Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘What a clever idea, Colbeck!’ said Tallis.

‘I do have one from time to time, sir.’

Top hats and frock coats would have been an encumbrance in the carriage shed. The detectives had therefore chosen rough garb that allowed freedom of movement. There was poor light during the day. At night the shed was plunged into total darkness. They used a lantern to find their way to the right place then took up their positions nearby. It was several hours before anyone came and they were beginning to think that their vigil had been futile. Then they heard footsteps approaching stealthily and a lantern flashed in the darkness. Someone approached the hiding place and bent down to crawl under the carriage. Retrieving the leather bag, he came out again and stood up with a quiet chuckle. Colbeck spoilt his moment of triumph.

‘Hello,’ he said, letting his lantern spill out its light. ‘We had a feeling that we might see you here tonight. It’s my duty to place you under arrest, sir.’

Shocked for a moment, the man quickly recovered and tried to dart off but he ran straight into Leeming’s shoulder and bounced backward. The sergeant grabbed him and held him tight. Colbeck held the light up to the man’s face.

‘The game is up, sir.’

‘No, no,’ gabbled the other, ‘you don’t understand. I didn’t steal the bag. I stumbled on it earlier today and wanted to claim the reward.’

Colbeck took the bag from him and opened it wide. It was full of ballast.

‘I doubt if you’ll get much in the way of reward for this,’ he said.

It was not until he came back from Scotland Yard the following day that Madeleine learnt the full story. Colbeck explained that the thief was an employee of the company who had stalked the pay clerk for weeks until his opportunity finally came. Ben Grosvenor had now been completely vindicated and restored to his post.

‘When he saw that his ledger was unharmed,’ said Colbeck, ‘he was like a child on Christmas Day. He won’t be robbed again. On my advice, he’s going to fit a chain to the bag and attach it to his belt. The next time someone tries to steal his money, they’ll have to take the pay clerk with it.’

‘I’m so glad that it all worked out well in the end,’ said Madeleine. ‘Estelle was so upset when the boys went running off like that.’

‘Victor has been very strict with them. They won’t do it again, I fancy. But you’ll be interested to know that their little adventure has had an unexpected result.’

‘What’s that, Robert?’

‘They’ve changed their minds,’ replied Colbeck. ‘When they went into that carriage shed, they both wanted to be engine drivers. When they came out, David and Albert were determined to become detectives.’

‘How does Victor feel about that?’

‘He doesn’t know whether to encourage their ambition or do his best to thwart it. I suggested that there was one simple way to test the strength of their resolve.’

‘What’s that?’

Colbeck’s smile blossomed into a grin. ‘Victor could introduce the boys to Superintendent Tallis.’

Friendships forged in battle had the strongest bonds of all. That, at least, was what Edward Tallis believed. When his closest army comrade had committed suicide in Yorkshire, Tallis had been shocked both by his death and by the bizarre circumstances surrounding it. He had led an investigation into the case and been grateful when Colbeck had exposed a startling family secret that explained the gruesome event. As he boarded the train at Dover, Tallis recalled the incident. It was a paradox. Having gone to a funeral on the coast of Kent, he came away thinking about one in Yorkshire. He’d just paid his respects at the grave of his cousin, Raymond Tallis, who’d held a senior position in the port until his retirement. Tallis remembered playing with him when they were boys and enjoying his company. Yet they’d drifted apart as adults and had not seen each other for twenty years or more. Tallis was keenly aware of the fact. He kept asking himself why he felt no real sense of bereavement at the passing of a blood relative yet was still haunted by the death of an old army friend.

Having found an empty first-class compartment, he settled back in his seat. So preoccupied was he that he didn’t hear the door opening and shutting or realise that he now had company. Nor was he aware of the din of departure and the sudden lurch forward. It was only when he felt a consoling hand on his arm that he noticed the man opposite.

‘Please accept my sincere condolences,’ said the stranger.

Tallis blinked. ‘Oh — thank you, sir.’

‘I can see that you’re troubled and won’t intrude further.’

‘No, no, it’s not an intrusion, I assure you.’

‘You are in mourning,’ said the man. ‘I merely wanted to offer a word of comfort.’

‘It is most welcome.’

Tallis’s companion was an elderly clergyman with sparkling eyes set in a wrinkled face and a well-trimmed white beard. His voice was low, melodious and soothing. He exuded kindness and understanding. Tallis’s spirits lifted a little.

‘I’m the Reverend Paul Youngman,’ said the clergyman, smiling benignly, ‘though it’s a misnomer for someone as old as me.’

Tallis shook the hand offered to him. ‘Edward Tallis, at your service.’

‘Dover is an unlovely town. Seaports often are. What took you there?’

‘I attended a funeral.’

‘They can be harrowing events. In the course of my ministry, I’ve had the misfortune to attend hundreds. Grief can eat away at the strongest of us. I’ve seen it destroy some people.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘Was it a family member?’

‘No,’ Tallis heard himself saying. ‘It was a friend from my army days.’

‘I had a feeling you’d served Queen and Country. Military life does tend to leave its mark on a man.’

‘I was proud to wear a uniform — and so was Colonel Tarleton.’

Youngman was impressed. ‘So he was a colonel, no less!’

‘He was an example to us all.’

And before he could stop himself, Tallis began to talk about the respect and affection in which he held his former army colleague. Colonel Aubrey Tarleton was exhumed from his grave in Yorkshire and reburied in Dover in place of a dead cousin. Grief that had lain dormant for years now bubbled up inside him. He at last felt able to let it out. Living quite alone, he’d had nobody with whom he could share his sorrow and had therefore bottled up his emotions. In the presence of the Reverend Youngman, they were uncorked. There was something about the clergyman that enabled Tallis to talk freely and unselfconsciously about the loss of his friend. What he didn’t do, however, was to describe the way in which the colonel had died. A death was a death. Youngman didn’t need to be told that Tarleton had deliberately walked along a railway track so that he could be killed by a train.

It was a lengthy recitation. When Tallis finally stopped, he was overcome by a sense of gratitude. A complete stranger had helped him to pour out his heart and achieve a measure of relief. The pain inflicted by his friend’s death was no longer so sharp.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ he said.

‘All that I did was to listen.’

‘A sympathetic ear was exactly what I needed.’

‘Then I’m glad to be of service,’ said Youngman with a supportive smile. ‘It’s the only ministry I can offer at my age, you see. I’m too old to tend a flock so I look for people who might be helped by what meagre gifts I possess. It was not accident that brought me into this compartment, Mr Tallis. I saw you standing on the platform at Dover in a state of unmistakable anguish.’