The Silver Locomotive Mystery

was stolen, I should have been told instantly.’

‘I quite agree,’ he said, choosing dishonesty as a means of appeasing her. ‘I’ll make that point to Stockdale when I see him.’

‘Inspector Colbeck is the person we ought to be seeing. Out of common courtesy, he should have been in touch with us.’ She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Does he know who we are?’

He swelled with pride. ‘Everyone in South Wales knows who we are, Winifred,’ he boasted. ‘As for the inspector, we must bear in mind what Stockdale said of him. He comes with an excellent reputation for solving crimes.’

‘I haven’t been impressed with what he’s done do far. According to him, someone would be trying to sell that coffee pot back to us. I believed him at first,’ she said, ‘but I think it’s an absurd idea now. My fear is that the coffee pot is no longer even in Cardiff.’

‘We’ll get it back somehow, my dear.’

‘Will we?’

‘If all else fails, I’ll commission another one.’

‘That would take ages, Clifford. I want it now.’

‘Then you’ll simply have to keep your fingers crossed.’

Before she could reply, she was interrupted by a tap on the door. It opened to reveal the butler who came into the room with something on a silver salver.

‘This just arrived for you, Mr Tomkins,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Glover – rather late for any mail, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not franked, sir,’ said the butler as Tomkins took the envelope. ‘Someone put it through the letterbox and slipped away unseen. I just found it there.’

‘I see. That will be all.’

The butler nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Tomkins, meanwhile, opened the letter. He blenched when he read it.

‘What is it?’ demanded his wife.

‘It’s a ransom demand,’ he gulped. ‘Inspector Colbeck was right.’

Since there was no mortuary in the town, the dead body was kept in a cold, dank cellar that helped to delay decomposition slightly. Herbs had been scattered to combat the stench of death. An oil lamp hung from a beam, casting a circle of light around the slab. Colbeck was glad to have the body identified by a family member and grateful that Dr Rees had cleaned the scalp wound and wiped away the blood from the corpse. It was no longer as gruesome a sight as it had been. How Effie Kellow would respond, he did not know but he and Leeming stood either side of her as a precautionary measure. They left it to Rees to draw back the shroud. As soon as the dead man’s face came into view, Effie needed only a second to confirm that it was her brother. Staring in horror, she reached out to touch the corpse tenderly on the shoulder and seemed to be on the point of leaning forward to plant a farewell kiss on her brother’s forehead. Changing her mind, she averted her eyes. Effie clearly needed time to recover. Colbeck waited a full minute before speaking.

‘I’m sorry we had to put you through that,’ he said.

‘It’s Hugh,’ she said, chewing her lip. ‘It’s my brother.’

‘Let’s get you out of here, Miss Kellow.’

‘Who could have done such a terrible a thing?’

‘We’ll find his killer, I guarantee it.’

‘It’s so unfair – Hugh wouldn’t have harmed a fly.’

Colbeck wanted to ask her if she could suggest any reason why her brother had been in that particular hotel in the first place but it was obviously the wrong moment to do so. Effie, in any case, had gone off in a private world, her face contorted with grief and her head moving to and fro. A flood of tears then came. Colbeck was ready for them, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to give her and placing a gentle arm around her shoulder by way of comfort. He was moved by the sheer hopelessness of her situation.

‘Miss Kellow can’t return to London in this condition,’ he told Leeming. ‘We’ll have to find a room for her at the hotel.’

The first night of Macbeth was a glittering occasion. The cream of Cardiff society converged on the Theatre Royal in its finery. Carriages of every description arrived in an endless procession to drop off those attending the opening performance. The mayor and mayoress were among the first to arrive, the one wearing his chain of office and the other in a blue silk taffeta dress that would not have been out of place in the presence of royalty. A small knot of people had gathered to watch their social superiors, marvelling at the elegant men and the bejewelled ladies arriving in waves. There was so much colour, action and affectation on show that it seemed as if a drama was being enacted outside the theatre as well as upon its stage.

Sir David and Lady Pryde descended from their phaeton with aristocratic poise, ignoring the watching hoi polloi before sweeping in through the portals of the theatre. Swathed in a black and cerise silk dress that accentuated, rather than concealed, her bulk, Martha Pryde wore a silver tiara and flicked an ivory fan ostentatiously beneath her double chin. She was a hefty woman in her fifties with an arrogant strut. As she and her husband were shown to their seats, her beady eyes scanned the whole auditorium.

‘She’s not here,’ she said, gleefully.

‘What’s that?’ asked her husband.

‘Winifred Tomkins is not here. She can’t face us now that her outlandish coffee pot has been stolen. I know that she was invited but I can’t see her anywhere. Can you, David?’

‘I haven’t really looked.’

‘Well, look now. I can’t believe that I’ve missed her.’

‘Very well, Martha,’ he said, reluctantly shifting his gaze from Carys Evans with whom he had been exchanging a secret smile. ‘Although why you should be bothered with them, I really don’t know. They no longer exist as far as I’m concerned. If I bump into either of that dreadful pair, I shall cut them dead.’

‘Winifred hasn’t got the courage to appear in public.’

‘Forget the egregious woman.’

‘After what happened – how can I?’

‘She’s not here – be grateful for the fact.’

‘Oh, I’m more than grateful,’ said his wife as she took her seat beside him. ‘I’m delighted. The thief who stole that coffee pot of hers deserves congratulations. He’s wiped that haughty smile off her ugly face.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘I feel wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever been so ready to enjoy a performance. Wherever she is, I hope that Winifred is in pain.’

‘What do we do, Inspector?’ asked a querulous Winifred Tomkins.

‘I suggest that the ransom is paid,’ said Colbeck.

Tomkins was scandalised. ‘Pay twice for the same thing?’ he said in alarm. ‘That goes against the grain.’

‘Nevertheless, sir, it’s what I advise. And, if I might correct you, the full price for the item has not yet been paid. Mr Kellow was to have collected the balance. All that you have parted with is a deposit.’

‘Fifty pounds is not a trifling amount.’

‘Much more is now required. I’d urge you to pay it.’

‘You mean to let the thief get away with it?’

‘He’s a murderer as well as a thief, Mr Tomkins, and he will be arraigned for both crimes. Until we arrest him, you must comply with the demands in the ransom note.’

‘I refuse to bow to his wishes.’

‘Then you can wave farewell to any hope of recovering the item.’

‘Don’t say that, Inspector!’ exclaimed Winifred. ‘I can’t bear such a thought. Superintendent Stockdale led us to believe that you would retrieve that coffee pot for us.’

‘I’m endeavouring to do just that, Mrs Tomkins.’

Neither she nor her husband was persuaded. They remained hurt, fearful and sceptical. Colbeck and Leeming