‘I suppose that there’s some truth in that,’ conceded Younger.
‘If we’d thought we’d be endangering you, we’d never have come here. Would we, Irene?’
‘No, no,’ Irene chimed in.
‘Have we been such a terrible nuisance to you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Susanna.
‘Then where is the problem?’ He looked quizzically up at Younger who’d been staring at Oxley’s waistcoat. ‘Well, Gordon?’
‘What’s that stain?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing to bother about.’
‘It looks like blood.’
‘No,’ said Oxley, easily, ‘it’s a sauce that a butter-fingered waiter spilt over me. The restaurant has reimbursed me and we didn’t have to pay for the meal. However,’ he added, ‘you didn’t answer my question, Gordon. Where is the problem?’
About to speak, Younger swallowed his words. His guests were going to stay and he was powerless to stop them. By way of reply, he flapped his hands.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Oxley with satisfaction. ‘It’s getting late. Why don’t you get out that excellent malt whisky of yours, then we can have a nightcap? We’ll all feel better after that.’
Cyril Hythe was fast asleep when his landlady shook him by the shoulder. He came awake with a start. When she told him that a detective wished to speak to him, he thought at first that it was a practical joke. It took a long time to coax him out of bed. Yawning all the way, Hythe came downstairs to be met by a man who introduced himself as Sergeant Leeming. Fearing that he’d done something wrong, Hythe came fully awake. He was a small, stick-thin stooping man in his thirties who worked as a clerk in the ticket office at Euston. Asked to identify a customer, he laughed mirthlessly.
‘I served hundreds of them in the course of the day,’ he said. ‘How can I remember one man out of a multitude?’
‘This person is very singular,’ explained Leeming. ‘He’s wanted for murder, so I’m asking you to think very carefully. I can give you a fairly precise time when you would have served him.’
‘I wasn’t the only clerk on duty today, Sergeant.’
‘The others are being interviewed by my colleagues at this moment. That will tell you how keen we are to catch this man.’
Leeming told him about the murders on the train and about the more recent killing of Constable Peebles. He gave a full description of the two suspects. From the evidence of the cab driver, he was able to give the clerk an approximate time at which Oxley would have purchased two tickets. Shaking his head, Hythe was unable to help him until a last detail was supplied.
‘When the constable was shot,’ said Leeming, ‘he fell against his killer. Our superintendent saw it happen. The likelihood is that blood could well have got onto Oxley’s coat.’
Hythe perked up. ‘It wasn’t his coat, sir, it was his waistcoat.’
‘You remember him?’
‘I do – he had this dark-red stain on a very expensive waistcoat. I couldn’t have missed that. He was with a young woman who looked much as you describe.’
‘I don’t suppose that you can recall what tickets they bought?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ said Hythe. ‘That bloodstain made it stick in my mind. They bought two singles to Willesden.’
Gordon and Susanna talked long into the night before they fell asleep. Forced to offer shelter to Oxley and Irene, they both prayed that the pair would leave soon and dispel the dark cloud that hung over the house. They were aroused not long after dawn by the sound of two traps rumbling along the road and were surprised when the clattering hooves stopped directly outside. Gordon went to the window and saw a tall, elegant figure getting out of the first trap. Two large uniformed policemen were descending from the second.
Putting on his dressing gown, he went downstairs in great alarm and opened the door. Colbeck introduced himself then sent one of the policemen to the rear of the property. The other remained at the gate to block any attempt at a sudden departure.
‘I believe that you have two guests staying with you, sir,’ said Colbeck, glancing into the house.
‘I’m afraid that you’re mistaken, Inspector,’ replied Younger, wishing that his heart would stop pounding so hard. ‘There’s only my wife and I here.’
‘That’s not what we’ve been led to believe, sir. According to the stationmaster at Willesden, you and Mrs Younger paid a visit to London recently with two people whom we are very anxious to apprehend. Not to beat about the bush,’ said Colbeck, ‘they are wanted for a series of murders.’
Younger gulped. If he and his wife were caught harbouring fugitives, they would face the full rigour of the law. What he could not understand was how the police knew where to find Oxley and Irene. Seeing his amazement, Colbeck enlightened him.
‘Yesterday evening,’ he said, ‘Jeremy Oxley shot dead one of our detectives. We have established that he then took a train to Willesden. When I spoke to the stationmaster there a while ago, he remembered two people getting off a train and recognised them as the people he’d seen with you and Mrs Younger the previous day.’
‘It’s a case of mistaken identity,’ blustered Younger.
‘No man would mistake a woman like Irene Adnam, sir. I’m told that she’s very striking. There was something striking about Oxley as well. The stationmaster said there were bloodstains on his waistcoat.’ He stepped in close. ‘Do you deny you went to London two days ago?’
Younger attempted some bluff. ‘No, Inspector,’ he said, ‘I don’t. I had a chat with Betson – he’s the stationmaster at Willesden. And yes, there were two people with us but they’re not our guests. We met them for the first time on the way to the station.’
‘Yet you came back with them as well. Betson saw you.’
‘That was pure coincidence.’
‘Stand aside, sir,’ said Colbeck, tiring of the prevarication. ‘You are deliberately interfering with a murder enquiry.’
‘What’s going on, Gordon?’ asked Susanna, appearing at the door. ‘Why is that policeman standing at our gate?’
‘Your husband will explain, Mrs Younger,’ said Colbeck. ‘Now will you please let me in or I’ll have to resort to force.’
She froze in horror. ‘You can’t come in here,’ she bleated.
‘It’s hopeless,’ Younger told his wife. ‘They know.’
‘Where are they?’ demanded Colbeck.
‘In the guest bedroom at the rear,’ admitted Younger, ‘but be careful, Inspector. He has a gun.’
‘I’m well aware of that, sir. I came prepared.’
Taking out a pistol, Colbeck went into the house and took a quick inventory of the ground floor. He then crept slowly up the stairs with the weapon at the ready. When he got to the landing, he could see four separate rooms. A circular staircase led to the attic where, he surmised, any servants would sleep. Through the open door of one room, he could see rumpled bedclothes and decided it was the bedroom used by the Youngers. A second door that was ajar disclosed an empty room. He tiptoed to the door opposite, took hold of the knob, twisted it and pushed hard, only to discover that he was not in a bedroom at all. Lined with bookshelves, it had been converted into a study. Before withdrawing, he noted some of the objects on the desk.
Only one room was left. Since it was at the rear of the house, its occupants might not have heard the sound of the horses arriving. With luck, Oxley and Irene would be slumbering quietly. It was time to wake them. Finger on the trigger of the gun, Colbeck used the other hand to grasp the doorknob. On the other side of the door, he told himself, was the man who’d shot Ian Peebles and strangled Helen Millington. He deserved no quarter. If Oxley so much as reached for his weapon, Colbeck resolved to disable him with a bullet before arresting him. He was determined that the man would stay alive to pay for his crimes on the gallows.
With a sudden movement, Colbeck flung open the door and stepped into the room. He pointed his gun at the
