.’
‘Why was it stolen in the first place?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hinton. ‘Perhaps someone wanted a closer look at it. A more likely explanation is that it was taken just to give you a fright.’
Fear on the Phantom Special Page 19