‘This place stinks,’ he complained.
‘You brought the stink with you, Bert. Why did you hit Mr Conway?’
‘Who?’
‘He was attacked in the churchyard last night.’
‘Yes,’ said Knowles, grappling with a vague memory. ‘I filled in thar grave yest’day and I finds some bugger playin’ with the earth. Nobody was goin’ to ruin another grave o’ mine so I bashed ’im good and proper.’
‘This is the gentleman you bashed,’ said Hockaday, indicating Conway. ‘You’ll be had up for assault, Bert.’
‘T’were only a tap.’
‘Oh, no it wasn’t,’ said Conway, removing his hat to reveal the bandaging. ‘You cracked my head open, Mr Knowles.’
‘Serves yer right for messin’ wi’ my grave.’
Knowles broke wind with thunderous effect and burst out laughing. Closing the door, Hockaday locked it and turned to his companion.
‘I told you so, Mr Conway. It wasn’t me.’
He offered his hand. The two men would never like each other but that was not the point at issue. Conway had made an unfounded allegation. The extended palm was a sign that Hockaday was ready to forget the whole thing. Conway reached out and they exchanged a handshake. Inside the lock-up, Knowles began to kick the door mutinously and demand to be let out. The two men walked away.
In the privacy of their room, Colbeck studied the notes he’d made throughout the day spent in Derbyshire. Madeleine looked on fondly as he went over and over the evidence he and Leeming had gathered. In the end, he sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. She crossed over to him.
‘It’s not often that you’re baffled, Robert.’
‘We’ve taken too many wrong turnings.’
‘You always say that’s unavoidable.’
‘It is, Madeleine. Detection is a case of trial and error. So far, I have to admit, there’s been rather too much error.’
‘You should have visited Derby Works earlier,’ she suggested, ‘then you’d have seen that roundabout. Better still, you should have remembered my painting of the Roundhouse in Camden. That might have alerted you.’
‘It might indeed. But I’m not despondent,’ he said, getting up. ‘In fact, I feel remarkably optimistic this morning. We’re almost within touching distance of solving this murder.’
‘Does that mean an arrest is in the offing?’
‘Who knows? There may be more than one.’
‘You think it was the work of accomplices?’
‘Anything is possible, Madeleine,’ he explained. ‘I’ve just been going through the things that bother me about this case.’
‘What are they?’
‘Well, that top hat keeps worrying me. Why would anyone wish to steal an unusually tall top hat?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Was the thief a very short man who wishes to appear of more normal height?’
‘It may not have been stolen. It could just have been thrown away.’
‘Then someone would have found it.’
‘Not if it was deliberately hidden.’
‘Thieves don’t discard or conceal assets. That hat was expensive. The least he would have done was to get good money from a pawnbroker. No,’ he decided, ‘the man still has it, either as a souvenir or for some other reason.’
‘What else bothers you, Robert?’
He smiled sadly. ‘It’s the fact that I’m embroiled in a murder case when I’d rather be showing my dear wife the delights of Derbyshire. You’d love Melbourne Hall, and the countryside around it is breathtaking.’
‘All you have to is to arrange for the prime minister to invite us there.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s a possibility,’ he said with a laugh. ‘If I arrest his head gardener, Lord Palmerston is going to be exceedingly annoyed with me.’
‘Are you going to arrest him?’
‘I think that I probably shall. Gerard Burns was in the vicinity of Spondon on the night when the murder took place. He’s admitted that he visited a friend but refuses to divulge a name. His alibi is therefore unreliable.’
‘He does sound like the culprit, Robert.’
‘Superintendent Tallis met him and felt convinced he was our prime suspect. Mr Quayle, you must remember, was killed by a corrosive poison that contained elements from a weedkiller favoured by Burns.’
‘It was ministered by injection, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but the victim had been given a sedative beforehand. Where could Burns have got the sedative and how could he get hold of a syringe? They’re not the kinds of things you’d find in a garden shed, are they?’
‘So where could they be found?’
Grouped around the bed, they were in a solemn mood. It was very close to the end. Harriet Quayle was fading away before their eyes. On the eve of her husband’s funeral, she was about to join him. Stanley’s face was a mask of grief, Agnes’s eyes were moist and Lucas, wrestling with his own emotions, put an arm around his younger sister to steady her. Lydia stood apart from them, sad, lonely, out of place, yet glad that she was there at the moment of death.
The doctor opened the bedside drawer and took out a small black case, lifting the lid to reveal a syringe.
‘Nature is providing its own sedative now,’ he said, softly. ‘I could inject her again if you wish, but — quite frankly — it would be too late. I’m afraid that we must all prepare ourselves for the inevitable.’
He answered the summons at once. When Colbeck was told that someone had come to the hotel in search of him, he thanked the messenger then descended the stairs to the foyer. Waiting beside the reception desk, to his amazement, was Gerard Burns.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I thought I’d save you the trouble of coming to Melbourne again.’
‘That’s very considerate of you, Mr Burns. Are you also going to save me the trouble of proving your guilt by making a confession?’
‘It is a confession of sorts, Inspector.’
‘Let me hear it in private, then.’
The lounge was fairly empty and they sat in armchairs that were well away from the few other occupants. Burns needed time to gather his thoughts. Colbeck could see that his visitor had ridden to Derby. He wore riding boots and had the dishevelled look of someone who’d been in the saddle on a windy day for a length of time. Tucked into the side of one boot was a riding crop.
Colbeck spread his arms. ‘What have you come to tell me?’
‘I was less than honest with you, I’m afraid.’
‘We all know that, especially Superintendent Tallis. You were lucky that he didn’t haul you off to the police station. He’s convinced that you’re our man.’
‘Then he’s wrong, sir. I’m not.’
‘I thought you came to confess.’
‘The confession is not about me, Inspector,’ said Burns, uneasily. ‘It’s about someone else.’
‘Is it the person you spent time with on the night of the murder?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘He’s a good friend, sir, and I didn’t want to let him down. When we met here in Derby that night, he made me swear that I’d never tell a soul about it. To be honest, I couldn’t see why but I gave him my word nevertheless. And I’ve kept it.’
‘Why have you changed your mind?’
‘You and the superintendent have been breathing down my neck.’
‘Oh, so it’s a case of survival, is it?’ said Colbeck. ‘In order to save your own skin, you’re ready to incriminate a friend.’
‘No,’ replied Burns with passion, ‘that’s not why I’m here. He has nothing to do with the murder. The reason he didn’t want me to breathe a word of our meeting is that he was frightened it might cost him his job.’
‘Why should it do that?’
‘If it got back to his employer, my friend could have been dismissed.’
‘Why should the employer want to dismiss him?’
‘It’s because of me, sir. He didn’t know that we’d stayed in touch but we did. As it was, of course, my friend was in the clear but we didn’t know that at the time.’