‘That’s cheering news,’ said Leeming.
‘Yes,’ added McTurk. ‘The station can get back to normal.’
‘Normality will not be completely restored,’ said Colbeck, ‘until this crime has been solved and the villains are securely behind bars. Sergeant Leeming and I have done all that we can here. We move on to the next stage of the investigation.’
‘May one ask where that might be?’
‘Of course, Inspector. We’re going to pay a visit to the Post Office.’ He hovered in the doorway. ‘Now, please excuse me while I speak to Fireman Pike. He insists on staying with the driver even though there’s nothing that he can do.’ He waved to McTurk. ‘Goodbye.’
‘And good riddance!’ muttered the other as Colbeck went out. He turned on Leeming. ‘A Detective-Inspector, is he? And how did he get that title?’
‘Strictly on merit,’ said the other.
‘The merit of knowing the right people?’
‘Not at all. He achieved his promotion by dint of hard work and exceptional talent. Inspector Colbeck is highly educated.’
‘I knew that there was something wrong with him.’
‘Don’t you believe in education, Inspector McTurk?’
‘Only in small doses,’ retorted the other. ‘Otherwise, it can get in your way. Book-learning is useless in this job. All that a good policeman really needs is a sharp eye and a good nose.’
‘Is that what you have?’ asked Leeming.
‘Naturally.’
‘Then they let you down, Inspector. Your sharp eye didn’t help you to spot that playing card in the mail coach, and your good nose failed to pick up the smell of deception when you questioned the two policemen who travelled on the train.’
‘That’s immaterial.’
‘Not to me. I put my trust in Inspector Colbeck’s education.’
‘You’d never get me working for that fop,’ sneered McTurk.
‘I can see that you don’t know him very well,’ said Leeming with a short laugh. ‘He’s no fop, I can assure you of that. But you’re quite safe from him. He’d never even consider employing you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you are what you are, Inspector McTurk. Criminals can see you coming a mile away. Let’s be frank about it, shall we? Even if you were stark naked, everyone would know that you were a policeman.’
Herbert Shipperley was a short, thin, harassed man in his fifties with a bald head that was dotted with freckles and a face that was a mass of wrinkles. His responsibilities at the Post Office included supervision of the mail coaches that were run on various lines. News of the train robbery had struck him with the force of a blow and he was quick to see all the implications. Shipperley knew that he would be in the line of fire. Even though it was quite late, he was still in his office when the detectives called on him and introduced themselves. He backed away as if they had come to arrest him.
‘We just wish to ask you a few questions,’ explained Colbeck.
‘I’ve been bombarded with questions ever since people caught wind of the robbery,’ moaned Shipperley. ‘It’s only a matter of time before I have newspaper reporters banging on my door. They’ll blame me as well, whereas it’s the railway company that’s really at fault.’
‘We’re not here to apportion blame, Mr Shipperley. We merely wish to establish certain facts. Sergeant Leeming and I have just returned from the scene of the crime.’
‘What did you learn?’
‘Enough to see that we have a difficult case on our hands.’
‘But you will recover everything, won’t you?’ bleated Shipperley. ‘I need to be able to reassure the Royal Mint and the bank – not to mention my own superiors. The loss of that mail is a tragedy,’ he cried. ‘It threatens the integrity of our service. Imagine how people will feel when they discover that their correspondence has gone astray. Help me, Inspector Colbeck,’ he implored. ‘Give me your word. You do expect to catch the robbers, don’t you?’
‘We hope so.’
‘I need more than hope to revive me.’
‘It’s all that I can offer at the moment.’
‘You might try a glass of whisky,’ advised Leeming. ‘It will calm your nerves. We’re not miracle-workers, I fear. We’ll do our best but we can give you no firm promises.’
Shipperley sagged visibly. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘We’re dealing with a premeditated crime,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was conceived and planned with great care and couldn’t possibly have been committed in the way that it was without the direct assistance of insiders.’
‘You’re surely not accusing me?’ gasped the other, clutching at his throat. ‘I’ve worked for the Post Office all my life, Inspector. My reputation is spotless.’
‘I’m sure that it is, Mr Shipperley, and I can say now that you’re not under any suspicion.’ He signalled to Leeming, who took out his notepad and pencil. ‘We simply want a few details from you, please.’
‘About what?’
‘The procedure for carrying money on the mail train.’
‘We go to great lengths to maintain secrecy.’
‘Word obviously got out on this occasion,’ said Colbeck. ‘We need to know how. Perhaps you can tell me how often you liaise with the Royal Mint or with the Bank of England to carry money on their behalf on the mail train. We’d also like to hear how many of your employees know the exact dates of each transfer.’
‘Very few, Inspector.’
‘Let’s start with the frequency of such deliveries, shall we?’
Herbert Shipperley took a deep breath and launched into what turned out to be a prolonged lecture on how the mail trains operated, giving far more detail than was actually required. Colbeck did not interrupt him. In talking about his work, the man gradually relaxed and some of his facial corrugations began to disappear. The longer he went on, the more enthusiastic he got, as if initiating some new recruits into the mysteries of the Post Office. It was only when he had finished that his eyes regained their hunted look and the anxious furrows returned.
‘As you see, gentlemen,’ he said, stroking his pate with a sweaty palm, ‘our system is virtually foolproof.’
‘Until today,’ commented Leeming.
‘The Post Office was not in error.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘The information must have been leaked by the Royal Mint.’
‘Let’s consider the names that you’ve given us, Mr Shipperley,’ said Colbeck, thoughtfully. ‘Apart from yourself, only three other people here had foreknowledge of the transfer of money by means of mail train.’
‘Yes, Inspector, and I can vouch for all of them.’
‘But even they – if I understood you right – wouldn’t necessarily be able to say what was being carried on any particular day.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Shipperley. ‘It’s an extra safeguard. Only I would know for certain if the consignment were coming from the Royal Mint or the Bank of England. Coin, bank notes and gold bullion are sent to assorted destinations around the country. Some gold is periodically exported to France from one of the Channel ports.’
‘Of the three names you gave us,’ said Leeming, glancing at his notebook, ‘which employee would you trust least – Mr Dyer, Mr Ings or Mr Finlayson?’
‘I have equal faith in all of them,’ said the other, loyally.
‘Then let me put the question a different way,’ suggested Colbeck, taking over. ‘Which of the three has the lowest wage?’
‘I don’t see that that has any relevance, Inspector.’
‘It could do.’
‘Then the answer is William Ings. He’s the most junior of the three in terms of position. However,’ Shipperley went on, ‘there’s not a blemish on his character. Mr Ings has always been strongly committed to the Post Office. He’s been with us longer than either Mr Dyer or Mr Finlayson.’