discussed your intentions with me and I was forced to lie in order to cover for you.’
‘Thank you, Victor. I appreciate that.’
‘I can’t say that I appreciated being put in that position, sir.’
‘You have my profound apologies,’ said Colbeck. ‘I may have expected too much of Brendan Mulryne. I accept the blame for that. But,’ he continued, glancing down at the body once more, ‘let us put that mistake behind us. So far, we have a train robbery and two murders to investigate. What we must try to do is to anticipate their next move.’
‘To kill their source at the Royal Mint?’
‘If there is such a person.’
‘There is, Inspector. I feel it in my bones.’
‘What I believe is that they will not just sit back and enjoy the fruits of their crime. They want more than the money they stole.’
Leeming pointed a finger. ‘Those mail bags.’
‘Exactly,’ said Colbeck. ‘Why go to the trouble of stealing them if there was no profit to be made from their contents? Yes, Victor. I think that it’s only a matter of time before we hear about some of the mail that went astray.’
After luncheon at his club, Lord Holcroft decided to take a walk in Hyde Park for the benefit of his constitution. Accompanied by a friend, he set out at a brisk pace and gave his views on the political affairs of the day. His friend concurred with all that he said. Lord Holcroft was an imposing figure in his dark frock coat, light trousers and silk hat. Now almost sixty, he had the energy of a much younger man and a zest for debate that was indefatigable. He was expressing his reservations about the impending Great Exhibition when someone stepped out from behind a tree to accost him.
‘Lord Holcroft?’ he inquired.
‘Who might you be, sir?’ said the other, glaring at the newcomer.
‘I’d like a quiet word with you about a certain person.’
‘Stand aside, fellow. I never talk to strangers.’
‘Even when he has news about Miss Grayle?’ whispered the other so that Holcroft’s companion did not hear the name. ‘Two minutes of your valuable time is all that I ask.’
Lord Holcroft studied the man. Tall, well-dressed and wearing a full beard, the stranger was in his thirties. He had a look in his eye that was politely menacing. Excusing himself from his friend, Holcroft stepped aside to speak to the newcomer. He tried to browbeat him.
‘How dare you interrupt my walk like this!’ he growled. ‘Who are you and what’s your business?’
‘I came to save you from embarrassment,’ said the man, calmly. ‘A letter has fallen into our hands that casts an unflattering light on your character. It is written by you to a Miss Anna Grayle, who lives close to Birmingham, and it expresses sentiments that are quite improper for a married man such as yourself.’
‘The letter is a forgery,’ snapped Holcroft.
‘We will let your wife be the judge of that, if you wish. Lady Holcroft knows your hand well enough to be able to tell us if you wrote the
Holcroft reddened. ‘My wife must
‘Even though it is a forgery?’ teased the other.
‘Miss Grayle’s good name must be protected.’
‘That will not happen if we release the letter to a scandal sheet. Her good name — and your own — would be in jeopardy. I should perhaps tell you, Lord Holcroft,’ he lied, ‘that we have already been offered a sizeable sum for the missive. We did not, of course, divulge your identity but we explained that you were a person of some importance.’
Lord Holcroft was squirming. His temples began to pound.
‘How can I be sure that you have the letter?’ he demanded.
‘Because I brought a copy with me,’ replied the other, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket to give to him. ‘You have a colourful turn of phrase, Lord Holcroft. If what you say in the letter is correct, I also have to admire your stamina.’
After reading the copy, Holcroft swore under his breath and scrunched the paper in his hand. He was cornered. Were his wife to see the letter, his marriage would come to an abrupt end. If his disgrace reached a wider audience, he would never recover from the scandal. There was no point in trying to reason with the stranger. Lord Holcroft was forced into a sour capitulation.
‘How much do you want?’ he asked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Having worked as a tailor in Bond Street for over thirty years, Ebenezer Trew was inclined to judge everyone by his own high sartorial standards. When he first set eyes on Robert Colbeck, therefore, he took note of the cut and colour of his apparel and saw that he was a man of discernment. Colbeck’s height and well-proportioned frame were a gift to any tailor and his attire served to enhance his air of distinction. Trew was somewhat nonplussed, therefore, to learn that the visitor to his shop that afternoon was a Detective Inspector, and dismayed that he had lost what he hoped would be a potential customer.
Further disappointment followed. Colbeck opened a bag to produce a jacket that the tailor recognised at once. When he saw the bloodstains on the material, Ebenezer Trew winced. He was a short, neat, fastidious man with the hunched shoulders of someone who spent most of his time bent over a work table.
‘You know the jacket, I see,’ observed Colbeck.
‘I could pick out my handiwork anywhere, Inspector.’
‘Do you remember the customer for whom you made the suit?’
‘Very well. His name was Mr Slender.’ He reached out to take the jacket and looked more closely at the stains on the shoulders. ‘This will be almost impossible to remove,’ he warned. ‘Mr Slender was so proud of his suit. How did it come to be marked like this?’
‘Daniel Slender was attacked on the embankment, Mr Trew.’
‘Dear me! Was the assault a serious one?’
‘Extremely serious,’ said Colbeck, ‘I fear that your customer was bludgeoned to death.’ Trew turned pale. ‘If you had not providentially sewn his name into the lining, we might not have identified him.’
‘Mr Slender insisted on that. He told me that he had always wanted his name in a suit made by a Bond Street tailor.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘The clothing he wore when he first came in here was of poor quality. Not to put too fine a point on it,’ he said, ‘it was very provincial — quite the wrong colour for him and made with such inferior material. Frankly, Inspector, I’d not have been seen dead in a suit like that.’ He chewed his lip as he heard what he had just said. ‘Oh, I do apologise,’ he added, quickly. ‘That was a rather tasteless remark.’
Colbeck studiously ignored it. ‘What else can you tell me about Daniel Slender?’ he asked.
‘That he had obviously never been to a place like this before.’
‘Was he shy and awkward?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Trew, ‘he was full of confidence. I’ve never met anyone who enjoyed the experience of buying a suit from us so much. He gave me the impression that he had come into an appreciable amount of money that allowed him to indulge himself in a way that he had never been able to do before.’
‘That fits in with what I know of the man,’ said Colbeck. ‘Until he came here, Daniel Slender worked as a locksmith in Wolverhampton.’
Trew wrinkled his nose again. ‘Those dreadful Midlands vowels travelled with him to London,’ he said with mild disgust. ‘I could make him
‘I trust that you concealed your prejudice from him, Mr Trew,’ said Colbeck, irritated by the man’s snobbery. ‘None of us can choose the place where we are born or the accent that we inherit.’
‘Quite so, quite so.’
‘You, I suspect, hail from the West Country.’
‘Yes, I do,’ admitted the tailor, hurt that his attempts to remove the telltale burr from his voice had not been quite as successful as he thought. ‘But I have lived in London since the age of ten.’
‘How many times did you meet Mr Slender?’
