of wax still attached to them.
‘Who else was authorised to open your safe?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Only two people. Mr Dunworth, my deputy, is one of them.’
‘And the other?’
‘Daniel Slender.’
‘I need to speak to both of them at once, Mr Harcutt.’
‘Of course,’ said the manager, grudgingly. ‘Mr Dunworth is in the next office. But you’ll have to wait until you get back to London before you question Mr Slender.’
‘Oh?’
‘He left some weeks ago to take up a new post there.’ He saw the suspicion in Colbeck’s eyes. ‘You are quite wrong, Inspector,’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘Daniel Slender could not possibly be the culprit. He has been with us for decades. For the last few years, he has been looking after his sick mother in Willenhall. When she died, he felt that it was time to move out of the Midlands.’ He thrust the magnifying glass at Colbeck. ‘I have complete trust in Daniel Slender.’
The frock coat fitted perfectly. He preened himself in front of the mirror for minutes. Daniel Slender had finally fulfilled his ambition to wear clothing that had been tailored for him in Bond Street. Tall and well-proportioned, he looked as if he belonged in such fine apparel. When he had changed back into his other suit, he took a wad of five pounds notes from his wallet and began to peel them off. Years of self-denial were behind him now. He had enough money to change his appearance, his place in society and his whole life. He was content.
CHAPTER SIX
It was early evening before Robert Colbeck finally got back to his office in Scotland Yard. Victor Leeming was waiting to tell him about his visit to the Royal Mint and to voice his suspicion that someone there might have warned the train robbers when gold coin was actually being dispatched to Birmingham. He took a positive delight in describing the processes by which gold bullion was transformed into coinage.
‘I have never seen such a large amount of money,’ he said.
‘No, Victor,’ remarked Colbeck. ‘The irony is that the men who sweat and strain to make the money probably get little of it in their wages. It is a cruel paradox. Workers who are surrounded by gold every day remain relatively poor. It must be a vexing occupation.’
‘A dangerous one as well, sir. Had I stayed in the refining shop any longer, the heat from those furnaces would have given me blisters. As it is, I can still smell those terrible fumes.’
‘I had my own share of fumes in the Midlands.’
‘Was the visit a useful one?’ asked Leeming.
‘Extremely useful. While you were learning about the mysteries of the Royal Mint, I was being taught sensible banking practices and given an insight into the art of the locksmith.’
Colbeck related the events of his day and explained why he had enjoyed travelling by rail so much. Leeming was not convinced that train rides of well over a hundred miles each way were anything but purgatory. He was happy to have missed the ordeal.
‘We now know where the keys were obtained,’ he said.
‘And the combination number, Victor. That, too, was essential.’
‘This man, Daniel Slender, must be responsible.’
‘Not according to the manager,’ said Colbeck, remembering the protestations of Silas Harcutt. ‘He claims that the fellow is innocent even though he is the only possible suspect. He set great store by the fact that Slender was a dutiful son who looked after an ailing mother.’
‘That certainly shows kindness on his part.’
‘It might well have led to frustration. Caring for a sick parent meant that he had no real life of his own. When he was not at the Chubb factory, he was fetching and carrying for his mother. I find it significant that, the moment she died, Daniel Slender sold the house.’
‘If he was moving to another post, he would have to do that.’
‘I doubt very much if that post exists, Victor.’
‘Do you know what it was?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I even have the address of the factory to which he is supposed to have gone. But I’ll wager that we won’t find anyone of his name employed there.’
‘So why did he come to London?’
Colbeck raised an eyebrow. ‘I can see that you’ve never visited the Black Country. On the journey to Wolverhampton, I saw what the poet meant when he talked about ‘dark, satanic mills’.’
‘Poet?’
‘William Blake.’
‘The name means nothing to me, sir,’ admitted Leeming, scratching a pimple on his chin. ‘I never had much interest in poetry and such things. I know a few nursery rhymes to sing to the children but that’s all.’
‘It’s a start, Victor,’ said Colbeck without irony, ‘it’s a start. Suffice it to say that — with all its faults — London is a much more attractive place to live than Willenhall. Also, of course, Daniel Slender had to get well away from the town where he committed the crime.’ He nodded in the direction of the next office. ‘What sort of a mood is Mr Tallis in today?’
‘A vicious one.’
‘I told him not to read the newspapers.’
‘They obviously touched him on a raw spot. When I saw the Superintendent this morning, he was breathing fire.’
‘I need to report to him myself,’ said Colbeck, moving to the door. ‘Hopefully, I can dampen down the flames a little. At least we now have the name of the man who made it possible for the robbers to open that safe with such ease.’
‘That means we have two suspects.’
‘Daniel Slender and William Ings.’
‘I did as you told me, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘I asked the men on that beat to keep watch on Mr Ings’s house, though I still think that he’s unlikely to go back there. It would be too risky.’
‘Then we’ll have to smoke him out of the Devil’s Acre.’
‘How on earth could you do that?’
Colbeck suppressed a smile. ‘I’ll think of a way,’ he said.
Work had kept Brendan Mulryne too busy throughout most of the day to continue his search. That evening, however, he took a break from The Black Dog and strode along to Hangman’s Lane. The name was apposite. Most of the people he saw loitering there looked if they had just been cut down from the gallows. The man who told him where Polly Roach lived was a typical denizen of the area. Eyes staring, cheeks hollow and face drawn, he spoke in a hoarse whisper as if a noose were tightening around his neck.
Entering the tenement, Mulryne went up the stairs and along a narrow passageway. It was difficult to read the numbers in the gloom so he banged on every door he passed. At the fourth attempt, he came face to face with the woman he was after.
‘Polly Roach?’ he inquired.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘My name is Brendan Mulryne. I wanted a word with you, darling.’
‘You’ve come to the wrong place,’ she said, curtly. ‘I don’t entertain guests any more.’
‘It’s not entertainment I want, Polly — it’s information.’ He looked past her into the room. ‘Do you have company, by any chance?’
‘No, Mr Mulryne.’
‘Would you mind if I came in to look?’
‘Yes,’ she cautioned, lifting her skirt to remove the knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh. ‘I mind very much.’
Mulryne grinned benignly. ‘In that case, we’ll talk here.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘Isadore Vout.’
