Edward Marston - The Silver Locomotive mystery

Colbeck sought to cheer up his jaded companion.

'There are consolations,' he argued. 'For a start, we'll be out of reach of Superintendent Tallis for a while.'

'That's always a bonus,' agreed Leeming. 'He's been very liverish these past few weeks.'

'It's understandable – there have been far too many crimes and far too few convictions. The superintendent expects us to catch every single law-breaker and put him or her behind bars. We both know that it's an impossible demand.'

'If he wants us patrolling the streets of London, why is he letting us charge off across the Welsh border?'

'I think that vanity comes into it, Victor,' decided Colbeck. 'The fact that we've been sought by name indicates that the reputation of the Detective Department has spread far and wide. That feeds his self-importance. In that uninhabitable waste land known as his heart, I fancy that he rather likes the notion of despatching his men to solve crimes in different parts of the country – as long as we are quick about it, naturally.'

'It can't be quick enough for me this time.'

'There's no call for alarm. Estelle and the children will survive without you for a night or two.'

'That's not what irks me, Inspector,' confided Leeming. 'My worry is that I won't be able to survive without them.'

The brisk clip-clop of the horse changed to a slow tap-tap of hooves as the driver pulled on the reins. The cab soon stopped and the two men got out. Colbeck paid the fare then led his companion into the maelstrom that was Paddington Station on a busy afternoon. Over the tumult, he called out to Leeming.

'Then there's the other consolation, Victor.'

'Is there, sir?'

'When we get to Cardiff, we'll meet an old friend.'

'Oh – and who might that be?'

'Jeremiah Stockdale.'

Leeming brightened instantly. 'Now that is a consolation.'

And for the first time in his life, he stepped into a railway carriage with something resembling a smile on his face.

Archelaus Pugh had many virtues but he was not a man for a crisis. As the manager of the Railway Hotel in Cardiff, he was unfailingly efficient. Faced with everyday problems – awkward guests, mistakes over reservations, indolence among his staff – he was calm, patient and decisive. Confronted with a dead body in one of his rooms, however, Pugh swiftly deteriorated. Sweat broke out on his corrugated brow, his eyes darted uncontrollably and his clothing was suddenly too tight for him. He was a short, neat man in his forties with a crisp and authoritative voice that had now become a baleful croak.

'You can't leave him there, Superintendent,' he wailed.

'I can do and I will do, Mr Pugh,' said Jeremiah Stockdale.

'Think what it looks like. If a policeman stands outside that room all day, it will frighten my other guests.'

'It's more likely to reassure them, sir. And it also prevents any of them from stumbling into the room by mistake. Think how horrified they'd be if that happened.'

Pugh tried to assert himself. 'I have a hotel to run.'

'And I have a crime to solve,' retorted Stockdale, looming over him. 'That takes precedence over everything.'

'Can't you at least move the corpse out of here?'

'No, Mr Pugh.'

'Why ever not – it's the most dreadful advertisement for us.'

'My sympathies are with the victim. He stays where he is until Inspector Colbeck arrives from London. I want him to see exactly what we found when we went into that room.'

Stockdale was adamant. He was a big, brawny, bluff individual in his forties with a thick, dark moustache and a fringe beard. English by birth, he had had a brief military career as a mercenary in Spain before being invalided home. Recovering from his wounds, he had joined the recently formed Metropolitan Police Force. As a result of the training and experience acquired on the dangerous streets of London, he had secured, when only twenty-four, the post of Superintendent of the Cardiff Borough Police. That made him, in effect, the town's Chief Constable. For almost two decades, he had been a very successful law-enforcement officer in spite of an inadequate budget, limited manpower and the constant criticism of the Watch Committee.

It was pointless to argue with Jeremiah Box Stockdale. He was his own man. He did not suffer fools gladly or bend to the wishes of panic-stricken hotel managers. Archelaus Pugh could bleat at him all day but it was a futile exercise. The corpse would stay where it was and the policeman would remain on guard.

They were in the foyer of the hotel and guests who went past viewed the superintendent with a curiosity liberally tinged with fear. The imposing figure was dressed in a uniform of his own devising – a dark blue tunic and trousers trimmed with red cord, a peaked cap and a sword belt from his army days. Pugh was invisible beside him.

'When will the inspector get here?' asked the manager.

'I'm sure that he will have caught the first available train,' said Stockdale, 'and I'm equally sure that he'll be bringing Sergeant Leeming with him. You should be grateful to have two men of their ability coming here, Mr Pugh.'

'The only time I'll feel the slightest impulse of gratitude is when they carry that dead body out of here and remove the stain of murder.'

'Don't you want this crime solved?'

'Of course, I do, but my concern is for the other guests.'

'Suspicion comes before concern,' said the policeman, darkly. 'Did it never occur to you that the killer is likely to be someone who is staying under this roof?' Pugh gulped and took an involuntary step backwards. 'He might be going about his business as if nothing had ever happened. In other words, Mr Pugh, somewhere among those guests about whom you are so concerned may be the self-same villain who committed this foul crime.'

Pugh was aghast. 'The killer is still here?'

'It's something I am bound to consider.'

Leaving the manager to digest this devastating possibility, Stockdale broke away from him and marched over to welcome the two men who were coming in through the door. Colbeck and Leeming had walked the short distance from the railway station. They were pleased to see their old friend. There was an exchange of greetings and warm handshakes. The mutual respect between the three men was evident. Stockdale introduced them to the manager but Pugh was less than impressed. Expecting policemen in uniform, he was instead looking at what he perceived as a dandy and a pugilist.

'When will you move the body, Inspector?' demanded Pugh.

'When it is time to do so,' snapped Stockdale, quelling him with a glare. 'Meanwhile, I suggest that you move your own body out of the way so that we can go upstairs. I'm sure that Inspector Colbeck will want to speak to you later.'

'I will, indeed, sir,' said Colbeck, turning politely to Pugh. 'I'm sorry for the disruption this must have caused. I can understand your anxiety. It's possible that Sergeant Leeming and I may have to stay in the town for a while. I take it that you have a room available?'

'It's already booked in your name,' said Stockdale.

'Thank you, Superintendent.'

'Here,' he continued, relieving them of their valises and handing them to the manager. 'Do something useful and have these sent up to their room.' He beamed at the others. 'Follow me, gentlemen.'

As the detectives ascended the carpeted staircase, Stockdale provided them with preliminary details.

'The victim is a young silversmith from London. His name was Hugh Kellow and he worked for a Mr Leonard Voke of Wood Street. He came here to deliver an item – the invoice was in his pocket – and it's been stolen. Robbery was clearly the motive for the murder.'

'What was the item?' asked Leeming.

'It was a silver coffee pot in the shape of a locomotive.'

Colbeck was fascinated. 'Then it must be very valuable.'