Fear on the Phantom Special

by Edward Marston

  ‘Show you what I’ve got.’

  Taking them into the back room, Blacker pointed to three small safes in a row, listing the advantages of each and picking out the one he thought most suitable for Andrews. Madeleine wrote down the dimensions of each one along with their prices. After thanking him, they left the shop.

  ‘Cross his name off the list,’ said Lydia.

  ‘Do you think that we should?’

  ‘I’m sure of it, Madeleine. I did what Alan always does when he’s questioning a suspect. He watches their eyes and their hands. If they look away, it’s because they’re nervous and unable to meet his gaze.’

  ‘What about the hands?’

  ‘Guilty men often fidget. Mr Blacker didn’t do that. He looked you full in the eye and spoke honestly. Besides, he has a job that’s devoted to fighting crime,’ said Lydia, ‘so he’s clearly innocent. In fact, the only criminal in the shop was you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You told him a pack of lies. That makes you a confidence trickster. Actually, you were very convincing.’

  ‘I’m so glad that I asked you to help us,’ said Madeleine, laughing. ‘When I’ve got you beside me, I don’t need Alan Hinton.’

  Hinton was disappointed. After being involved in two major investigations, he now found himself reduced to office work. It made him feel unappreciated and he made a mental note to mention the fact to Colbeck. There was one bonus awaiting him at the end of the day. In asking Madeleine about progress in the search for the thief who stole the medal, he’d be able to see Lydia Quayle once more. That thought restored his morale.

  As he walked down a corridor, he realised that he’d be passing Colbeck’s office and couldn’t resist taking a look inside. Like the inspector, it was supremely well organised. Since he was untidy by nature, Hinton marvelled at the way that everything was in its place, somehow making the room look much larger than it really was. It was an office that inspired confidence.

  He was still admiring it when a firm hand fell on his shoulder. Hinton turned to see the unforgiving face of Edward Tallis behind him. He quailed inwardly.

  ‘Have you nothing better to do?’ asked the superintendent.

  ‘I just happened to be passing, sir.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you continue on your way?’

  ‘I was curious.’

  ‘That’s an asset in a detective whereas the sheer nosiness that you display is not. I can see that I’ll have to get this office locked until Colbeck returns.’

  ‘Do you have any idea when that may be, sir?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I don’t,’ said Tallis. ‘This case is proving more challenging by the day. A report from the inspector arrived in the post this morning. Its tone was sanguine, but I know how to read between the lines of his reports. Please don’t mention a word of this to his wife, but my feeling is that, on this occasion, Colbeck may have bitten off more than even he can chew.’

  Back at the Riverside Hotel, the inspector was, in fact, tucking into some delicious steak while Leeming was addressing himself with equal enthusiasm to his own meal. It was a long time before either of them spoke. When they did, they exchanged information about what they’d learnt. Colbeck talked about the hostile reception he’d received at Culverhouse Court and how it had taken him some time to convince Lord Culverhouse that, as a priority, they were committed to solving the case that brought them there.

  Leeming was fascinated by the news about Dymock.

  ‘The doctor had a reason to hate the blacksmith?’ he said, incredulously. ‘What exactly happened to Mrs Dymock?’

  ‘I don’t know the full details.’

  ‘I can’t see how the doctor’s wife would ever come into contact with Hayes. And, even if she did, Mrs Dymock would surely treat him with disdain.’

  ‘There are all sorts of ways in which they might have met, Victor. She might have taken a horse to be shod or needed to have the wheel of a trap replaced. Hayes might even have come to the house for some reason.’

  ‘And her husband would not have been there,’ said Leeming. ‘He had the look of a man who worked all hours, so Mrs Dymock might have felt lonely.’

  ‘Lord Culverhouse did mention two things that might be significant. Mrs Dymock was years younger than her husband and the couple had no children. In other words, she had nothing to occupy her.’

  ‘Maybe she was bored, sir.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Colbeck. ‘What we can be certain of is the fact that Dymock was very upset about the friendship that sprang up between Hayes and his wife. At last, we have a connection between the two cases.’

  ‘Dymock might have hated the blacksmith enough to have him killed, and done exactly the same in Piper’s case.’

  ‘He’d have needed help.’

  ‘I’m sure he could afford to pay for it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Colbeck, ‘you’ve heard what I’ve been doing. How did you get on at the bookshop?’

  ‘Oh, I had a surprise as well, sir …’

  At his suggestion, the women met Caleb Andrews at the house in John Islip Street because he didn’t wish to feel embarrassed about his home when Lydia was there. He admitted that he’d bungled his interview with Percy Hopway and lost heart when he did the same thing with another man whose name was on the list. Like him, Madeleine and Lydia had spoken to two of the suspects, but they had done so more tactfully. Since all of the people so far approached had been patently innocent, most of the names could now be removed from the list. Attention was focused on the survivors.

  The three of them were still deep in discussion when they had a visitor. Having reached the end of his shift, Alan Hinton had called in to see how the self-appointed detectives were faring. When Andrews described his efforts, Hinton struggled to keep a straight face. He was much more impressed by the approach taken by the two women.

  ‘May I offer some advice?’ he said.

