Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘Anyway,’ concluded Colbeck, ‘that’s how the notion of a hat trick emerged into the light of day. I fancy that the expression will stick. The fact that it was coined in the very place we’re visiting is a pleasing coincidence.’

‘It doesn’t please me,’ murmured Leeming.

Alaric and Liza Bignall were practical. When they’d got over the initial shock, they established that the man was still alive though knocked unconscious. From the unnatural angle at which he lay, they realised that one of his legs had been broken. They pulled him carefully out of the water. Since the head wound was the major concern, Liza tore a strip off her petticoat to use as a bandage. Leaving his wife to look after the man, Bignall had run off to summon help. He later returned in a horse and cart driven by a farmer. While the two men lifted the patient gently onto the cart, Liza retrieved his top hat and set it down beside him. The farmer had driven them to the home of a doctor who lived on the very edge of Sheffield and it was there that the detectives made the acquaintance of James Scanlan, a portly man in his late fifties with heavy jowls and watery eyes.

‘He’s still in a coma,’ Scanlan explained, ‘and is very unlikely ever to come out of it. To be quite frank, he already has one foot in the grave. I’ve put splints on a broken leg but it’s the internal injuries that are the real threat.’

‘Shouldn’t he be moved to an infirmary?’ said Leeming.

‘There’s no point. He’d probably die on the way there. The journey here all but killed him. I can make his last few hours alive as dignified as possible.’

‘What do we know about him?’ asked Colbeck.

‘This may help you, Inspector.’

Scanlan handed over the injured man’s wallet and Colbeck examined the contents. There were several five-pound notes inside and a first-class return ticket to Sheffield but the most useful item was a business card, identifying him as Rufus Moyle, a solicitor from York.

‘He was brought here by a farmer who’s one of my patients,’ said Scanlan, ‘but he was actually found by a young man and his wife. Their prompt action probably saved his life — for a time at least.’

‘Do you have their names and address?’

‘I do, Inspector. I imagined that you’d wish to speak to them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, taking the sheet of paper that was offered to him. After a glance at the address, he handed the paper to Leeming. ‘There you are, Sergeant. Take the cab and see what Mr and Mrs Bignall have to say.’

‘Yes, sir — where shall we meet?’

‘I’ll see you at the police station.’

When Leeming had gone, Colbeck was conducted into a room at the rear of the house. Stripped of most of his clothing, Rufus Moyle lay on a bed with a sheet over his body. Heavy bandaging encircled his head and his face was bruised. He was a tall, slim man in his fifties. His elegant frock coat had been ripped apart, his trousers were covered in dirt and his shoes were badly scuffed. At a glance, Colbeck could see that the top hat, though soiled, was of the finest quality. Clearly, Rufus Moyle was something of a dandy.

Eyes closed tight, the patient hardly seemed to be breathing.

‘He was obviously a successful man,’ decided Colbeck. ‘He can afford an excellent tailor. In the course of my work, I’ve dealt with many solicitors. They are usually sharp-witted gentlemen. They’re highly unlikely to plunge out of a moving train in pursuit of a hat.’

‘Could it have been a suicide attempt, Inspector?’

‘I doubt that very much. Had that been his intention, Mr Moyle would have left nothing to chance and — as you can see — he survived. There are much quicker and more foolproof ways of killing oneself. Also, of course, he’d bought a return ticket. Nobody would spend money on a journey they never intended to make.’

He searched the pockets of the coat, waistcoat and trousers but found nothing apart from a handkerchief and an enamelled snuffbox.

‘His family needs to be informed as soon as possible,’ he said, considerately. ‘Sergeant Leeming has taken our cab. Could I prevail upon you to get me to the police station somehow?’

‘One of my servants will drive you there in the trap.’

‘Thank you.’ Colbeck glanced down at the patient. ‘I hope to find him still alive when we get back here.’

Doctor Scanlan shrugged. ‘That’s in God’s hands, Inspector.’

Alaric and Liza Bignall were both at home when Leeming arrived. The cobbler’s shop where Bignall worked was closed for renovation so he’d brought some of the boots and shoes in need of repair back to the house. He was hammering away in the garden shed when the visitor called. Liza called him into the house and introduced him to the sergeant. Bignall was impressed.

‘You’ve come all the way from Scotland Yard because someone jumped out of a train?’ he said in amazement.

‘There may be more to it than that, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘What I need you and your wife to do is to tell me what exactly happened and where you were at the time. I’ve brought this so that you can give me a precise location.’

Producing an Ordnance Survey map from his pocket, he opened it out and set it on the table. Husband and wife pored over it. After a while, Bignall jabbed his finger at a spot on the map but Liza felt that it was slightly further to the left. When they’d reached a compromise, Leeming marked the place with a pencil that he then used to make notes. Bignall recalled the events of the morning and his wife either confirmed or amended the details.

‘You are to be congratulated,’ said Leeming when the joint recitation ended. ‘You did the right thing in a difficult situation. Let me come back to something you said, sir,’ he went on, referring to his notebook. ‘According to you, the man dived from the train? Is that correct?’

‘Yes, it is,’ replied Bignall.

‘Are you certain that he didn’t jump?’

‘I am, Sergeant. My wife will confirm it.’

‘The man dived out headfirst,’ she said. ‘We both saw him.’

Leeming’s interest in the case quickened. Ready to dismiss what occurred as an act of folly on the part of Rufus Moyle, he was now forced to confront the possibility that a crime had taken place. Someone in pursuit of a hat would surely jump from a train and land on his feet before tumbling down the embankment. A man who dived might well have been pushed from behind.

‘I hope that we’ve been helpful,’ said Bignall.

‘You’ve been very helpful indeed, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘This case is not as trivial as I first thought. I’m grateful to both of you.’

As soon as he saw the return ticket in the injured man’s wallet, Colbeck felt certain that Moyle had somehow been ejected from the train. Other passengers might have seen him careering down the embankment but they couldn’t be sure from which compartment he’d been shoved out and the person responsible would hardly admit what he had done. The accident had been reported at Sheffield station and a telegraph was sent to the headquarters of the railway company. They, in turn, fearing foul play, had contacted Scotland Yard. Colbeck knew that the anonymous attacker could be hundreds of miles away. The case might never be solved.

Dropped off at the police station, he thanked the driver of the trap and went into the building. His assumptions were immediately challenged.

‘We know who was in the same compartment with him, Inspector,’ said the duty sergeant, Will Fox, ‘because he was kind enough to come here and report the accident.’

Colbeck was surprised. ‘Did he claim it was an accident ?’

‘Oh, yes. There were only two of them in the compartment, apparently, and they were strangers to each other. A few miles outside Sheffield, one of them peeped out of the open window and his hat blew off. On impulse,’ said Fox, ‘he opened the door and went after it. He was well dressed, I’m told, and he obviously cherished the top hat.’