‘This is idle supposition.’
‘Humour me, Superintendent.’
‘I’ve made that mistake before.’
‘Let me go to Ireland.’
‘It’s an unwarranted use of police money.’
‘Then I’ll pay for the trip myself,’ said Colbeck earnestly. ‘As long as you reimburse me when you discover that idle supposition can sometimes produce benefits.’
‘Not in this case,’ Tallis promised, asserting his authority. ‘Sound, solid, unrelenting detective work is the only way to achieve a good result and it must be done here in England where the crime occurred.’ When Colbeck tried to speak, he was silenced with a peremptory gesture. ‘I’ll hear no more, Inspector. Get out there and find me a killer – and don’t you dare mention Ireland to me again.’
There was a tap on the door. In response to a barked command from the superintendent, a young detective constable came in with a letter. After giving Colbeck a deferential smile, the newcomer handed the letter to Tallis.
‘This came from the coroner, sir,’ he said. ‘Marked urgent.’
‘Thank you.’
While the messenger went out, Tallis tore open the letter and took out the missive. His eyes widened with interest.
‘A headless body was hauled out of the Thames this morning,’ he explained, still reading it. ‘From its condition, it appears that it was in the water for a couple of days at least. Although it was hideously bloated, the coroner is certain that the body and the severed head belong to the same person.’
‘May I hazard a guess, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck.
‘If you must.’
‘Is the man’s height given?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Then I guarantee that he’ll be no taller than five feet.’
Tallis blinked. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I suspect that he might be a jockey.’
‘His height is approximately four foot ten.’
After studying the letter again, Tallis put it aside and reached for a cigar. Deep in thought, he did not light it but rolled it slowly between his palms. He was reluctant to change his mind at the best of times, particularly where Robert Colbeck was involved, but he came to see that he had no choice. His voice dripped with rancour.
‘You did say you’d pay your own fare to Ireland, didn’t you?’
Colbeck beamed. ‘There and back, Superintendent.’
‘I’m still not persuaded, however,’ warned Tallis.
‘Then I’d better find the evidence that will bring you around to my point of view. Thank you, superintendent,’ he went on, moving happily to the door. ‘You won’t regret this decision.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I’d made one,’ grumbled the other.
Then he lit his cigar and puffed on it with a vengeance.
Victor Leeming surprised himself. For the first time in his life, he almost enjoyed a train journey. Though he was travelling away from London, he had the comfort of knowing that he would be able to return to his family that night and shake off the memory of his two unsought trips on the railway. Cambridge was within comparatively easy reach of the capital and he realised how beautiful the scenery was on the way there. As the train maintained a steady speed through open country, Leeming observed how effortlessly it overtook coaches and carts rumbling along roads that, from time to time, ran parallel with the line. By the time he reached his destination, he was compelled to admit that the railway did, after all, have its advantages.
Renowned for its university, Cambridge was also a thriving market town that brought people in from a wide area. While students inhabited the cloistered calm of the colleges or sought more boisterous pleasures on the playing fields, the narrow streets were thronged with local residents, visitors and the occasional beggar soliciting money from both. Having no inclination in that direction himself, Leeming had always been daunted by Cambridge’s reputation for scholarship. In reality, it was not at all intimidating. To his relief, he found it a warm, welcoming, friendly place filled with what he deemed were refreshingly ordinary people.
Cambridge was small enough to explore on foot and replete with such wonderful medieval architecture that even the sergeant stopped to gape from time to time. There were a number of hotels but, as Colbeck had predicted, not all of them would have attracted someone like Lord Hendry, especially if he was there with someone other than his wife. Comfort and discretion would be the qualities he would expect from his accommodation. It took Leeming less than half an hour to find the establishment. After three failed attempts, he finally located the hotel he was after, a half-timbered building from the late Elizabethan period with a recently painted exterior and a sagging charm. Situated in a quiet street, the Angel Hotel offered a compound of luxury, tradition and quality service.
When he asked to see the manager, Leeming was taken to a low-ceilinged room that served as an office and obliged Neville Hindmarsh to duck as he rose to his feet behind his desk. Had the sergeant not already have removed his top hat, it would have been scythed from his head by one of the solid oak beams. Unsettled by a visit from a Scotland Yard detective, the manager waved him anxiously to a seat before resuming his own.
‘What brings you all the way from London?’ he inquired.
‘We’re involved in an investigation, sir,’ replied Leeming, ‘and the name of this hotel cropped up in the course of it.’
‘And what exactly are you investigating?’
‘A murder.’
Hindmarsh gulped. He was an exceptionally tall man in his forties, lean, long-faced and with a studious air. He looked less like the manager of a hotel than the Fellow of a nearby college who had wandered absent-mindedly into the building after mistaking it for the Senior Common Room. When the sergeant explained that he wanted to know more detail about the theft of a hatbox, Hindmarsh blushed as if being accused of the crime himself. He needed a moment to compose himself.
‘I think you’ve been misinformed, Sergeant,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘No hatbox – or any other item, for that matter – was stolen from this hotel. We pride ourselves on the security we offer our guests. It’s a major reason why many of them return to us again and again.’
Leeming was puzzled. ‘Nothing was stolen?’
‘If it had been, it would have been reported to the police.’
‘Lord Hendry assured us that the theft occurred here and he would surely know. You do recall the recent visit he and his wife made here?’
‘Very clearly.’
‘Then why does his version of events differ from yours?’
‘I can’t answer that,’ said Hindmarsh nervously. ‘What I can tell you categorically is that the hatbox was not taken on these premises. I distinctly remember seeing Lady Hendry depart with it.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was standing by the door to bid her farewell when the porter carried it out to the cab. Lady Hendry arrived with one hatbox and left with it. I’d take my Bible oath on that.’
‘I can’t believe that her husband deliberately misled us.’
‘I’m sure it was an honest mistake,’ said Hindmarch, groping for an explanation. ‘Perhaps the item was stolen at the railway station. Unfortunately, we’ve had luggage taken from there before. When he mentioned this hotel, Lord Hendry could have been hazarding a guess. After all, he was not here at the time.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Leeming. ‘Where else would he be?’
‘At the races in Newmarket.’
‘What about Lady Hendry?’
‘She remained here for a while then left to catch an afternoon train. Lady Hendry had all of the luggage she had brought.’
‘How long did they stay at the Angel?’
‘They booked in for three nights, Sergeant Leeming. In the event, they only stayed for one.’
