Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘I intend to call on Mr Welling. When I’ve spoken to him, I’ll catch the next train to Sheffield and join you at Doctor Scanlan’s house. One last thing,’ he added. ‘If you can get her to volunteer the information, see what you can learn about Mrs Moyle and her husband. This room is telling me an interesting story. I’d like to know if my instincts about it are sound.’

Humphrey Welling was an affable man in his early fifties with prematurely white hair and a paunch. When he called at the house, Colbeck was given a cordial welcome and ushered into the library. Welling was surprised that a senior detective from Scotland Yard had been summoned to investigate what was simply an unfortunate accident.

‘They happen all the time on the railways,’ he said. ‘I would have thought that it was too starved a subject for your sword, Inspector.’

‘It may well be,’ said Colbeck, noting the quotation from Shakespeare.

‘Have you been in touch with the man’s family?’

‘We called on his wife earlier, sir. Mrs Moyle is now on her way to Sheffield.’

‘Moyle, is it? The fellow didn’t give me his name. To be honest, he was not the most communicative travelling companion. He spent most of the journey with his head buried in a newspaper.’

Welling described what had happened, telling a story that tallied to the last detail with the statement he’d given at the police station. He expressed sympathy at what he assumed was the death of Rufus Moyle.

‘The gentleman is still alive,’ said Colbeck, ‘though he’s in a coma and his life is hanging by a thread. I didn’t want to alarm his wife by telling her that. Mrs Moyle will learn the full truth when she gets to Sheffield.’ He looked at the well-stocked shelves. ‘You’re a reading man, I see.’

‘I’ve only become one since my wife died,’ explained Welling. ‘That’s when I had this room converted into a library. It helps to stave off loneliness.’ He picked up the book on the table beside him. ‘This is what’s engrossing me at the moment. It’s a history of cricket. Do you take an interest in the game, Inspector?’

‘I try to, sir. In fact, I was telling my colleague about the report I read in The Times about Stephenson’s hat trick. It was achieved at Hyde Park in Sheffield.’

‘Yes and I kicked myself that I wasn’t there to witness the feat. I’ve seen Stephenson bat and bowl many times. He’s a born cricketer.’

Having got him on a subject in which they were both interested, Colbeck let him roll on, feeling that he’d discover far more about the man if he learnt about his passions. When there was a lull in the conversation, he shifted its direction.

‘I gather that you’re a director of the Midland Railway.’

‘That’s right, Inspector.’

‘When it first came into existence, why didn’t the NMR, as it was called then, build a direct line to Sheffield?’

‘Ah,’ said Welling, settling back into his chair, ‘that’s a long story.’

Having taken Beatrice Moyle to the house in a cab, Leeming bided his time. Doctor Scanlan gave his prognosis as gently as he could but it nevertheless had a stunning effect on Beatrice. She staggered backwards and would have fallen to the floor if Leeming had not caught her. He lowered her into a chair. It was several minutes before she recovered. When she did so, she insisted on seeing her husband. The doctor took her off into the room where the patient lay and Leeming heard her cry of horror. He waited for a long time before she emerged. The doctor was more or less supporting her. He helped her into a chair where she sobbed into a handkerchief. Scanlan took Leeming aside.

‘The situation is this,’ he whispered. ‘Mr Moyle is very near his end. His wife wanted to stay with him but feels she’d be unequal to the ordeal. She’s already overwrought. There’s a hotel where she’s stayed before. I suggest that you take her there, Sergeant. If there’s any change in his condition, I’ve promised that word will be sent at once — whatever time it might be.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘I’m surprised that he’s held out this long.’

‘I’ll take Mrs Moyle away for a while.’

Overcome with grief, Beatrice took a last look at her husband before leaving. Their cab had been waiting outside so they were able to go straight to a hotel at the heart of the town. When Leeming tried to reserve a room for her, Beatrice insisted that she could manage that. After thanking him for his help, she went slowly upstairs. Leeming walked across to the reception desk and spoke to the duty manager.

‘Take good care of the lady,’ he said. ‘She’s had to bear some terrible news.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘This is not her first visit here, I believe.’

‘No, sir,’ said the man. ‘They’ve stayed here a few times in the last year.’

‘When did you last have Mr and Mrs Moyle as your guests?’

The duty manager raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

When Colbeck left the train at Sheffield, he went quickly into the waiting room and stayed there until all the passengers had got off. Only when everyone had gone past did he take a cab to Scanlan’s house. Leeming had returned but there was no sign of the doctor. He came into the room with a gesture of helplessness.

‘Mr Moyle has passed away,’ he declared. ‘There was nothing I could do.’

‘You did all that was humanly possible,’ said Colbeck.

‘The astonishing thing is that he survived that fall from the train.’

‘I don’t believe that he was meant to, Doctor.’

‘Well,’ said Leeming, ‘I suppose I’d better go to the hotel where Mrs Moyle is staying and … pass on the sad news.’

‘Please do that.’

‘I discovered a strange thing, sir. She and her husband have stayed there before but she reserved the room under a very different name.’

‘That’s only natural,’ said Colbeck, ‘because the man with whom she stayed there was not her husband. I don’t know what alias he used but I’d wager anything that his real name is Humphrey Welling.’

Leeming was astounded. ‘How did you find that out?’

‘I listened and then I looked. Mr Welling is altogether too plausible. He gave me an account of Mr Moyle’s leap from the train as if he’d been rehearsing it from a prepared text. He pretended to be hearing Moyle’s name for the first time when I mentioned it,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘but I saw a light in his eye when I told him that Mrs Moyle was on her way to Sheffield. As a result, he came here as well. My guess is that he will already have joined Mrs Moyle.’

‘Are you sure he’s here, Inspector?’

‘He caught the same train that I did, making certain that I didn’t see him board it. When we got to the station here, however, I lingered in the waiting room so that I could watch them both go by.’

‘Them?’ echoed Scanlan.

‘It was Mr Welling and a servant of his, a broad-shouldered fellow who admitted me to the house. Welling wouldn’t have the strength to overpower another man. Besides, he has a game leg. His servant, however, has the look of someone who’d do anything for which he was paid. In short,’ said Colbeck, ‘there were three of them in that compartment.’

‘Do you have any proof of that, sir?’ asked Leeming. ‘If you confront them, they’ll simply deny it and Mr Moyle is no longer alive to challenge them.’

‘Yes, he is, Victor.’

‘But I’ve just pronounced him dead,’ said Scanlan, confused.

‘ We know that,’ said Colbeck, ‘but they don’t. I think we should bring him back to life like a latter-day Lazarus. The message that the sergeant will take to the hotel is that Mr Moyle has rallied a little and should recover consciousness.’ His smile broadened into a grin. ‘That should produce a result, I fancy.’