  ‘Please do, Alan,’ said Lydia.

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re asking the wrong question.’

  ‘There’s only one question that matters,’ said Andrews, hotly. ‘Who stole my medal? What black-hearted thief crept into my home when I wasn’t there and took something that was very precious to me?’

  ‘Listen to Alan,’ advised Madeleine.

  ‘Then get him to talk sense.’

  ‘I do apologise for my father,’ she said, turning to Hinton. ‘He doesn’t mean to criticise you. Losing his medal upset him so much that he spoke in anger.’ When Andrews tried to say something, she quelled him with a look. ‘Now, what’s your advice, Alan?’

  ‘Look at it the other way round,’ he replied. ‘Instead of wondering who took the medal, ask why the thief would then return it? Did he feel guilty? Was he soft-hearted? Had it been his plan all along to give Mr Andrews a fright before restoring the stolen item? Was it simply the practical joke I suggested it might be when we found the medal safe and sound in its cupboard?’

  ‘If it was a joke,’ said Lydia, ‘then it’s another reason to rule out Mr Blacker, the locksmith. He was so humourless that he should have been an undertaker.’

  ‘Alan’s idea is a good one,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s the reason why Mr Andrews is in a better position to solve the crime than I am. Knowing the people who are still on his list, he can get into the minds of each one of them and have some idea of the way that they think.’

  ‘That’s sound advice, Father.’

  ‘It is,’ conceded Andrews, ‘and I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I went about it the wrong way.’

  ‘You did, I’m afraid,’ said Hinton. ‘You questioned people in a way that made them feel accused. That put their backs up. Next time you speak to a suspect, tell him what happened and ask him if he has an idea who might have done such a thing. If you take someone into your confidence like that, you might just be able to catch him off guard.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad you called in, Alan,’ said Madeleine.

&n
bsp; ‘So am I,’ added Lydia, softly.

  ‘Well, I did have something to pass on,’ he explained. ‘I assume that you’ve heard from the inspector?’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘I had another letter from him today.’

  ‘When you reply to it, you can tell him that the old order has been well and truly restored. Superintendent Tallis is back and he’s more of a tyrant than ever.’

  Since he had so much work to do, Geoffrey Hedley stayed in his office until well into the evening. He was the only person in the building. When he heard the doorbell, therefore, he had to go downstairs to see who had called on him. Opening the door, he was surprised to find Rodney Piper standing there.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said the visitor, ‘but, when I went to your home, I was told that you’d be here.’

  ‘The pressure of work kept me at my desk, Archdeacon. Please come in.’

  He stood back so that Piper could step into the hall, then he led him upstairs to the office. After trading a few niceties, they sat down. Piper was plainly nervous.

  ‘I hope that you won’t disapprove of my request,’ he said.

  ‘That’s highly unlikely.’

  ‘My wife and I were talking about the way that Alex had become far more responsible when he’d found the woman with whom he wanted to share his life.’

  ‘That’s very true.’

  ‘Instead of taking each day as it came, he must have looked to the future. Caring for a wife entails a major commitment. One has to plan for every eventuality.’

  ‘That was exactly the advice I gave him.’

  ‘Did you suggest that he might make a will?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Hedley. ‘Alex owned a house and had independent means. A lot of capital was involved.’

  ‘Would it be possible for me to see the will?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Archdeacon.’

  ‘But Alex was our son.’

  ‘That makes no difference. The last will and testament can only be read in the wake of someone’s death and that has so far not been established.’

  ‘We’ve all accepted that he’s no longer alive.’

  ‘The law is the law.’

  ‘I’m not asking on my own behalf,’ said Piper. ‘Our needs are modest. We neither expect nor need any money to come to us. What would bring us succour at this difficult time is some indication of Alex’s state of mind.’

  ‘I can tell you that now. He was leading a blameless life.’

  ‘Is there evidence of that in the will?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I understand you, Archdeacon.’

  Piper sat forward. ‘I dedicated my life to God,’ he said, ‘and I’ve never regretted it for a second. Alex was brought up in my shadow and I’d hoped that he might follow me into the Anglican clergy. Instead, he chose a different and, I’m sad to say, more selfish path.’

  ‘I can see what you’re asking me,’ said Hedley, ‘and I have great sympathy for you. What you’re seeking is a sign of repentance from your son.’ Piper nodded. ‘Then I’m afraid that my answer remains the same. You’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Is there a bequest of any sort to the Church?’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you, Archdeacon.’

  Piper raised both hands in surrender. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘you’re not at fault. I see that. To be candid, I feel rather embarrassed now. I’m asking for something that, as a lawyer, you simply can’t give me.’

  ‘I’m glad that you appreciate that.’

  After chatting with Hedley for a few minutes, Piper got up and made his way downstairs. At the door, he apologised yet again for taking up the lawyer’s time. Hedley bade him farewell then returned to his office. The first thing he did was to unlock the cabinet in which his files were kept. Taking out the one that related to Alexander Piper, he extracted a copy of his friend’s will. There was a good reason why he didn’t want Rodney Piper to view it. Had he done so, the archdeacon would have noticed that Geoffrey Hedley was a major beneficiary.

