‘What a good idea! I’ll do just that.’
‘Here you are.’
‘Thank you,’ said Agnes, taking the box from her and lifting the lid to glance into it. ‘I’m afraid that it’s not as full as it once was.’
‘Mrs Tarleton sold some of the diamonds.’
Agnes gave a brittle laugh. ‘Oh, I’m not after anything like diamonds. A simple enamel brooch will do.’
‘There’s a very nice one with seed pearls around the edge.’
‘Good…I’ll look out for it.’
Agnes expected the housekeeper to withdraw but Mrs Withers held her ground. She gave the impression that she thought the visitor was trespassing on private territory. Closing the lid of the jewellery box, Agnes walked towards the door.
‘Thank you, Mrs Withers,’ she said.
Leeming was saddle-sore before they had ridden a mile. Colbeck was an accomplished horseman but his sergeant had had very little experience of riding. His discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that his bay mare seemed to have a mind of her own, disregarding his commands and neighing in protest whenever he tugged on the reins. They moved along a winding track at a steady canter. Colbeck could see that his companion was suffering and did his best to distract him.
‘You’re still wondering about Adam Tarleton, aren’t you?’
‘No, Inspector,’ wailed Leeming, ‘I’m still wondering if I’ll manage to stay on this beast.’
‘I thought you liked horses.’
‘I like betting on them – not riding the damn things.’
Colbeck grinned. ‘We’ll make a jockey of you yet, Victor,’ he said. ‘But on the question of Mr Tarleton, there was no point in making an arrest.’
‘But he’s an accessory to the murder of his mother.’
‘I don’t think so. When we cornered him, he didn’t react like a man with blood on his hands.’
‘He wasn’t the one who did the deed, sir. It was Bruntcliffe who blew that hole in her head. Tarleton paid him to do it. That servant girl saw him handing over the money.’
‘Lottie saw him handing over something,’ corrected Colbeck, ‘but she could not be certain that it was money. When we meet Bruntcliffe, he can tell us what he did receive that day.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Leeming. ‘Are you telling me that Adam Tarleton is innocent of the murder and that Bruntcliffe acted alone?’
‘No, Victor. I’m suggesting that we should wait and see.’
They went through a shallow stream and the flashing hooves churned up the water. Leeming clung on grimly as he rode through the spray. It was only when they were back on dry land that he remembered something.
‘You haven’t told me about Mr Reader,’ he said.
‘I finally got the truth out of him.’
‘What truth was that, sir?’
‘The colonel was involved in the Leybourne Scandal.’
Leeming gaped. ‘He was caught with another woman?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m talking about railways.’
‘That’s nothing new.’
‘I know that you don’t share my interest in trains.’
‘I may change my mind,’ said Leeming, suffering more twinges in his buttocks. ‘If I had a choice between riding this horse or travelling by train, I know which one I’d prefer.’
‘Let me tell you about Stuart Leybourne.’
‘Who was he, sir?’
‘He was two completely different people,’ said Colbeck. ‘One of them was a trusted employee of a major railway company who lived an apparently blameless life. The other was a cunning man who amassed a fortune by means of fraud and who ruined gullible investors. As I’d guessed, Colonel Tarleton was one of them.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘Leybourne was chief clerk in the registration office. He found a loophole that allowed him to issue bogus shares and forge the transfers in the account books. With hindsight, it seems incredible that anyone could have been taken in by him but he was a very plausible man and held out the promise of good dividends.’
‘Ah,’ said Leeming, ‘I remember the case now. Wasn’t this Stuart Leybourne compared to the Railway King?’
‘He was, Victor,’ said Colbeck, ‘except that he was even more guileful than George Hudson. The Railway King, as he was called, was the ruler of all he surveyed until his questionable accounting practices were revealed. Among other things, he’d been paying dividends out of capital to disguise the fact that one of his companies was making serious losses. His fall put an end to the years of wild speculation on the railways. Mr Hudson resigned as chairman of various companies and went abroad. Everyone said the same thing. Railway mania was over.’
‘Then why could people like the colonel be taken in by this other crook?’ asked Leeming, so interested in what he was hearing that he forgot his aches and pains. ‘You’d have thought investors had learnt their lesson. It’s not possible to make huge profits out of railways anymore.’
‘Stuart Leybourne made a profit. When he was finally brought to book, it was discovered that he had a mansion both in London and in the country, a retinue of servants and a courier who went with him on his travels. In all, he defrauded people out of over two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘It explains why the colonel killed himself on the railway.’
‘Does it, Inspector?’
‘I think so,’ said Colbeck. ‘It had already killed him financially. Walking on that railway track was a form of obituary. I had the feeling from the very beginning that he was making a statement.’
The woman still lolled in bed but Michael Bruntcliffe had put on his shirt and breeches. They were in a large cottage set on a hill that offered views across miles of beautiful countryside. Sunshine flooded in through the window to gild the woman’s half-naked body. She smiled lazily up at him. Bruntcliffe sat on the bed and reached out to stroke her cheek. He was about to lean forward to kiss her when he caught sight of something through the window. Getting quickly to his feet, he stared out. Two riders had appeared in the middle distance. He watched them getting closer and closer before making his decision.
‘I have to go,’ he said, grabbing his boots. ‘Get dressed and tell them nothing. I can’t say when I’ll be back.’
Before she could even speak, he’d picked up his coat and run down the stairs. Minutes later, he was mounting his horse.
Bruntcliffe was on the run.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Victor Leeming was in great discomfort. While Colbeck found the ride bracing, the sergeant was squirming in the saddle as he sought the position that would bring least agony. He was also sweating from every pore and struggling to keep the bay mare parallel with the other horse. They had left the track now and were making their way across an undulating plain towards the cottage on the hill.
‘Are you certain this is the place?’ asked Leeming.
‘It has to be, Victor. It’s the only dwelling for miles.’
‘Mr Tarleton might have deliberately sent us astray.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘To get us out of the way so that he could make his escape.’
‘I’ve told you,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was not party to the murder. Had he been so, he’d have turned tail the moment that he realised that we knew he’d been in touch with Bruntcliffe.’
‘He must be involved in the murder somehow,’ argued Leeming. ‘What’s that Latin tag you’re always quoting at me?’
‘ Cui bono? Who stands to benefit?’
‘The answer is Adam Tarleton. He’ll certainly benefit.’
‘So will his sister but I’m not accusing Mrs Doel of killing their mother, am I? Forget them for the moment. The person of real interest to us is Bruntcliffe.’
As if on cue, a horseman suddenly emerged from the stable ahead of them, kicking his mount into a gallop and heading off in the opposite direction. Colbeck didn’t hesitate. Flicking the reins and digging in his heels, he set his own horse off at full speed. Leeming was terrified to coax a faster pace out of the mare so he settled for following the others at a gentle canter. Bruntcliffe was over a hundred yards ahead of the pursuing Colbeck, stinging the horse with his whip to keep it running at full pelt. Every so often, he tossed a worried glance over his shoulder. Colbeck was slowly gaining on him, riding hell for leather and ignoring the fact that his hat had blown off. In his experience, flight was usually a confession of guilt. If Bruntcliffe had been innocent, he would have stayed at the cottage to be interviewed by the detectives. That thought made Colbeck even more resolute. He recalled the appalling state of Miriam Tarleton’s body when it was unearthed in the woods. The man responsible for her death simply had to be caught, tried and hanged.