Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘Was it so obvious?’

‘It was to me, sir, because I am well acquainted with the signs.’

‘And is this what you do on the railway?’

‘It’s what I endeavour to do,’ replied Youngman. ‘You might call it my mission in life. Since my wife died, I’ve been liberated from domestic concerns so I can dedicate myself to the service of people I encounter on trains. It’s not just those in mourning who catch my attention. Sometimes I give help of a more practical nature. When a woman is travelling with more children than she can easily control, I lighten her load by diverting and entertaining them. Then again, I do offer medical help of sorts. Unlike our Lord Jesus,’ he went on, modestly, ‘I’m no miracle worker but I do know how to stem the bleeding on a wound or put salve on a bruise.’ He tapped the valise by his side. ‘I always carry bandages, ointments and a small bottle of brandy. May I offer you a tot, Mr Tallis?’

‘No, thank you.’ Tallis raised a hand. ‘You provide a comprehensive service,’ he said, admiringly. ‘I wonder that you can afford to travel so often by train. If you do so a great deal, you must incur appreciable costs.’

‘I do, Mr Tallis. Fortunately, one or two railway companies have recognised the value of my work and allowed me to travel on their lines without charge. Also, passengers I’ve been able to help have contributed to my mission. No, no,’ he protested as Tallis reached for his wallet. ‘That was not a plea for money. My service is free to all. You are under no obligation whatsoever.’

‘Even missionaries must eat.’

‘Unhappily, that’s true.’

‘Go on,’ urged Tallis, offering him a five-pound note. ‘Take it.’

‘Your generosity is overwhelming.’

‘I could never repay what you did for me, Reverend.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Youngman, taking the money. ‘This will buy me a lot of train tickets to continue my ministry on the railways of England.’ He looked up as the train began to slow. ‘Ah, this must be Ashford station. I’m getting off here to visit the former archdeacon of my diocese. Because he’s crippled with arthritis, he’s largely immobile but he does help to fund my work.’

‘I wish you every success,’ said Tallis, shaking his hand again.

‘Bless you!’

The train slowed to a halt as it came into the station and Youngman got out. Tallis was amazed at how much better he felt after the conversation. The missionary had not only softened his pain, he’d left him much more reconciled to the death of his friend. Five pounds, Tallis felt, had bought him a peace of mind that was priceless.

There was no peace of mind for Robert Colbeck. During the two days that Tallis was away in Kent, the inspector had become acting superintendent. There had been times in the past when Colbeck had been ambitious enough to want a promotion but having finally achieved it — albeit for a short time — he realised that it gave him nothing like the satisfaction of being closely involved in the hunt for criminals. He was fettered to a desk in the superintendent’s office, filtering reports, issuing orders, monitoring investigations already in motion and answering directly to the commissioner. Increased power bought greater responsibility and cut him off from the relative freedom he enjoyed as an inspector. After one hour as a superintendent, his respect for Tallis had shot up.

Victor Leeming had a parallel experience because he was temporarily the replacement for Colbeck as inspector. Contented as a sergeant, he felt hopelessly at sea when taking charge of an investigation. When he had a free moment, he seized the opportunity for a meeting with Colbeck.

‘I was never destined to be an inspector, sir,’ he admitted.

‘You may well be promoted one day, Victor.’

‘I know my limitations.’

‘They can’t be any worse than mine,’ said Colbeck. ‘A different case comes through that door every twenty minutes or so and I have to separate the wheat from the chaff. How the superintendent copes with the pressure of work, I can only guess. He must have the most remarkable constitution.’

‘I don’t think it can compare with yours, Inspector. Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ said Leeming, quickly. ‘You’re a superintendent now.’

Colbeck’s laugh was mirthless. ‘I feel more comfortable as an inspector.’

‘And — if truth be told — I feel better as a sergeant.’

‘This charade will not continue for much longer.’

In fact, it was already over. Tallis had returned to Scotland Yard, made the commissioner aware of his presence then headed for his office. When he opened the door, he was annoyed to see Leeming loitering there and Colbeck seated behind his desk. The familiar rasping tone came into his voice.

‘What the devil are you doing in here?’ he demanded.

‘I was just going, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Then go!’

‘We are glad to see you back, Superintendent.’

‘Well, I’m not glad to see you masquerading as an inspector when you are so ill-fitted for the post. Now get out and return to a rank more suited to your scant abilities as a detective.’ Leeming fled and closed the door behind him. ‘The same goes for you, Colbeck.’

‘You are unfair on the sergeant, sir,’ said Colbeck, vacating the chair, ‘and, by the same token, I was unfair to you. I underrated the amount of work you are forced to do and can only admire the skill with which you habitually do it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Tallis, savouring the compliment.

‘Your return has brought nothing but relief to the sergeant and me.’

‘I had a feeling that you’d bitten off more than you could chew.’

‘The promotion was not sought, Superintendent.’

‘Nor was it deserved in my view,’ said Tallis, airily. ‘What were you doing before you tried to replace me?’

‘I was leading the investigation into that forgery.’

‘Then please wrest control of it from Leeming. If he’s in charge, we’d have to wait until Christmas for an arrest.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, sir,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘Victor has already made two arrests in connection with the case. By the end of the week, he and I will have brought the investigation to a conclusion.’ He opened the door then turned round. ‘Welcome back, Superintendent.’

It was ten days before the first report came in. Tallis hardly looked at it, feeling that it was too trivial a matter for the Detective Department. When there were major crimes in the capital, he could not deploy men to look into an alleged fraud committed on a train near Brighton. The second report was also ignored. If someone was foolish enough to be taken in by a confidence trickster on an excursion train to Portsmouth, it was their own fault. Tallis had far more important matters to occupy his time. It was the third report that made him sit up. Someone complained that he had been inveigled into giving money to a retired clergyman for a project that turned out to be a fake.

Tallis refused to believe that it could have been the Reverend Paul Youngman. That man had glowed with sincerity. Attuned to pick out criminals, Tallis had heard no warning bells during his time on the train from Dover. Another person, posing as a clergyman, must have been responsible for the crime. Youngman was above reproach and he remained so until someone filed a complaint that actually named the old clergyman who’d talked him into contributing to a restoration fund for the tower at a church which — on investigation — turned out never to have existed.

There was no denying the fact. Tallis had been the victim of deceit. The five pounds he handed over suddenly seemed like five hundred pounds and he felt robbed. The Reverend Paul Youngman’s mission was to line his own pockets under the guise of helping others. It pushed Tallis’s blood close to boiling point. Though his instinct was to send his detectives in search of the man, he feared that it would expose him to scorn. Of all people, a detective superintendent should not have been taken in by a plausible rogue in a dog collar. He could imagine the sniggers he’d have to endure. There was only one way to appease his fury and that was to pursue the man himself. Tallis was determined. His mission was to catch the bogus missionary.