Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

Madeleine Colbeck had a pleasant surprise when her husband arrived home earlier than she’d expected. Abandoning work in her studio, she hurried downstairs to greet him with a kiss then ushered him into the drawing room.

‘The superintendent has let you leave early for a change,’ she said.

‘He’s quite unaware of what I did, Madeleine, because he hasn’t been at Scotland Yard today. In fact, we’ve seen very little of him since last weekend. It’s meant that Victor and I could get on with our work unimpeded.’

‘Where has Mr Tallis gone?’

‘Nobody seems to know.’

‘A building full of detectives and not one of you has any idea of his whereabouts?’ she teased. ‘What does that say about Scotland Yard?’

‘It says that we don’t question his absence — we simply relish it.’

‘Have you been taking on the superintendent’s mantle again?’

‘No, Madeleine,’ he said with a self-effacing laugh. ‘I learnt my lesson. I already have the job that I covet. Trying to rise higher would be a form of setback.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Robert.’

‘Put bluntly, Edward Tallis is better at the job than I could ever be.’

‘But you’ve just said that he’s deserted his post this week. Why?’

He took her into his arms. ‘It is a mystery, my love.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘And I don’t propose to let it come between me and my dinner.’

Tallis became more and more frustrated. He made such little progress that he began to doubt his abilities as a detective. Time away from Scotland Yard meant that unread reports piled up on his desk. More to the point, requests from the commissioner were ignored. That was unforgivable. When he finally did turn up, he was summoned by the commissioner to explain himself and had to resort to a series of unconvincing white lies. Once he’d survived a withering reprimand, he went to his office and worked hard to clear the accumulated reports and correspondence. He then sent for Robert Colbeck.

When the inspector knocked on his door, Tallis snatched it open and drew him in. Closing the door, he eased his visitor into the middle of the room.

‘I have an important assignment for you, Colbeck.’

‘Would you like me to fetch Sergeant Leeming?’

‘No,’ said Tallis with emphasis. ‘What I have to tell you is for your ears only and I won’t proceed until you give me your word that you will be utterly discreet.’

‘I give it freely, Superintendent.’

‘Thank you — take a seat.’

While Colbeck sat on an upright chair, Tallis went behind his desk, took out a cigar from the box and bit a piece of it off before lighting it. The first few clouds of smoke climbed up to the ceiling.

Colbeck was intrigued. ‘What seems to be the problem, sir?’

‘Don’t you dare have a laugh at my expense,’ warned Tallis.

‘I had no intention of doing so.’

‘Then be quiet and listen.’

Tallis was succinct. He explained his dilemma and made no excuses for lowering his guard in the wake of the funeral. He showed Colbeck the reports of crimes committed by the same man.

‘I felt humiliated,’ he confessed. ‘I am supposed to be leading the fight against crime yet I was a hapless victim of it in a railway carriage. I don’t know how I could be so gullible.’

‘You were in mourning, sir,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘That made you vulnerable. The one person you would not suspect of dissembling was a clergyman.’

‘It was his voice, Inspector. It was so convincing.’

‘Then he might at one time have actually been in holy orders.’

‘No,’ said Tallis. ‘That much is certain. When I foolishly imagined that I could track him down, the first place I went was to Lambeth Palace. They had no record of a Reverend Paul Youngman in the Anglican Church. The man is a fraud.’

‘What else did your researches reveal?’

‘In essence, I discovered that everything he told me was a downright lie. As you can see from those reports, his activities seem to be limited to the south of England. I checked with every railway company operating in the region and not one of them was granting free travel to a self-appointed missionary.’

‘Also, of course,’ said Colbeck, ‘he is not always operating in the guise of a clergyman. In the case near Brighton, he claimed to be a retired bank manager who’d grown rich by making astute investments. As for the excursion train to Portsmouth,’ he continued, glancing at the report, ‘he posed as a jeweller and managed to extract a deposit out of someone for a necklace that never existed.’

‘Yet it’s the same man every time,’ said Tallis. ‘I’m certain of it. In each case, the description of him tallies.’

‘And these are the only instances of fraud that have come to light, sir. There are doubtless other victims who feel too ashamed to come forward and admit what happened.’

‘I’m one of them. I feel so embarrassed that he chanced on me.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that it was entirely a case of chance, sir. A man like that would comb the obituary columns for details of funerals. In the case of the one in Dover, it’s a reasonable supposition that some of those attending would come by train. He waited on the platform for someone in mourning apparel to turn up.’

‘I’m a detective superintendent,’ roared Tallis. ‘Couldn’t he see that?’

‘What he saw was a man in distress, sir. You were defenceless.’

‘Catch him, Colbeck.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘And say nothing of what I’ve told you to Leeming.’

‘All that the sergeant needs to know is that we are after a confidence trickster.’

‘Where will you start?’

Colbeck smiled to himself. ‘I believe that I know just the place.’

As he enjoyed a glass of whisky in his lodging, he ran his eye down the obituary column and used a pencil to circle the details of two funerals in Brighton. Since they were on the same day, he had to choose between them and opted for the one that concerned the death of a former Member of Parliament. It would be an event of some significance with many visitors coming and leaving by train. Grief-stricken and off guard, they would be susceptible to his unique gifts of persuasion. After finishing the whisky with a last gulp, he crossed to the wardrobe and opened the door.

‘I think it’s time for the Reverend Youngman to make another appearance,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Or perhaps I should elevate him. Yes,’ he decided, ‘Paul, former Bishop of Chichester, has a pleasing ring to it. Having retired as a prelate, I’ll garner praise for taking on the humbler duties of a railway missionary.’

Victor Leeming was given a task he enjoyed least, that of travelling on trains to a series of destinations. He went to a number of towns along the south coast, talking to station employees and giving them a description of the man known as the Reverend Youngman. In most cases, he came away empty-handed. Such were the crowds that thronged the platforms, it was impossible to pick out individuals. He had more success at Dover and Brighton. A stationmaster at one and a porter at the other remembered the clergyman clearly. They said that he always carried a valise and travelled first class. Enquiries at police stations in both places yielded no additional information. The confidence trickster was not known to the police either in Dover or Brighton. Yet he was patently in the area. Having established where the man’s primary territory was, Leeming felt able to catch a train back to London.

Colbeck’s search also involved a number of blind alleys. Though the man he sought was reportedly in the capital, it took him the best part of the day to track him down. When he finally did so, he discovered that Nigel Buckmaster was holding a private rehearsal with a beautiful young actress in a room at an exclusive hotel. It was not Colbeck’s business to probe too deeply into the nature of the instruction that she had received but he knew from experience that the actor-manager always mingled work and pleasure in a way that made them indistinguishable.