Andrew Martin - The Last Train to Scarborough

I thought: That's quaint – 'nightcap'.

Fielding's statement continued: At eleven-thirty, I took my boots downstairs to the kitchen for cleaning. Adam Rickerby is generally on hand to clean boots between eleven and midnight. After giving my boots to the boy, I returned to my room, passing Mr Blackburn on the stairs. He was taking his boots down. I said, 'Good night', and he merely grunted by way of reply. I never saw Mr Blackburn again.

I turned over the leaf, and came to the words: 'Adam Rickerby, co-proprietor of Paradise Guest House, saith…' and saw that the lad had been magically given the powers of speech by the Leeds coppers: Mr Blackburn was at all times a quiet gentleman. I noticed he was quiet when he first came into the house, and he continued in that way. Quiet, I mean. I cooked the supper on the evening in question, as I generally do in the winter time. It was a hot supper. Mr Blackburn ate all his food. He went for a drink with Mr Vaughan. These gentlemen came back at I don't know what time. At half past eleven or so I was cleaning the boots in the kitchen, and sitting with my sister. She was reading to me from the papers. I am not educated up to reading. Mr Fielding came in, late on, with his boots. Mr Blackburn came after with his. I cleaned the boots and went to bed. I sleep on the ground floor, in the room that used to be the wash room next to the scullery. I heard nothing in the night. On waking, at half past five, I did my early chores until six-thirty. No-one else was about. I then took Mr Fielding up his boots and early cup of tea. I returned to the kitchen, and collected Mr Blackburn's boots and tea. I took these up to his room with hot water. He was not there.

I turned over the page, and read, 'Theodore Vaughan, resident of Paradise Guest House, saith…And there were two pages for him as against one for everyone else: I found him a pleasant enough chap, rather thoughtful. Over supper, I formed the distinct idea that he was happy with his own company. But it is my custom of a Sunday evening to take a walk; I was putting my cape on in the hall when Mr Blackburn happened to come by. I asked whether he would like to come along with me, and he agreed. In the course of our strolling we passed the Two Mariners, a pleasant public house. I suggested that we take a glass of beer. Again, Mr Blackburn agreed. I can't recall our conversation in detail – something of Scarborough history, something of railways. We were back at the house soon after ten o'clock, less than an hour after our departure. Mr Fielding let us in, since I'd forgotten my key. Mr Blackburn then went up to his room, and I went into the sitting room, where I smoked a cigar and drank some sherry with Mr Fielding. I went up to bed not long after eleven. I believe that Mr Fielding went up later. I occupy the room directly beneath the one used by Mr Blackburn. At first I was busy about my own preparations for sleep and going between my room and the bathroom on the landing opposite, and so was not paying attention to the noises from overhead. I am led to believe that Mr Blackburn carried his boots downstairs before midnight, and there were perhaps some noises that indicated that activity, but I could not say for certain. I was very tired, and fell asleep shortly after.

That statement carried the date '7 November, 1913'

The second sheet was a second statement by Vaughan, dated 9 November: I would like to add to my earlier statement as follows: Having repaired to the public house called the Two Mariners with Mr Blackburn I presented for his inspection certain post cards of a nature rather 'saucy', as some might say. Not to mince words they showed young female persons in various states of what is known as déshabillé…

This was all meant in fun, the statement ran on. Post cards of this sort are commonly seen in the sea-side towns and are by no means – as I understand it – outside the law. I happen to have come by a few cards of this sort having once been in the post card business. They are really just the 'old masters' brought up to date and I will quite often produce them in male company for a bit of a 'laugh' with the boys. However, Mr Blackburn made it clear to me that they were not his 'cup of tea', and so our conversation resumed its earlier course.

This was Vaughan in a corner. The coppers had put the screws on him, having discovered the cards and confronted him over them. I passed the papers over to Nugent, saying, 'Complicated shunting.'

'Eh?'

'Have a read,' I said, handing him the papers.

Who was lying? Was anyone? Vaughan's evidence had been the most interesting. You were limited about what you could say in a police statement; you were only supposed to speak about what you knew, and what might have a bearing on the crime. But Vaughan had tried to throw a bit of doubt on Fielding's evidence… And had he heard any noise from overhead when he was in his room, or not? Also, it was not quite clear whether Amanda Rickerby had been in the kitchen when

Blackburn came down with his boots… But what significance could that have either way?

I drank my beer and looked about the pub. The more booze that went down, the more I was looking forward to going back to Paradise and seeing Amanda Rickerby. I wanted to take her on, one way or another.

'What about those cards?' I asked Tommy after a while. 'Why do you suppose Vaughan showed them to me when he'd already got into bother for showing them to Blackburn?'

'I've an idea about that,' said Tommy.

'Same here,' I said, and as Tommy stopped one of the serving girls and bought us another couple of glasses of ale, I gave him the benefit of my idea:

'I reckon Vaughan showed me the cards for a reason, and it was nothing to do with selling them on to me and making money. He knew he was on the spot. He knew there was suspicion about what had happened as a result of him showing them to Blackburn, who was a very straight bit of goods, remember. Vaughan wanted to make out that he was free and easy with the cards; that he might show them to anyone and nothing would come of it – that it really was all a bit of a laugh.'

(I suddenly recalled Mr Ellis, the old boy who'd sold galoshes, and had just quit the guest house. Vaughan had perhaps held off from showing him the cards on account of his age, and the fact that he was never likely to be interested.)

Tommy Nugent was nodding his head.

'That's it,' he said. 'If the coppers came at him again, he'd be able to say, "I showed this other bloke the cards as well. Why would I do that if it had caused any trouble with the first one?'"

'Right,' I said, stepping aside to let a bloke come by. 'That's exactly…'

Theo Vaughan was standing immediately to my right. He had his cape over his arm, and held a glass of ale half drunk and a cigar half smoked, which meant he'd been in for a while. Cramming the witness statements into my suit-coat pocket, I turned towards him. He gave a start when he saw me, then he grinned and I thought: Either he's a bloody good actor or he's only just this minute clocked me, in which case he would not have heard what I'd said.

He said, 'How do, Jim!'

I introduced Tommy Nugent as my driver and Vaughan shook his hand warmly.

'Where've you been?' I asked him, and he looked at me as if, just for once, I'd been over-familiar instead of him.

'Around and about,' he said. 'Errands,' he added, swaying slightly on his boot heels. 'Meant to tell you about this place, Jim… Pub run entirely by women, and you don't see that often. Decent looking fillies into the bargain,' and he practically winked at us both. 'What about your engine?'

'It isn't quite right,' I said, 'so it looks like I'll be staying another night.'

'Good-o,' he said.

Tommy Nugent didn't know where to look, for of course he'd only just been reading about Vaughan and his very particular line of business. I think it was to cover up his embarrassment that he muttered something about fetching some more beers and wandered off in search of a waitress. I too was feeling rather knocked, so I said, 'I'm just off to the gents, Theo.'