‘But wait,’ said Leeming, ‘the young lady only went to Oxford twice a year. Was that enough time for the captain to work on her emotions?’
‘They doubtless had another arrangement when she was at Burnhope Manor,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Clandestine correspondence would have been smuggled in somehow. The obvious go-between was Rhoda Wills.’
‘I think you’re right, Inspector. From what the coachman told us, I sensed that the maid was a resourceful woman.’
‘It sounds as if she paid for her resourcefulness,’ muttered Tallis. ‘It helped to lead her mistress into a trap.’
‘You say that she received letters while in Oxford,’ recalled Leeming. ‘Did this scout carry replies back to Captain Whiteside?’
‘He did, Sergeant,’ said Colbeck, ‘and he gave me the address to which he took the missives. That gave me even further insight into the character of this self-styled gallant soldier.’
‘You say that with a degree of sarcasm,’ remarked Tallis.
‘It was intentional, sir. Lugstone gave me the address to which he took any correspondence from the young lady. The house was in Walton Street,’ said Colbeck, ‘not far from the Clarendon Press. It was owned by a Mrs Greenfield, a widowed lady who took in lodgers. Captain Whiteside stayed there often. Sometimes he brought an army friend, a Sergeant Cullen, with him.’
‘It must be his accomplice.’
‘He is, Superintendent. Mrs Greenfield had little to say about the sergeant but she spoke well of Captain Whiteside. When he stayed there alone, he always told her about his escapades in the Crimean War. She was enthralled by his tales. Though she didn’t confess it in so many words,’ Colbeck went on, ‘I got the distinct impression that she fell victim to his charms.’
‘The blackguard!’ exclaimed Tallis. ‘While he’s paying court to one woman, he’s enjoying the favours of another. That’s despicable.’
Leeming was even more shocked but it was not the image of the seduced landlady that came into his mind. It was the disturbing sight of Dolly Wrenson’s naked body — minus one arm — on canvas in a Chelsea studio. He fought hard to expunge it from his memory.
Colbeck’s visit to the house in Walton Street had provided him with far more detail of the kidnapper. Feeling profoundly sorry for the landlady, he said nothing to disillusion her. Mrs Greenfield had been a lonely woman in a house that seemed increasingly empty after the death of her husband. Still in her thirties, she’d felt young enough to contemplate a second marriage and Colbeck was certain that hints of it had been dropped by her favourite lodger as a means of gaining access to her bed.
‘In moments alone with the landlady,’ said Colbeck, ‘the captain would have been off guard. He talked at length about his military career. Those details need to be corroborated.’
‘I’ll instigate checks in the army records,’ said Tallis, picking up the telegraph. ‘There’s nothing much we can do until the ransom is handed over tomorrow.’
‘There’s a lot we can do, Superintendent.’
‘I fail to see it.’
‘The chosen spot for the exchange is in the Oxfordshire countryside. I think that the sergeant and I should reconnoitre it well in advance.’
‘Does that mean I have to ride a bay mare again?’ moaned Leeming.
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ said Tallis, unsympathetically.
‘That animal could have killed me, sir.’
‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Colbeck. ‘You won’t need to be in the saddle this time. We’ll hire a trap at the station and we’ll go far and wide. If the captain has shifted the venue to Oxfordshire, the likelihood is that the two ladies are being held somewhere in the county. He’ll not wish to travel any distance with them.’
‘What can I do in the meantime?’ wondered Tallis.
‘You face a difficult task, sir.’
‘Oh — and what’s that?’
‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’ve already asked Sir Marcus to say nothing of the second demand to Mr Tunnadine. He agreed, albeit reluctantly. If the gentleman somehow finds out what’s afoot, it could prove disastrous. That’s why I’m turning to you, sir. You must stop Mr Tunnadine from ruining everything for a second time.’