  Colbeck was interested to hear how quickly Norman Tiller had gone from being a mild-mannered bookseller to a fervent enemy of Cumberland railways. In spite of its many contradictions, the inspector was an admirer of the British railway system. He just wished that it had developed in a much more orderly and coordinated manner instead of being rushed into existence by greedy investors in search of large profits.

  ‘I disagree with Tiller’s view,’ he said, ‘but he has perfect right to hold it.’

  ‘He doesn’t have the right to cause wilful damage. And didn’t you tell me that Lord Culverhouse had received some poison pen letters when he was trying to arouse interest in the Kendal to Windermere railway?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that Tiller sent those, Victor. He’s a poet, after all, with a love of language. Had he sent a letter to Lord Culverhouse, it would have been in verse.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Leeming. ‘He told me at one point that he wrote in the language of Shakespeare and Milton.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Milton being interested in a case like that of Hayes. There’s no religious element in it. Shakespeare is a different matter,’ said Colbeck. ‘Woods and forests crop up in many of his plays and he loved the idea of weird creatures. Think of the witches in Macbeth.’

  ‘I didn’t know there were any, sir.’

  ‘There are three of them. They make strange predictions.’

  ‘Do you have any predictions to make, sir?’

  ‘Only this one, Victor,’ replied Colbeck. ‘When we finally discover who was responsible for Piper’s disappearance, we are going to be in for a big surprise.’

  They discussed the case at length once more, without coming to a firm conclusion. Leeming then announced that he was going to the King’s Arms.

  ‘I thought you preferred the beer here.’

  ‘I do, sir, but Sergeant Ainsley drinks at the King’s Arms and I’d like to have a talk with him. I want to know more about the claim that Gregor Hayes got too close to the doctor’s wife. If it’s true, it would explain a lot about Dymock.’

  ‘I’ll wait here until you get back.’

  Leeming took his leave and stepped out of the hotel. He was immediately reminded that it was November 5th. Kendal was ablaze. The crackle of bonfires was augmented by the sound of exploding fireworks and the laughter of children. A dark, cold, cheerless night was warmed and lit up in all directions. Leeming was saddened to be so far away from his family at such a time. Bonfire Night was such an important event for his young sons. He strode off resignedly down the road, promising himself that, whatever happened, he’d spend the whole evening with his family in exactly a year’s time. It was in the nature of a sacred duty to him.

  Leeming felt no sense of danger. It never occurred to him that someone might be lurking behind a tree and waiting for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was too good an opportunity to ignore. Having been told simply to watch the detectives, the man had been sitting at a table in the corner and catching the occasional word from their conversation. When he heard that Leeming was about to leave, he rose at once, finished his drink and slipped quietly out of the hotel. He had just enough time to choose a hiding place before the sergeant came into view. Reaching inside his coat, he took out his cosh and waited.

  Leeming was in no hurry. At one point, he paused to inhale deeply and look around. He then adjusted his top hat to its customary angle and continued his walk. The man fingered his weapon and thought about the praise he’d get for using his initiative. There’d be financial reward as well. All it would take were some well-directed blows at a man who was completely unaware of his presence. As a result of his attack, the investigation might be stopped dead in its tracks.

  Listening to the sound of approaching footsteps, he was poised for action. The moment that Leeming walked past him, the man waited for a split second then leapt out from behind the tree. He knocked Leeming’s hat off then got a brawny arm around his throat, intending to be
at him senseless with the cosh and leave him in a pool of blood. But the sergeant reacted too quickly, using his elbow to dig hard into the man’s stomach and twisting sharply at the same time. When the first blow came, therefore, it missed Leeming’s head and hit his shoulder, producing a yell of pain and a sudden explosion of energy.

  He threw himself backwards with tremendous force, knocking his assailant off his feet and falling on top of him. Though he still had the cosh, the man was unable to use it effectively. He was also forced to release his hold on his victim’s neck. Spinning around, Leeming grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the cosh and dashed it repeatedly against the ground until the man had to let the weapon go.

  They were on even terms now and the attacker realised that he’d made a grave mistake. Leeming was much faster and stronger than he’d thought. While the man was getting in some solid punches, he was taking even harder ones. It was only a matter of time before he was overpowered. Escape was vital. Gathering up all his strength, he managed to hurl Leeming off him and scramble to his feet, getting in a last kick before haring off into the darkness. He kept running until he was certain that he was not being followed.

  Victor Leeming, meanwhile, was rubbing the shoulder that had been struck by the cosh. Had it hit his head instead, the force of the blow might have knocked him unconscious. He reproached himself for being caught off guard. It wouldn’t have happened in London. Years of walking the beat in uniform had given him a sixth sense for danger. His shoulder was on fire but, when he slipped a hand under his coat to feel it, he didn’t think that any bones had been broken. He was still able to move his arm, albeit with a stab of pain.

  In the course of the struggle, his coat and trousers had become ruffled and he was conscious of being scruffy. Leeming did his best to smarten himself up then retrieved his top hat. Last of all, he picked up the cosh and felt its weight in the palm of his hand. He was chastened when he realised that it could easily have been used as a murder weapon.