Peter Lovesey - Murder on the Short List

“You can look me in the eye, Garrard,” I said. “I believe you. I’ve never had reason to doubt you before. Tell me, what arrangements did you make for the consignment to be delivered to Sandringham?”

“A personal messenger, sir. A young man who has worked for me for two years and whom I trust absolutely. He happens to live in Norfolk and wanted to visit his parents for Christmas, so I entrusted him with the valise containing the jewellery.”

“Where precisely in Norfolk?”

“Oh, he was coming here first, sir. That was my firm instruction.”

“Where, Mr Garrard?”

“A village called Holkham Staith, not fifteen miles from here, but that’s hardly the point.”

“I’ll be the judge of what is the point,” I said. He didn’t know it, and not many do, but I’ve had a certain amount of success as an amateur detective. My investigative skills are known only to my intimates. “I know Holkham.” I also knew a limerick about a young fellow of Holkham, but this wasn’t the moment to speak it. “What’s the young man’s name?”

“Digby, sir. Horace Digby.”

“It sounds respectable.”

“He’s of good family, sir. He’s related to the Digbys of Denbighshire.”

“It doesn’t always follow that good blood will out. What were your instructions to Digby?”

“To take the train to Lynn, never letting go of the valise, and then hire a cab to convey him here.”

“You saw him depart on the 21st?”

“I did, sir. I watched him get into a cab outside my shop in the Haymarket.”

“Well, gentlemen,” I said with all the authority of an experienced investigator, “we’ll not solve the mystery by standing here. We must drive out to Lynn and see if Digby arrived.”

Garrard rather undermined my announcement. “Sir, I already spoke to the stationmaster when I got in this morning. He confirmed that a young man answering Digby’s description alighted at the station at noon on the 21st and hailed a four-wheeled cab.”

“And what is the description Digby answers to?”

“Tall, very tall, about six foot three, lean, and wearing a Norfolk jacket with a distinctive green and yellow tweed design.”

“Sounds hideous. Hat?”

“A brown bowler, sir.”

“Well, if he hailed a cab at Lynn and it didn’t get here, where would he have gone?”

“Holkham?” Knollys suggested.

“My thought exactly. Let’s track the quarry to his lair.”

In no time we were in one of my two-horse carriages gliding through the snowy landscape. In any other circumstances it would have been a delightful drive, with a clear blue sky above. My driver knew the route to Holkham and so do I, for that’s where the Earl of Leicester resides and he’s a shooting man. We once bagged upwards of 1,600 fowl there in a single day — sixteen guns, that is.

This time we weren’t bound for Holkham Hall unfortunately. Far from being of good family, as Garrard claimed, Digby’s people were in trade, as horse dealers. I didn’t much care for them and I don’t think they cared for me, even when Knollys told them who I was.

“We ’aven’t seen ’un in weeks,” was the reply to my question.

“Your Royal Highness,” Knollys prompted the man.

“Months,” the man added. “When was it we last saw ‘’Orace, Betty?”

“’Orse fair,” the mother said.

“We ’aven’t seen ’un since ’orse fair,” the man said.

“Your Royal Highness,” Knollys said.

“Not that we don’t trust you, but we’d like to look around your property,” I said. “Your son has disappeared with a substantial amount of jewellery and a silver inkstand.”

“What would we be doing with a silver inkstand?” the man said.

“What would anybody be doing with a silver inkstand?” the woman said.

Knollys was about to say his piece again, but I flapped my hand.

I started a cigar before going inside. You never know what vapours you will encounter in such a household. Without being uncivil to the Queen’s humble subjects, I have to say that this wasn’t Holkham Hall. The only good thing about it was that there weren’t more rooms. We searched the kitchen and front room and looked inside two bedrooms. There were no signs of a recent visitor, nor of the missing valise. They had five pathetic horses standing in the snow at the back.

“They need blankets,” I said.

“Where would we get blankets?” the man said insolently.

“I’ll have some sent over before the day is out. See to it, Francis.”

“You’re a gent,” the woman said unnecessarily.

“See that you put them over the horses and not your own bed,” I said. “Come, gentlemen. We must pursue the trail elsewhere.”

In sombre mood, we got back into the carriage.

Garrard cleared his throat. “Your Royal Highness, the class and manners of those people shocked me to the quick and I apologise profoundly for putting you through such an ordeal. It’s apparent that Digby misinformed me as to his origins. I shall take it up with him as soon as he is found.”

“Save your breath,” I told him. “That’s of small account compared to the loss of the Christmas presents.”

Knollys said, “It suggests that the fellow is a blackguard.”

“Not at all,” I said. “You can’t know the wine by the barrel. I’m not judging him until we find him with the booty in his hands.”

“But how shall we trace him?”

“We must find the cabman who picked him up from the station. He’ll know where he put him down.”

“Brilliant!” Garrard said.

We drove to Lynn by the shortest route, still a cold journey of some fifteen miles. The snow scene was starting to lose its charm.

“How many cabs ply their trade at Lynn station, would you say?” I asked the others.

“Upwards of thirty. Fifty, even,” Knollys said, betraying some despondency. He has never had much faith in my investigations. “I’ve seen the line in the station yard.”

“But not all of them are four-wheelers, as this was,” Garrard said. “Most are hansoms. We’re not looking for a hansom.”

“Good thinking,” I said.

At the station, we lost no time in finding the station master. He must have seen my coat of arms on the carriage, for he’d donned his silk hat, which he now doffed with a flourish and a bow.

“You are the principal witness,” I told him. “You saw a tall man carrying a large valise and wearing a loud Norfolk jacket arrive here two days ago, on the 21st.”

“I spoke to him, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Royal Highness,” Knollys corrected him.

“You spoke? That’s interesting. What did he have to say?”

“That he was bound for Sandringham with a valuable cargo and didn’t want the inconvenience of standing in a queue for a cab, Your Royal—”

“Definitely our man,” I said. “You summoned a four-wheeler?”

“The cleanest on the stand, Your—”

“Ah! So you can identify the driver, no doubt.”

“His name is Gripper.”

“And is he here this morning?”

“No longer, Your—”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He was here twenty minutes ago. He picked up a fare, a gentleman from London. They’ll be well on their way to Sandringham by now.”

“To Sandringham ?” I said. “I’m expecting no visitors today. Describe this traveller.”

“Middle-aged, brown suit and matching bowler, a rather military bearing and clipped manner of speech.”

“He spoke to you?”

“He wanted to know about the man you’re interested in, the tall man with the valise.”

“Did he, by Jove! Back to the carriage, gentlemen. I sense a kill.”

When we arrived at Sandringham, I was alarmed to see the four-wheeler on the drive in front of the main door with no sign of the driver or his mysterious passenger. I jumped out and rushed inside. A footman came to greet me.