Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘Then why didn’t he take more care of it? I always remove my hat before I look out of a window on a train. It saves me a lot of money and inconvenience. Mr Moyle must have known there was a risk of losing the hat.’

‘We all do odd things in some situations, sir.’

‘What was the name of the gentleman who came forward?’

‘He left his business card,’ replied Fox, picking it up from the desk and handing it to Colbeck. ‘He’s a Mr Humphrey Welling, a company director.’

‘He’s rather more than that,’ observed Colbeck when he saw the card. ‘He’s a director of the Midland Railway. Did he have business in the town?’

‘So I would imagine.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He was planning to return home to York this afternoon.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll seek him out,’ said Colbeck. ‘We have to go to there to break the sad news to Mr Moyle’s family. We can call on Mr Welling afterwards.’ He glanced at the card. ‘What manner of man was he?’

‘Oh, he was as proper a gentleman as you could wish to meet,’ answered Fox. ‘His hair was white and he was on the stout side. I had the feeling that Mr Welling looked older than he really was. He was well educated and well spoken. He used a walking stick and seemed to be in some pain when he moved. I just wish that all our witnesses could give such clear statements.’

‘May I see exactly what he said, please?’

Fox opened the desk and took out some sheets of paper before passing them over. Colbeck read the statement with interest. Before the inspector had finished it, Leeming came into the police station. After introducing himself to the duty sergeant, he waited until Colbeck had finished.

‘Have you learnt anything new, sir?’ he asked.

‘I have indeed — what about you?’

‘Mr and Mrs Bignall were well worth the visit.’

‘I suspect that what they told you may be contradicted by what I’ve just read,’ said Colbeck, returning the statement to Fox. ‘It seems as if all roads lead to York. Let’s be on our way, shall we?’

On the train journey north, the first thing that the detectives did was to look for the spot where Moyle had lost his hat. Using the Ordnance Survey map to locate the area, they gazed through the window and noticed how steep the embankment was. The stream below was still gurgling merrily on. As he recounted what the Bignalls had told him, Leeming referred to his notebook. He described them as reliable witnesses and accepted their word without question. When he heard what the police statement had contained, however, the sergeant hoped that it was an accurate one.

‘If what Mr Welling says is true,’ he pointed out, ‘we can declare that it was a tragic accident and go back home to London.’

‘Not so fast, Victor — we need to dig under the surface first.’

‘What do you expect to find?’

‘I have no idea. That’s what makes this case so intriguing.’

‘Mr Moyle’s family is going to have the most dreadful shock.’

‘We can’t even be sure if we’re telling them the truth,’ said Colbeck, sadly. ‘When they hear that he’s been badly injured, he may, in fact, already be dead.’

‘And all because of a top hat,’ sighed Leeming.

‘Never underestimate the importance people attach to certain possessions. Since you never go to the theatre, you’ll be unfamiliar with Shakespeare’s Othello .’

‘Is that the play with the three witches, sir?’

‘No, Victor, it features a man who’s driven to murder his wife because she appears to have given away the handkerchief he pressed upon her as a gift. What if the top hat was a gift from Mrs Moyle?’ continued Colbeck, thoughtfully. ‘That would lend substance to the theory that he felt impelled to go after it.’ He smiled at Leeming. ‘What’s your opinion of Sheffield?’

‘It’s the most awkward place to get to, Inspector.’

‘Yet it’s served by two rival companies — the Midland Railway and the Manchester Sheffield and Lincoln. When they were built, neither of them saw fit to give Sheffield the prominence it patently deserves. It was neglected by the North Midland Railway, as it then was, and had to endure the humiliation of being bypassed. The only way to get there was by a branch line.’

‘What do you think, Inspector?’

‘Oh, I’m certain that Sheffield is going to be a major city one day.’

‘I was asking about this case. Was it an accident or a crime?’

Colbeck pondered. ‘It could be either.’

Rufus Moyle owned a large house in the most desirable part of the city. When the detectives arrived from the station in a cab, they realised that it was possible to see York Minster from the steps leading up to the front door. Leeming rang the bell and the door was opened by a servant. A woman came rushing into the hallway. Her face was a study in anxiety. As soon as Colbeck explained who they were, she gave a visible shudder.

‘Is it about my husband?’ she asked. ‘I expected Rufus home hours ago.’

‘May we come in, please, Mrs Moyle?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

Beatrice Moyle beckoned them in and took them to the drawing room. She was a tall, slender woman ten years or so younger than her husband. Had she not been so distraught, she would have been strikingly beautiful. Colbeck invited her to sit down before he broke the news to her. He and Leeming also took a seat.

‘I’m afraid that your husband was involved in an accident,’ said Colbeck.

‘I knew it,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘I had a premonition.’

‘What sort of premonition, Mrs Moyle?’

‘I just felt that something terrible was going to happen today. I begged Rufus not to go to work but he brushed aside my fears. What happened, Inspector?’

‘Suffice it to say that he was badly injured in a fall. He’s being cared for by a doctor in Sheffield. The accident has left him in a coma.’

‘Dear God!’ she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. ‘I must go to him.’

‘Sergeant Leeming will accompany you.’

‘I’ll pack some things in case I have to stay there.’

‘Do the rest of the family need to be informed?’

‘We have no children, Inspector, and our parents are all dead.’

‘You might find it comforting to have a close friend with you, Mrs Moyle.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, bravely. ‘Please excuse me.’

When she’d left, they had a chance to appraise their surroundings. They were in a large, well-proportioned room with a high ceiling. It was filled with costly and tasteful furniture from a century earlier. Over the mantelpiece was a full-length portrait of Rufus Moyle, a handsome man with long, wavy dark hair. Colbeck felt a pang of envy when he saw the exquisite apparel he was wearing. Leeming was quick to see a faint resemblance.

‘He looks a bit like you, Inspector,’ he remarked.

‘I always think there’s an element of narcissism in having one’s portrait painted,’ said Colbeck, ‘and, happily, that’s something I lack. I’d be much more likely to commission a portrait of Madeleine. She would adorn our home whereas I would feel embarrassed to see myself glaring down from a portrait.’

‘Like you, Mr Moyle has a lovely wife. I wonder why she isn’t hanging over the mantelpiece — or a portrait of both of them, maybe.’

‘We may never know, Victor.’

‘I noticed that you didn’t tell her what had actually happened to him.’

‘Mrs Moyle was clearly worried before we even got here,’ said Colbeck. ‘I didn’t want to distress her even more by telling her that her husband had jumped out of a train. If she presses you for information, don’t give too much away.’

‘Where will you be, sir?’