‘As I was shown out of the house,’ he said, ‘I spoke to the maid.’
‘Go on.’
‘I asked her if Mr Shanklin had ever possessed a telescope and she told me that he did.’
‘Good work, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘That was astute of you. I had a feeling that you’d unearth something interesting if you paid Shanklin a second visit. Did you believe his claim that he suffered from migraines?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Leeming. ‘I think he simply wanted a day off. It’s just as well that he isn’t a detective. The superintendent doesn’t believe in using sickness as an excuse. He’d have us on duty if we were suffering from double pneumonia.’
‘In fairness to Mr Tallis, he applies the same rule to himself. Nothing short of complete paralysis would keep him away from here. What you learnt this morning,’ Colbeck went on, ‘could be very significant. There’s patently a link between Shanklin and Chiffney.’
‘They could be accomplices, sir.’
‘It’s something we must bear in mind.’
‘Did you visit Chalk Farm?’ asked Leeming, eagerly.
‘Yes, Victor, I had a most diverting time.’
He gave a full account of his conversation with Josie Murlow. Leeming was astonished at his bravery in actually going into the hovel to question her. Colbeck made Josie sound like a different woman to the one who had unnerved him.
‘Didn’t she rant and rage, then?’ he said.
‘I think she’s mellowed since you were there, Victor.’
‘Mellow or not, sir, I’d rather steer clear of her.’
‘Unfortunately, you won’t be able to do that,’ said Colbeck. ‘I want you to keep a close watch on the lady.’ Leeming spluttered. ‘Have no fear – you won’t have to meet her face to face, and you certainly won’t go there dressed like that. You’ll be in disguise, Victor.’
‘I’ll need a suit of armour to feel safe near that woman.’
‘She was hiding something. When I mentioned Chiffney’s name, she didn’t curse and threaten as she did when you spoke to her. She was more concerned to find out why we were after him. Evidently, someone had been at the house recently,’ said Colbeck. ‘Two people had supper there and Josie Murlow was wearing a garnet necklace. Do you think she usually goes to bed with that on?’
‘I’m not familiar with her sleeping habits, sir,’ said Leeming with a tremor, ‘and I’ve certainly no wish to be.’
‘She’s not the sort of person you’d expect to own an expensive piece of jewellery, and her clients are hardly likely to be able to afford such an item. So,’ asked Colbeck, ‘who do you think could have given her the necklace?’
‘Dick Chiffney must have been back there.’
‘That was my guess – the necklace was a peace offering.’
‘Then why wasn’t he still there this morning?’
‘For one simple reason,’ said Colbeck. ‘She warned him that you’d been looking for him. He probably fled at once.’
‘That proves he was involved in the crime.’
‘All that it proves is that he’s not willing to talk to us and there could be any number of reasons for that. We’ll only find out the truth when we run him to ground. That’s why I want you to keep Josie Murlow under surveillance. If Chiffney was there last night,’ he said, ‘it means that the two of them are reconciled. Since he won’t go to her house again, they’ll have to meet elsewhere. You’ll follow her.’
‘Well, it will be from a safe distance, Inspector.’
‘You’ll be dressed in rough clothing.’
‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ admitted Leeming, gritting his teeth ‘but I know it has to be done. I’ll get changed and make my way back to Chalk Farm.’
Before he could leave, however, there was a tap on the door and a constable entered with a letter that had just been delivered. Colbeck thanked him, sent him on his way then looked at the envelope.
‘It’s been sent by hand,’ he observed, opening it to take out a letter. He unfolded it swiftly. ‘It’s from the Reverend Follis,’ he said as he read the contents. ‘He must have dictated it because he could never write with that injured hand of his.’
‘What does he say, sir?’
‘He’s enclosed a card that was sent to Horace Bardwell.’ Opening the envelope again, Colbeck fished out the black-edged funeral card. He read the words inside it with disgust. ‘I can see why Mr Follis was so anxious for me to see this.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Look at the message, Victor.’
Taking the card, Leeming read it aloud. ‘Please die soon and make me happy.’ He looked up. ‘I’d hate to get something like that if I was lying in hospital. It must have been a real shock to Mr Bardwell.’
‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘he never read it. Mr Follis was able to keep it from him. It looks as if I shall have to go to Brighton yet again,’ he decided. ‘According to the letter, Mr Bardwell is able to sit up and talk now. I need to speak to him.’
Until she had met Colbeck, Madeleine Andrews had never imagined that she had anything more than a facility for drawing. Her sketches were merely a pleasant way of spending what little leisure time she had. As soon as Colbeck saw them, however, he discerned signs of a real artistic talent and urged her to develop it. Where other artists might favour portraits, landscapes or seascapes, Madeleine’s preferred subject was the steam locomotive. If nothing else, it helped her to stand out from the main pack.
Over a period of a couple of years, she had refined her technique, extended her range and gained confidence. To discover that her work actually had a commercial value gave her an immense fillip. It was one of many reasons she had for being grateful to Robert Colbeck. Standing at her easel, she was so absorbed in her work on the Round House that she did not hear the cab pull up outside. It was only when Colbeck’s face appeared at the window that she realised she had a visitor.
Breaking away excitedly from her work, she ran to open the door. Colbeck took her hands in his and kissed her.
‘Am I interrupting you, Madeleine?’ he asked.
‘Yes – but it’s a very welcome interruption. Are you coming in?’
‘I’m rather hoping that you’d come out.’
‘Now?’ she said in amazement.
‘Unless you have a dislike of Brighton,’ he said. ‘If you can give yourself a rest from your easel, I’ll take you to the seaside. I’ll explain why on the way.’
Waving aside her excuses about not being properly dressed, Colbeck went into the house and admired the painting while she was getting ready. Minutes later, they were climbing into the cab and heading for London Bridge station. Colbeck linked arms with her.
‘This is the last thing I expected, Robert,’ she said.
‘I’m glad that I still have the capacity to surprise you.’
‘Why do you need to go to Brighton?’
‘It’s the latest stage in our investigation, Madeleine. There are certain people I need to see.’
‘Are they suspects?’
‘Quite the reverse – both gentlemen were victims of the train crash. I have to question them.’
‘Won’t I be in the way?’ she asked, worriedly.
‘You could never be in the way,’ he said, gallantly. ‘Besides, while I’m busy with one of the gentlemen, I’m hoping that you’ll be having tea with the other one.’
Madeleine was puzzled. ‘Who might that be?’
‘The Rector of St Dunstan’s.’
Since the accident, Ezra Follis had learnt to conserve his energy, balancing the need to appear alert in public by snatching regular periods of rest in private. His housekeeper had to do some shopping in the market that afternoon. The moment that Mrs Ashmore had left the house, Follis sat down in an armchair and drifted immediately off to sleep. It was over half an hour before he was roused from his slumbers by the insistent tinkle of the doorbell, though it seemed like a matter of minutes to him. Shaking himself fully awake, he opened the front door and saw Amy Walcott, standing there with a smile on her face and a book under her arm.