‘The exchange is not going to take place,’ decreed Tomkins. ‘I refuse to allow it, Inspector. It’s up to you to catch these villains and reclaim my wife’s property. Don’t you have any idea who you’re up against here?’
‘We do, as a matter of fact.’
‘Then why can’t you make an arrest?’
‘We have insufficient evidence, sir.’
‘A murder is committed, a man is robbed and Sergeant Leeming is knocked unconscious – how much evidence do you want?’
‘Two possible suspects have been identified.’
‘Who are they?’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Colbeck, ‘until we’re certain of our facts. As you know, we believe that we’re looking for a man and a woman. A detailed description of the man in question has been printed in the London newspapers. Sooner or later, someone is bound to come forward with the information that we need.’
Edward Tallis was disappointed with the lack of response. In a city as large as London, he felt, there had to be somebody who could give him some indication as to the whereabouts of Stephen Voke. Yet a whole day had passed without anyone coming forward. While it had not linked Voke’s name with a murder in Cardiff, the newspaper report had stressed the Detective Department’s eagerness to make contact with him. Tallis had hoped that one of his former colleagues at Solomon Stern’s shop might be able to help him but none of them appeared at Scotland Yard. Nor could Leonard Voke provide any real guidance. Demanding his son’s immediate arrest, he confessed that he did not have the faintest idea where he might be. Stephen Voke had left no discernible trail behind him.
It was not until the second morning that someone eventually answered the call. Claude Meyrick was a quiet, inoffensive, studious man of middle years with spectacles perched on a long nose and dark hair flecked with grey at the temples. Shown into the superintendent’s office, he explained that he had, until recently, been Stephen Voke’s landlord.
‘At last,’ said Tallis, rubbing his hands. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘I can tell you that Mr Voke was an exemplary lodger. We were sorry to see him go. The only time my wife had to speak to him was when the tapping noise got out of hand.’
‘What tapping noise?’
‘He was a silversmith. He used a little hammer to fashion the silver into all manner of wondrous shapes. It was not a problem during the day but our other lodgers complained when he worked on into the night. Once my wife spoke to him,’ he went on, ‘Mr Voke apologised. It never happened again.’
‘How long was he living under your roof?’
‘It must have been five or six months, Superintendent. Then, out of the blue, he announced that he was leaving us.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘Yes,’ replied Meyrick. ‘Mr Voke told us that he’d resigned from his employment so that he could strike out on his own.’
‘What – here in London?’
‘No, no, he said that there were already far too many jewellers and silversmiths here. Besides, his father was in the same profession.’
‘I know,’ said Tallis, heavily. ‘I’ve met Mr Voke. He and his son were not on the best of terms, it seems.’
‘According to young Mr Voke, his father held him back and refused to pay him a proper wage. I don’t know the truth of the matter, sir, and I make it a rule never take sides in family disputes like that. It’s foolish to do so. Whenever Mr Voke talked about his father,’ Meyrick recalled, ‘I just nodded in agreement. My wife and I knew that he would not stay with us indefinitely.’
‘Why not?’
‘He was an ambitious young man. He wanted to make a name for himself and he could never do that working for someone else.’
‘Did he ever mention a Hugh Kellow?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Meyrick, ‘that was a name that often came to his lips. He was quite bitter about him. He claimed that the worst thing his father ever did was to take on Mr Kellow as an apprentice.’
‘Would you say that your lodger was a vengeful man?’
‘Not vengeful, sir – just very determined to get what he felt were his just deserts in life. He was single-minded. I admired that.’
Tallis sat back in his chair and tried to assimilate what he had just heard about Stephen Voke. The landlord took a much kinder view of him than Voke’s own father did but that was not difficult. Tallis could see that Claude Meyrick had a tolerant and uncritical attitude towards his fellow-men. Preferring to think well of people, he would not look too closely into their faults and foibles. The young man he had known had been a welcome tenant. Meyrick did not realise that Stephen Voke had been disinherited by his father and then had deserted his employer in Hatton Garden. Only the more appealing aspects of his lodger’s life and character had been revealed to him.
‘Did he have any friends?’ asked Tallis.
‘I assume that he did, Superintendent,’ said Meyrick, ‘because he often went out in the evenings.’
‘So he brought no young men to the house?’
‘None at all, sir – the only person who ever came for him was a young lady.’
‘Do you know her name?’
‘I’m afraid not. She never actually knocked on the door. She would simply appear on the pavement opposite and Mr Voke would go off with her. Female visitors are not allowed in our lodgers’ rooms,’ said Meyrick, sternly. ‘My wife is very particular on that score. Her father is a clergyman and inculcated the highest moral standards in her. My instincts accord with hers. It’s something that all our lodgers must accept if they wish to stay under our roof.’
‘I commend that wholeheartedly,’ said Tallis, warming to the man. ‘There are far too many landlords who allow unmarried couples to cohabit on their premises and who permit all kinds of licence. It is sinful, Mr Meyrick. They are actually encouraging indecency. I’m pleased to hear that you and Mrs Meyrick are more discriminating.’
‘It’s a matter of conscience to us, Superintendent.’
‘Then I applaud you. Coming back to this young lady,’ he went on, ‘how would you describe her?’
‘I only saw her on a few occasions and always through the window, of course. She was well-dressed and looked respectable to me. I thought her attractive and agreeably wholesome.’
‘Did she and Mr Voke seem like close friends?’
‘Oh, yes – she always took his arm as they walked away.’
‘Is there anything else you can remember about her?’
‘Only my wife’s observation,’ said Meyrick, ‘and she has sharper eyes for such things.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Age and class, sir. She felt that the young lady was a little older than Mr Voke and came from a higher station in life. For all that, they seemed well-suited.’
‘When did he actually leave your house?’
‘Last Saturday – a cab came to pick him up at the door. I helped him to carry down his luggage. Mr Voke was very grateful. He thanked us for looking after him so well.’
‘Do you know where the cab was taking him?’
‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Meyrick, ‘I heard him tell the driver to take him to Paddington Station. He was leaving London altogether.’
On his way back to the hotel, Colbeck called in at the police station to keep Stockdale informed of the latest developments. When he heard of the reaction to the latest ransom demand, the superintendent was very impressed.