The Silver Locomotive Mystery

‘What about silver?’

‘I daresay that Stephen Voke will answer that question.’

When they left the outer edges of Newport, they had a pleasant drive through open country. The cottage they were after was in an isolated position on the far side of Caerleon. It was a relatively small, squat building but it was in good condition and slate had replaced the original thatch. There was a well-tended garden at the front and a larger one at the rear given over mainly to vegetables. The whole property was surrounded by a low stone wall. As they came over the brow of the hill, they saw that outhouses ran at a right angle to the cottage itself, justifying the value put on it by the vendor. Leeming had expected something more impressive.

‘It’s not the home of a rich man, Inspector, is it?’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t wish to flaunt his wealth,’ said Colbeck. ‘And it’s certainly an improvement on a single room in someone else’s house. I think it looks very quaint.’

‘It was bought with blood money,’ said Leeming. ‘Hugh Kellow helped to pay for that cottage.’

‘I haven’t forgotten that, Victor. These are merciless people. We need to take the utmost care.’

Tugging the reins, he turned the trap off the road then pulled it to a halt under the cover of some trees. After tethering the horse, Colbeck removed his hat and put it on the seat. Leeming followed suit, his wound starting to throb at the prospect of a meeting with the man who had inflicted it. They trod stealthily through the undergrowth until they had a good view of the cottage. Colbeck thought he saw a hint of movement through a side window.

‘I suggest that you work your way around to the back,’ he said. ‘Be very careful – remember that they know us by sight. When I see you in position, I’ll creep up to the front.’

‘Let me arrest Voke,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s mine.’

‘As long as you’re not too precipitate – he does have a pistol.’

‘I doubt if he’ll have it to hand, sir. Why should he? As you pointed out, he thinks that he’s safe. The last thing he’ll expect is that we tracked him here.’

‘That’s what I’m banking on.’

‘I’ll be off, Inspector.’

‘Keep a wary eye on those outbuildings,’ warned Colbeck. ‘That’s the most likely place for him to set up a workshop. There’s not enough room in the cottage itself. He may well be at work there right now.’

Leeming nodded then set off. Keeping low and skirting the cottage, he made use of some bushes as temporary hiding places. When the sergeant finally reached the back of the property, he crouched down behind the wall. It was the signal for Colbeck to move. He, too, kept low, moving swiftly between any trees or shrubs that could offer concealment for a few seconds. Reaching the cottage without being seen, he straightened up, opened the wicker gate and strode quickly to the front door. Roses grew around the little porch, framing it attractively. A new doormat covered the flagstone. Fresh paint had been put on the door itself. There was the sense that someone cared for their property.

Colbeck pulled the bell rope and it produced a pleasing jingle. He heard footsteps then the door was opened by a handsome young woman with an enquiring smile.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘I’m looking for Mr Stephen Voke,’ he said, politely. ‘Is he at home, by any chance?’

‘Yes, he’s out in his workshop. Did you wish to talk business with him, sir?’

‘I do, indeed.’

‘That’s very encouraging. We’ve been here barely a week and already we are starting to have customers.’ She stepped aside. ‘You’d better come in, sir. May I have your name, please?’

‘It’s Colbeck – Robert Colbeck.’

‘You’ll have to duck your head. The beams are rather low.’

Something was wrong. The woman had recognised neither him nor his name. She certainly did not look like someone capable of taking part in a murder. He noted her wedding ring. Colbeck surmised that Voke must have had a different accomplice, one who was kept well away from the peaceful domesticity of his new life in Caerleon. Ducking into the cottage, he saw that it was larger than it looked outside. It was also well-furnished and silver ornaments glistened on the mantelpiece. Most of the furniture was very old but it had been recently polished.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Colbeck,’ she said, ‘I’ll fetch Stephen.’

Leeming had saved her the trouble. The back door burst open and Stephen Voke was pushed into the kitchen, handcuffs pinning his wrists together behind his back. Leeming shoved him through into the living room with a grin of triumph.

‘Here he is,’ he announced, ‘He didn’t put up any fight.’

‘What’s going on?’ exclaimed the woman.

‘I don’t know,’ said Voke, pitifully. ‘This man jumped on me and told me that I was under arrest.’

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, looking fearfully at the bandage around Leeming’s head, ‘and what do you mean by coming here?’

‘Let me explain,’ said Colbeck. ‘This is my colleague, Sergeant Leeming, and I am Inspector Colbeck. We are detectives from London, investigating the murder of Hugh Kellow and the theft of a valuable silver coffee pot.’

‘It must be in that workshop, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘There’s a large safe out there. That’s where they keep their spoils.’

‘What spoils?’ asked Voke. ‘As for a murder, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Are you telling me that Hugh was killed?’

‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck. ‘His body was found in the hotel room in Cardiff where you had left it.’

‘But I haven’t been to Cardiff for several weeks.’

‘Then how did you manage to give me this?’ demanded Leeming, indicating his scalp wound. ‘You must have a very long arm if you could hit me from Caerleon.’

‘What my husband is telling you is correct,’ said the woman with evident honesty. ‘We only took possession of the cottage this week. Until then, we were both in London. Stephen had no reason to go to Cardiff. He’s been too busy planning the move here.’

‘It’s the truth, Inspector,’ said Voke. ‘I swear it.’

Colbeck pondered. ‘Take the handcuffs off him,’ he ordered at length. ‘Go on.’

‘But he could turn violent, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Take them off, sergeant.’

‘Why?’

‘I think we have the wrong man.’

While the sergeant unlocked the handcuffs, Colbeck’s mind was spinning like a wheel. Having arrested a large number of people in the course of his career, he was accustomed to the routine denial of guilt. That was not happening here. Stephen Voke was bemused rather than defiant. He showed none of the righteous indignation that criminals often dredged up when confronted with their misdeeds. Nor did he look like a killer. He was lean, trim and of middle height. Around the nose and mouth, there was a clear resemblance to his father. He had an open face and met Colbeck’s gaze without dissimulation. When the handcuffs were removed, he did not immediately make a dash for the door. He simply rubbed his wrists before putting a protective arm around his wife.

‘We must offer you our apologies, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’m not apologising,’ insisted Leeming. ‘If it was left to me, he’d be clapped in irons.’

‘Mr Voke is completely innocent, Sergeant.’

‘But he can’t be, sir.’

‘We’ve been pursuing the wrong man.’

Leeming was bewildered. ‘Well, if he didn’t murder Mr Kellow,’ he wanted to know, ‘then who did?’

‘Nobody.’

‘That’s impossible, sir.’

‘I’m afraid that it isn’t.’

‘Somebody must have killed him.’

‘Think of those ransom letters,’ said Colbeck. ‘Two were written by a woman but the two written, as I suspect, by a man were in block capitals. Do you know why that was done?’

‘I don’t have a clue, Inspector.’

‘It was because he didn’t want us to recognise his handwriting. He knew that we’d already seen examples of