training and experience acquired on the dangerous streets of London, he had secured, when only twenty-four, the post of Superintendent of the Cardiff Borough Police. That made him, in effect, the town’s Chief Constable. For almost two decades, he had been a very successful law-enforcement officer in spite of an inadequate budget, limited manpower and the constant criticism of the Watch Committee.
It was pointless to argue with Jeremiah Box Stockdale. He was his own man. He did not suffer fools gladly or bend to the wishes of panic-stricken hotel managers. Archelaus Pugh could bleat at him all day but it was a futile exercise. The corpse would stay where it was and the policeman would remain on guard.
They were in the foyer of the hotel and guests who went past viewed the superintendent with a curiosity liberally tinged with fear. The imposing figure was dressed in a uniform of his own devising – a dark blue tunic and trousers trimmed with red cord, a peaked cap and a sword belt from his army days. Pugh was invisible beside him.
‘When will the inspector get here?’ asked the manager.
‘I’m sure that he will have caught the first available train,’ said Stockdale, ‘and I’m equally sure that he’ll be bringing Sergeant Leeming with him. You should be grateful to have two men of their ability coming here, Mr Pugh.’
‘The only time I’ll feel the slightest impulse of gratitude is when they carry that dead body out of here and remove the stain of murder.’
‘Don’t you
‘Of course, I do, but my concern is for the other guests.’
‘Suspicion comes before concern,’ said the policeman, darkly. ‘Did it never occur to you that the killer is likely to be someone who is staying under this roof?’ Pugh gulped and took an involuntary step backwards. ‘He might be going about his business as if nothing had ever happened. In other words, Mr Pugh, somewhere among those guests about whom you are so concerned may be the self-same villain who committed this foul crime.’
Pugh was aghast. ‘The killer is still
‘It’s something I am bound to consider.’
Leaving the manager to digest this devastating possibility, Stockdale broke away from him and marched over to welcome the two men who were coming in through the door. Colbeck and Leeming had walked the short distance from the railway station. They were pleased to see their old friend. There was an exchange of greetings and warm handshakes. The mutual respect between the three men was evident. Stockdale introduced them to the manager but Pugh was less than impressed. Expecting policemen in uniform, he was instead looking at what he perceived as a dandy and a pugilist.
‘When will you move the body, Inspector?’ demanded Pugh.
‘When it is time to do so,’ snapped Stockdale, quelling him with a glare. ‘Meanwhile, I suggest that you move your own body out of the way so that we can go upstairs. I’m sure that Inspector Colbeck will want to speak to you later.’
‘I will, indeed, sir,’ said Colbeck, turning politely to Pugh. ‘I’m sorry for the disruption this must have caused. I can understand your anxiety. It’s possible that Sergeant Leeming and I may have to stay in the town for a while. I take it that you have a room available?’
‘It’s already booked in your name,’ said Stockdale.
‘Thank you, Superintendent.’
‘Here,’ he continued, relieving them of their valises and handing them to the manager. ‘Do something useful and have these sent up to their room.’ He beamed at the others. ‘Follow me, gentlemen.’
As the detectives ascended the carpeted staircase, Stockdale provided them with preliminary details.
‘The victim is a young silversmith from London. His name was Hugh Kellow and he worked for a Mr Leonard Voke of Wood Street. He came here to deliver an item – the invoice was in his pocket – and it’s been stolen. Robbery was clearly the motive for the murder.’
‘What was the item?’ asked Leeming.
‘It was a silver coffee pot in the shape of a locomotive.’
Colbeck was fascinated. ‘Then it must be very valuable.’
‘It is,’ said Stockdale, enviously. ‘It cost far more than any of us lesser mortals could ever afford.’ They reached a landing and he led them down a long passageway. ‘A guest was passing the room when she heard what sounded like a muffled cry for help. She alerted the manager and, to his credit, he came up here at once. There was no response when he knocked on the door so he used a master key to open it and made the discovery.’
At the end of the passageway, they turned a corner and saw a uniformed policeman standing outside the first room on the left. At the sight of his superior, he immediately straightened up and gave a deferential salute. Producing a key from his pocket, Stockdale flicked a hand to move his colleague aside.
‘Almost nothing has been touched, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I remembered what you once told me about the scene of a crime. Important clues could be lost if people trampled all over it or, in the case of a murder, if the body was moved before it had been properly examined.’
‘We’re very grateful to you,’ said Colbeck.
Stockdale unlocked the door. ‘What you’re about to see,’ he told them with a grim smile, ‘is exactly what the manager saw – though unlike Mr Pugh, you will not have an attack of hysteria.’
The door swung open and they stepped into the room. Colbeck and Leeming surveyed the scene. The corpse lay on its back on the rumpled bed. He was wearing a shirt that was partly unbuttoned, an open waistcoat, a pair of trousers and some stockings. His shoes were on the floor beside the bed and his coat and cravat over a chair. His bowler hat stood on a small table in front of which was an empty leather bag. There was bruising on the victim’s face and dried blood on his forehead from a scalp wound. What made Leeming catch his breath was that the man’s mouth and chin were disfigured as if they had been badly scalded.
‘Some kind of acid was used,’ explained Stockdale. ‘The killer poured it down his throat. Some of it spilt on his face.’
Colbeck walked around the bed so that he could view the body from a different angle. He bent close to scrutinise it. Then he crossed to the open window and looked out. His gaze shifted to the coat.
‘What did you find in that?’ he asked.
‘Very little,’ replied Stockdale. ‘It looks to me as if his wallet was stolen along with the coffee pot. All that remained were the things you see on the dressing table – an invoice from his employer, a second class ticket to Paddington and a business card.’
Colbeck went over to pick up the card. ‘Nigel Buckmaster,’ he read aloud. ‘Now there’s a name I know well.’
‘I’ve never heard of the man,’ said Leeming.
‘That’s because you never go to the theatre, Victor.’
‘How can I on my wage, Inspector? I have a family to feed.’
‘Mr Buckmaster is an actor-manager. He has his own company of strolling players. I saw him give a masterly performance as Othello on one occasion.’ His eyes moved to the corpse. ‘How on earth did his card come to be in the victim’s pocket?’
‘I can tell you that,’ said Stockdale, keen to show that he had not been idle. ‘Buckmaster’s Players arrived today to spend a week at the Theatre Royal. It appears that Mr Buckmaster and his leading lady, Miss Linnane, shared a compartment with Mr Kellow on the train. They were horrified to hear what happened to him. It was they who confirmed his name. What surprised them was that he came to the hotel. He told them that he was travelling back to London as soon as he had delivered the coffee pot.’
‘Perhaps he was due to hand it over to its new owner right here,’ suggested Leeming.
‘No, Sergeant. He was supposed to take it to the house.’
‘What house?
‘The one belonging to Mr and Mrs Tomkins,’ said Stockdale, ‘though it’s more like a small palace than a house. Only someone like Clifford Tomkins could afford to buy an expensive coffee pot like that. He made his fortune in Merthyr as an ironmaster then had a mansion built in Cardiff. The coffee pot was a gift to his wife.’
‘Let’s go back to Mr Buckmaster,’ said Colbeck. ‘If he travelled all the way here in the company of Mr Kellow, he might have picked up some useful intelligence. I’ll need to speak to him.’
‘Then you won’t have far to go. He and Miss Linnane are staying at the hotel.’ Stockdale smirked knowingly. ‘They have separate rooms but my guess is that only one of the beds will be used.’
