‘Though you’re welcome to my advice if you need it,’ offered Andrews. ‘What’s all this about an owl and a canary?’
‘I can see that you’ve been talking to Miss Hope,’ said Colbeck. ‘Victor will explain. Where are you going to stay?’
‘The waitress mentioned a tavern in Sidwell Street.’
‘That’s where we’ve taken rooms, Mr Andrews. Victor,’ he went on, ‘why don’t you find a cab and take Madeleine and her father to the Acland Tavern? I know they have spare rooms there. I’ll meet up with you later.’
‘Where are you going, Robert?’ asked Madeleine.
‘First of all, I have to speak to Miss Hope and I can’t do that until the train is ready to leave and the refreshment room clears. It may well be,’ he said, ‘that she has some vital evidence for us relating to the scene of the crime. Once I’ve heard what it is, I have to catch a train to Totnes.’
She was concerned. ‘Is that far away?’
‘It’s about thirty miles from here,’ he replied, ‘and though your father might believe otherwise, the South Devon Railway provides an excellent service.’
‘It can’t compete with the LNWR,’ said Andrews, loyally.
‘It doesn’t try to, Mr Andrews.’
Madeleine was curious. ‘Why are you going to Totnes?’
‘I have to interview an important witness,’ said Colbeck. ‘In fact, I can’t think of anyone more important, because the young lady may well be in a position to save a man from the gallows.’
One of the few advantages of being in his office was that Steel could not be subjected to ecclesiastical meddling there. If the bishop wished to see him, then he summoned the superintendent to his palace. He would never bother Steel at his place of work. That, at least, had been the situation until now. All of a sudden, Steel’s bolt-hole was no longer secure. Bishop Phillpotts demanded to see him and came waddling up the stairs. Admitted to the office, he flopped into the seat opposite the desk and looked around with undisguised disdain.
‘Is this the room from which our city is policed?’ he asked.
‘It’s all that the Watch Committee could provide for me.’
‘It’s pathetically bare and lacking in character.’
‘We can’t all afford the expensive paintings that adorn the walls of your palace, Bishop. Besides, this is an office and not a place where I can sit back at my leisure with a slim volume of verse or an improving novel.’
Phillpotts eyed him shrewdly. ‘Do you dare to poke fun at me, sir?’
‘No,’ said Steel, ‘I just wish to point out that ornate decoration would be wholly out of place in a building that routinely houses criminals.’
‘It’s about one of those criminals that I’ve come to enquire. Is the villainous Mr Browne still under your roof?’
‘He’s been charged and remanded in custody at the prison.’
‘Good — if there’s no possibility of his escaping, I’m not in jeopardy.’
‘You never were, Bishop,’ said Steel, ‘except in your own mind.’
‘I know when I’m under threat, man,’ said the other, tartly, ‘and I’ll brook no criticism from you or from anyone else. Withdraw that slur at once.’
Steel shrugged an apology. ‘I do so willingly.’
‘Tell me about Bernard Browne.’
‘He prefers to be called Bagsy.’
‘I never use nicknames, Superintendent. They smack of juvenility. I want to know what’s happened to this fiend from the time of his arrest until now.’
Schooling himself to be patient, Steel gave him an abbreviated account of the arrest and detention of Browne. He stressed Colbeck’s bravery in tackling the man and was complimentary about the way that the inspector had questioned the prisoner. When the superintendent talked about the parallel arrest of Adeline Goss, the bishop responded with his pulpit voice.
‘Prostitution is a sign of moral turpitude,’ he said, solemnly. ‘Every brothel should be closed and their occupants driven out of the city.’
‘One has to face reality, Bishop. Where there’s a demand, there will always be a supply. It’s not called the oldest profession for nothing.’
‘Are you actually
‘No,’ said Steel, ‘but I accept that it’s a fact of life. I have great sympathy for the poor women forced to sell their bodies in order to survive. Adeline Goss is a good example. She was corrupted almost from birth. Instead of being condemned, such unfortunates ought to be helped and reformed.’
‘Don’t preach to me, Superintendent,’ said the bishop. ‘Let me come to the reason that brought me here. I was hoping to confront Inspector Colbeck and ask why he still has reservations about the glaringly obvious guilt of Browne.’
‘Only the inspector can tell you that.’
‘You don’t share his doubts, I hope?’
‘I certainly don’t, Bishop. I want to see Bagsy Browne hanged. Justice will be done and this city will be cleansed of one of its most notorious criminals.’
‘Have you any idea
‘He’s relying on his instinct.’
‘Well, I rely on mine and it’s infallible. That man is the personification of evil. Nothing will ever convince me that Browne is not the killer. He deliberately dumped the corpse outside the cathedral as a crude parody of a sacrificial lamb. In short,’ said the bishop, angrily, ‘he mocked both me and the Church that I am appointed to represent. He deserves to die in agony.’
Colbeck arrived at the address he’d been given. It had taken him to a backstreet in Totnes where rows of anonymous terraced houses stretched for a hundred yards. It was an area of blatant deprivation. Many of the properties were in need of repair and there was accumulated filth on the pavements. Ragged children played games, a man sold salt and vinegar from the back of a rickety cart and mangy dogs scoured every corner in search of food. It was the sort of place in which Bagsy Browne would have moved without exciting any interest. Colbeck, on the other hand, aroused curiosity on all sides. Because people of his impeccable appearance were simply never seen there, he collected hostile glances, muttered comments and jeers from the children.
The front door was opened by a slatternly woman in her fifties, with a sagging bosom and unkempt hair. When she’d overcome her surprise, she straightened her shoulders, pushed strands of hair back from her forehead and offered him a calculating smile.
‘Can we be of service to you, sir?’ she asked.
‘I’m looking for a young lady named Christina Goss.’
‘Christina will be happy to oblige you, sir — at a price.’
‘I’m not here to transact any business with her,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m Inspector Colbeck and I’m a detective involved in a murder investigation. I believe that Miss Goss may be able to give me some valuable evidence.’
The woman was indignant. ‘This is a law-abiding house, sir,’ she said. ‘My girls have nothing to do with a murder. We may be poor but we have our standards.’ She tried to close the door. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place.’
He put his foot in the door. ‘Are you going to let me in,’ he asked, ‘or must I arrest you for running a disorderly house?’ Her ire subsided immediately. ‘Miss Goss is in no way involved in the crime but she may know someone who allegedly is. All I wish to do is to have a brief conversation with her.’
After glaring at him for several seconds, she reluctantly opened the door.
‘You’d better come in.’
Colbeck was admitted and taken up to a room at the back of the house.
Christina Goss was barely twenty, a shapely young woman with a striking prettiness and a clear resemblance to her mother. At the prospect of company, she flashed a smile but it froze on her lips when she was told who her visitor was and why he’d come to see her. She sat down sullenly on the bed. Left alone with her, Colbeck removed his hat and perched on a chair.
‘Do you remember a man named Bagsy Browne?’ he asked.