When he recovered from the shock of reading the letter, Clive Tunnadine came to see that it presented him with a number of opportunities. The amount of money demanded, while less than the previous ransom, was excessive but he consoled himself with the thought that he would not actually lose it. Cleverly handled, the exchange could work entirely to his benefit. He would make possible Imogen’s release, kill or capture her kidnapper and have the deep satisfaction of solving a crime that Inspector Colbeck had been investigating. It was this last element that had immense appeal to his visitor.
‘The prospect fills me with pleasure,’ said Alban Kee.
‘You like the idea, then?’
‘It’s precisely what I would have recommended, Mr Tunnadine.’
‘How well do you know the inspector?’
‘I know him far too well.’
‘Did you work alongside him at Scotland Yard?’
‘Nobody works alongside Colbeck,’ said the other.
‘You are always beneath him. I occupied the same rank yet had less power when measured against him. He’s the commissioner’s favourite and that always rankled with me.’
Tunnadine was glad that he’d engaged Alban Kee. Though he now worked as a private detective, Kee had served in the Metropolitan Police before being promoted to the Detective Department. His elevation had taken rather longer to come there because he was overshadowed by other officers, principal among them being Robert Colbeck. It had left him with bitter memories. Kee was a sturdy man of middle height with dark, mobile eyes either side of a bulbous nose that seemed to explode out of his face. His sparse hair was combed forward and slicked down. The moustache was virtually invisible beneath the domineering proboscis. He’d been recommended to Tunnadine by a friend.
‘Your reputation goes before you, Mr Kee,’ said the politician.
‘I work quickly, effectively and discreetly, sir.’
‘It’s your discretion that I need most. Nothing of our discussion must be leaked to anyone else. Most vital of all, it must not reach the ears of anyone at Scotland Yard — especially those of Inspector Colbeck.’
‘I’ll be as silent as the grave, Mr Tunnadine.’
‘What do you think of that letter?’
‘It’s obviously genuine,’ said Kee, passing it back to him, ‘because you recognise the hand from the earlier ransom demand. My question is this — why send it to you and not to Sir Marcus Burnhope?’
‘That bothered me at first,’ admitted Tunnadine, ‘but I think I’ve worked out the answer. When Sir Marcus was given the opportunity to rescue his daughter, it was an abject failure. My suspicion is that, as a consequence, the kidnapper doesn’t trust him. Aware of my relationship with Imogen, he’s turned to me instead.’
‘Why was the first exchange botched, sir?’
‘I blame Colbeck for that. He insisted on impersonating Sir Marcus.’
‘That’s ever his way,’ sneered Kee. ‘He has to be in charge.’
‘The exercise miscarried but at least the money was saved. Sir Marcus had been tricked. His daughter was never even there.’
‘What makes you think that the kidnapper will stick to his promise this time?’
‘It’s the tone of his letter. He freely concedes that he tried to get too much for too little on the previous occasion. All he wants is what he calls a fair exchange.’
Kee’s moustache twitched. ‘It’s still a fearsome amount of money, sir.’
‘It will be found. I’ve already spoken to my bank. Besides,’ said Tunnadine, ‘I look to you to make sure that I don’t part with a single penny.’
‘I hope you’ll part with a lot more than that if I do my job properly.’
‘You’ll be handsomely rewarded, Kee.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Tunnadine liked the man. He seemed alert, decisive and respectful. Years as a detective meant that he could remain calm under pressure. What Kee had not told him was that he was driven out of the Detective Department by Tallis because there were persistent rumours that he accepted bribes from criminals to let them go. It was Colbeck who’d first made the charge against Kee, hence the latter’s undying hatred of him. The fact that Kee was guilty of the crime was irrelevant to him. He’d lost a position in which he could wield power and was now reduced to working on his own. Loss of status was compounded by a loss of income. This latest assignment gave him the chance to recoup some of those losses. A successful outcome would mean good publicity for the private detective. His name would replace that of Colbeck in the newspapers and the thought sweetened him.