‘Do you know what this is, Colbeck?’ he said. ‘It’s a hat belonging to the aforesaid maid. It was found yesterday evening in the Mickleton tunnel. If this Rhoda Wills was running away, don’t you think she’d have needed some headgear? Sir Marcus brought it here and it’s not the only thing that disproves your fanciful theory. Earlier today, this was delivered to Burnhope Manor.’
Putting the hat aside, he snatched up a letter and brandished it in the air.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Colbeck, taking it from him.
‘It’s a ransom demand,’ said Tallis. ‘Unless the money is paid, Sir Marcus will never see his daughter alive again. It could not be more explicit.’
Colbeck read the letter with a blend of interest and profound discomfort. His theory about a flight to freedom had been completely exploded. Imogen Burnhope had been kidnapped and her life was in danger.
‘Sir Marcus is at his club,’ explained Tallis, ‘awaiting our advice.’
‘I’ll go to him at once, sir.’
‘We’ll go together.’
‘There’s no need, Superintendent.’
‘Yes, there is. You’ve bungled this investigation, Colbeck. You’ve bungled it badly. From now on, I’m taking charge of it.’
Colbeck was dismayed. He would not only be admonished by Sir Marcus, he’d have to work henceforth with the heavy burden of Tallis on his back. It would make a satisfactory outcome far more difficult to achieve. Handing back the ransom demand, he manufactured a submissive smile and spoke with apparent sincerity.
‘It will be a pleasure to serve beside you, sir,’ he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In spite of all the years he’d spent at the college, Dominic Vaughan still found its architecture inspiring, its history uplifting and its atmosphere conducive to study and contemplation. As he walked briskly across the Radcliffe Quadrangle that afternoon, however, he was in no mood to admire the beauty of its Dutch gables or to reflect on the beneficence of John Radcliffe after whom it was named. The small statue of the former royal physician that stood over the gate tower went for once unnoticed. While detectives were searching for his niece and her maid, the Master of University College was engaged in a frantic hunt for his own daughter. Without warning, Emma had unaccountably vanished. Ordinarily, Vaughan would have left the task of finding her to his wife but Cassandra had gone off to Burnhope Manor, so the task fell to him. He was on his second circuit of the college. As he came into the main quadrangle, he stopped and looked around, wondering if there was anywhere he’d missed in his earlier search.
Emma was such a dutiful girl that she always told her parents if she was venturing outside the college. In view of what had happened to her cousin, she was now too nervous even to walk up the High Street alone. It meant that she had to be in the college somewhere. Turning left, her father approached the south range with its looming facade of chapel and hall. There was no reason why Emma should have entered the hall but he nevertheless went inside to make sure that she was not there, even peering under the long oak tables. Framed portraits of former college luminaries looked down unhelpfully from the panelled walls. When he left, he went straight across to the chapel, opening the heavy door to reveal an interior that was shadowed without ever being gloomy. As before, Vaughan could see no sign of his daughter. He walked halfway down the aisle but the place seemed cold and categorically empty. Turning on his heel, he headed for the door until a noise halted him in his tracks. It sounded like the rustle of a dress.
‘Emma!’ he called out. ‘Are you in here, Emma?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, faintly.
Then, to his amazement, she sat up in the pew where she’d been asleep.
He hurried towards her. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘I came to pray for Imogen — and for Rhoda as well. But I was very tired because I was awake all night wondering what had happened to them. I must have dozed off.’ She rubbed her back. ‘This pew is very uncomfortable.’
‘You frightened the life out of me,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘Your mother made me promise to keep an eye on you but, the first time I looked up from my work, you’d disappeared.’
‘I’ve been here for hours. It’s so peaceful in the chapel.’
‘You always liked to come in here.’
It was true. Even as a child, Emma had been fascinated by the stained-glass windows, her favourite being the one that told the story of Jonah, with the college flag — a feature absent from the Biblical version — fluttering on the ship from which he was thrown. For her younger brother, however, a visit to the chapel was an imposition and a source of continuous boredom. While George had always found the college chaplain sanctimonious, Percy sought him as a mentor. He was so devoted to his theological studies that his decision to take holy orders was a foregone conclusion.
‘I wish that Percy was here,’ said Emma.
‘Why is that?’
‘He always knows the right words to say.’
‘Prayer is always valid if it comes from the heart, Emma. It doesn’t have to be couched in a special language.’
‘Percy is a curate. His prayers are more likely to be heard.’
‘I don’t think God makes petty distinctions like that.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘Are they still alive, Father?’ she asked.
‘I believe so. More to the point, so does Inspector Colbeck.’
‘But it’s been well over twenty-four hours now. Where did Imogen and Rhoda spend the night? Who’s looking after them? How and what are they eating? Why have we had no word whatsoever from them?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no answers to those questions.’
‘I’ve been racking my brains, trying to think of a way to help.’
‘You’ve done all you can do by coming in here, Emma.’
‘George will be upset when he hears what’s happened,’ she said. ‘Sergeant Leeming was going to call on him today. I do wish George was here now. He always cheers me up.’
‘I wish that he did the same for me,’ sighed her father, ‘but he tends to bring more chaos than cheer into my world. His escapades are the talk of the Senior Common Room and the rumour that he lives a decadent life in Chelsea has caused justifiable outrage. In a sense,’ he admitted, ‘I’m glad that he’s no longer here to set tongues wagging.’
‘But he’d know what to do, Father. George was always so practical.’
‘Your uncle has already taken the appropriate steps, Emma. He’s called in detectives from Scotland Yard. Mr Tunnadine might sneer at them but they imbued me with confidence. I put my trust in Inspector Colbeck.’
They met in a private room at Sir Marcus’s club in Pall Mall. Edward Tallis chose the larger of the two unoccupied armchairs, leaving Colbeck to perch on the edge of a much smaller one. Sir Marcus, reclining on a button-backed leather sofa, lifted a questioning eyebrow.
‘I’ve shown the ransom demand to the inspector, Sir Marcus,’ said Tallis.
‘Yes,’ added Colbeck, ‘and I believe it to be genuine.’
‘How can you be sure?’ asked Sir Marcus.
‘Only the person who abducted your daughter and her maid would be able to make such specific demands. It’s an educated hand. The calligraphy is neat and there are enough details to convince me that the person who wrote that letter is holding the two of them.’
‘What should we do, Inspector?’
‘Comply with his wishes.’
‘But he’s asking for a huge sum.’
‘Your daughter’s life is worth far more than that, Sir Marcus. Besides, you have to signal agreement or we’ll never be able to draw him out into the open. Once we do that,’ said Colbeck, ‘we will have a chance to rescue both ladies and have some idea of who kidnapped them in the first place.’
‘Is there any way of getting the money back?’
‘I believe so. But we need it to act as a lure. I take it that you can have that amount in cash ready in the time specified?’