Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

When the man broke away from the crowd, he bumped accidentally into a woman and immediately raised his hat to her before striding off. It was exactly what had happened to Andrews. What looked like a chance collision was, in fact, an opportunity for the pickpocket to claim another victim. The evidence, Andrews decided, was now overwhelming. It was him.

Disregarding the fact that he had no power of arrest, Andrews ran after the man and clutched at his arm. The stranger turned to face him.

‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Andrews, ‘you can return my wallet for a start. You stole it from me yesterday evening when I was listening to your accomplice playing his harp.’

‘What the devil are you talking about?’

‘You’re a pickpocket. I’ve been watching you at work.’

‘I work in a bank,’ said the man, testily, ‘and I’ll be late if I miss my train.’

‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Andrews, tightening his grip.

‘Leave go of me,’ ordered the man, ‘or I’ll call a policeman.’

‘That’s exactly what I wish to do.’

Train passengers were treated to the extraordinary sight of a wiry old character, clinging like a limpet to the arm of an elegant gentleman who was doing everything he could to shake him off. Both were yelling simultaneously for a policeman. It was only a minute before one came over to see what the commotion was. He was a hefty individual in his thirties with rubicund cheeks.

‘What’s going on here, then?’ he asked.

‘Get this imbecile off me!’ pleaded the man.

Andrews released him. ‘Arrest him, constable,’ he said. ‘He’s the pickpocket who stole my wallet yesterday. That harpist is his accomplice.’

‘I’ve never set eyes on the fellow before.’

‘The two of you work hand in glove.’

‘Now calm down, the pair of you!’ said the policeman. ‘We’ll get nowhere if you both jabber away.’ He turned to the man. ‘You tell me your story first, sir.’

Angered by the deference in his tone, Andrews tried to complain but he was silenced by the policeman with the threat of arrest. The man gave his account of what had happened then opened his frock coat wide.

‘If you think I stole anything,’ he challenged, ‘search me.’

Andrews had the unsettling feeling that he may have been mistaken, after all.

‘Go on,’ urged the man. ‘You called me a pickpocket. Prove it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Andrews. ‘I took you for someone else.’

‘You assaulted me, you ruffian. Dozens of witnesses will testify to that.’ He appealed to people standing by. ‘You all saw him, didn’t you?’

Several of them nodded their heads. An unprovoked assault had occurred.

The policeman put a hand on Andrews’ shoulder. ‘You’d better come with me,’ he said, trying to lead him away.

‘You can’t arrest me!’ howled Andrews, brushing him off. ‘My son-in-law is a detective inspector at Scotland Yard.’

‘I don’t care if he’s the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ said the policeman, taking a firmer grip. ‘I’m taking you into custody to face charges of assault and resisting an arrest.’

To a round of applause from onlookers, Andrews was marched away.

It was late afternoon before Colbeck was able to get across to the police station near Euston. By that time, his father-in-law had been cooling his heels in a dank and cheerless cell for hours. When he was released by the duty sergeant, Andrews made wild threats about suing the police for wrongful arrest. Colbeck hustled him out of the building.

‘You don’t need to tell me the story,’ he said. ‘I read the report. Because I was ready to vouch for you, all charges have been dropped. Please don’t antagonise the police, Mr Andrews, or you may get yourself into a situation from which I’m unable to rescue you.’

Andrews took a deep breath and tried to master his sense of humiliation.

‘Thank you, Robert,’ he said at length. ‘They laughed at me when I said that the Railway Detective was my son-in-law. Now they know better.’

‘Forget what happened at Euston station today. Go back to the events of yesterday. Madeleine told me that a pickpocket had stolen your wallet. How exactly did it happen?’

Andrews gave a vivid account, describing both the pickpocket and his alleged accomplice. Colbeck was not persuaded that either of the men was guilty of the crime or that they were in any way connected.

‘What did the man do after he’d apologised?’ he asked.

‘He rushed straight off towards the platforms.’

‘Then the logical supposition is that he was about to catch a train.’

‘Yes,’ said Andrews, peevishly, ‘and he’d have had my wallet in his pocket.’

‘I beg leave to doubt that, Mr Andrews. Dippers are after rich pickings. With respect, you don’t look like the sort of person who might be carrying a large amount of money.’

‘That doesn’t matter. It still hurt when he took the little I had on me.’

‘In my view,’ said Colbeck, ‘the fact that this man went off to catch a train absolves him of the crime. If Euston was his patch, he’d have stayed there in search of more victims. There’s another point. Pickpockets often have an accomplice to whom they can slip what they’ve stolen. If they’re confronted by a policeman, they’re happy to be searched because they have nothing on them that they don’t legitimately own.’

‘This man did have an accomplice,’ said Andrews. ‘It was the harpist.’

‘Did you actually see him pass any wallets or purses to the old man?’

‘Well, no …’

‘What gave you the impression that they worked together?’

‘I was distracted by the music, Robert.’

‘All that the harpist was doing was to earn a few pennies,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Pickpockets expect more than that. The one who stole your wallet simply seized a moment when your mind was elsewhere. But let me ask you another question,’ he added. ‘Why did you try to solve the crime yourself instead of reporting it to the police the moment you became aware that you’d been robbed?’

Andrews was shamefaced. ‘I thought I could do your job for you,’ he said before thrusting out his chest. ‘And I still might.’

Colbeck asserted his authority and told his father-in-law that his days as an amateur detective were over. A professional criminal would only be caught by those with the requisite experience. He had a surprise for Andrews.

‘I appreciate how you must feel,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘Being the victim of theft is always unpleasant but you were not the only one. There were six other reports yesterday of money being stolen by a pickpocket at Euston. However, no less than fifteen victims came forward at Paddington with the same complaint and the harpist was not playing there. Where crowds gather, there’ll always be dippers on the prowl. Railway stations are their natural habitat.’

Andrews was dejected. ‘Have I lost that money forever, then?’

‘Not necessarily,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’ll ask Sergeant Leeming to look into the case. When he was in uniform, he had a reputation for being able to spot pickpockets at work. Let’s see if he can still do it.’

When she heard what had occurred, Madeleine was torn between sympathy and amusement, sorry that her father had suffered the indignity of arrest yet able to see the irony of a self-appointed detective ending up behind bars. Over dinner with her husband, she thanked him for his intervention.

‘It was very kind of you to step in, Robert.’

‘I couldn’t let my father-in-law get an undeserved criminal record. He was his own worst enemy, Madeleine. He should have come to us right away,’ said Colbeck. ‘How would he feel if I tried to drive a train without any qualifications for doing so?’