Edward Marston - The Silver Locomotive mystery

'It is,' said Stockdale, enviously. 'It cost far more than any of us lesser mortals could ever afford.' They reached a landing and he led them down a long passageway. 'A guest was passing the room when she heard what sounded like a muffled cry for help. She alerted the manager and, to his credit, he came up here at once. There was no response when he knocked on the door so he used a master key to open it and made the discovery.'

At the end of the passageway, they turned a corner and saw a uniformed policeman standing outside the first room on the left. At the sight of his superior, he immediately straightened up and gave a deferential salute. Producing a key from his pocket, Stockdale flicked a hand to move his colleague aside.

'Almost nothing has been touched, Inspector,' he said. 'I remembered what you once told me about the scene of a crime. Important clues could be lost if people trampled all over it or, in the case of a murder, if the body was moved before it had been properly examined.'

'We're very grateful to you,' said Colbeck.

Stockdale unlocked the door. 'What you're about to see,' he told them with a grim smile, 'is exactly what the manager saw – though unlike Mr Pugh, you will not have an attack of hysteria.'

The door swung open and they stepped into the room. Colbeck and Leeming surveyed the scene. The corpse lay on its back on the rumpled bed. He was wearing a shirt that was partly unbuttoned, an open waistcoat, a pair of trousers and some stockings. His shoes were on the floor beside the bed and his coat and cravat over a chair. His bowler hat stood on a small table in front of which was an empty leather bag. There was bruising on the victim's face and dried blood on his forehead from a scalp wound. What made Leeming catch his breath was that the man's mouth and chin were disfigured as if they had been badly scalded.

'Some kind of acid was used,' explained Stockdale. 'The killer poured it down his throat. Some of it spilt on his face.'

Colbeck walked around the bed so that he could view the body from a different angle. He bent close to scrutinise it. Then he crossed to the open window and looked out. His gaze shifted to the coat.

'What did you find in that?' he asked.

'Very little,' replied Stockdale. 'It looks to me as if his wallet was stolen along with the coffee pot. All that remained were the things you see on the dressing table – an invoice from his employer, a second class ticket to Paddington and a business card.'

Colbeck went over to pick up the card. 'Nigel Buckmaster,' he read aloud. 'Now there's a name I know well.'

'I've never heard of the man,' said Leeming.

'That's because you never go to the theatre, Victor.'

'How can I on my wage, Inspector? I have a family to feed.'

'Mr Buckmaster is an actor-manager. He has his own company of strolling players. I saw him give a masterly performance as Othello on one occasion.' His eyes moved to the corpse. 'How on earth did his card come to be in the victim's pocket?'

'I can tell you that,' said Stockdale, keen to show that he had not been idle. 'Buckmaster's Players arrived today to spend a week at the Theatre Royal. It appears that Mr Buckmaster and his leading lady, Miss Linnane, shared a compartment with Mr Kellow on the train. They were horrified to hear what happened to him. It was they who confirmed his name. What surprised them was that he came to the hotel. He told them that he was travelling back to London as soon as he had delivered the coffee pot.'

'Perhaps he was due to hand it over to its new owner right here,' suggested Leeming.

'No, Sergeant. He was supposed to take it to the house.'

'What house?

'The one belonging to Mr and Mrs Tomkins,' said Stockdale, 'though it's more like a small palace than a house. Only someone like Clifford Tomkins could afford to buy an expensive coffee pot like that. He made his fortune in Merthyr as an ironmaster then had a mansion built in Cardiff. The coffee pot was a gift to his wife.'

'Let's go back to Mr Buckmaster,' said Colbeck. 'If he travelled all the way here in the company of Mr Kellow, he might have picked up some useful intelligence. I'll need to speak to him.'

'Then you won't have far to go. He and Miss Linnane are staying at the hotel.' Stockdale smirked knowingly. 'They have separate rooms but my guess is that only one of the beds will be used.'

'I don't hold with that sort of thing,' said Leeming, bluntly.

'There's no law against it, Sergeant.'

'Sometimes I think there should be.'

Stockdale laughed. 'Then I'd have to lock up half the town.'

'The superintendent is right,' said Colbeck. 'One cannot legislate against certain things. One has to live and let live – even though the consequences may be fatal, as in this case.'

Leeming was puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

'Tell me what you see in here, Victor.'

'I see what we all see. The murder victim was battered then acid was poured down his throat. What surprises me is that Mr Kellow didn't put up more of a fight. He looks like a healthy young man yet there's no real sign of a struggle.'

'That's what troubled me,' admitted Stockdale. 'He must have been surprised. I know that he was supposed to be returning to London today but this room was, in fact, reserved in his name. My theory is that Mr Kellow came in here to rest, took off his hat, coat and shoes then lay down on the bed. Someone caught him off guard. Once he murdered his victim, the killer took everything of value and escaped through the window.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, 'I noticed how easy it would have been to climb on the roof of that shed below. It could well have been a means of escape. But,' he added, crossing to kneel beside the bed, 'there's another explanation that occurs to me.' He peeled back the cuffs of the dead man's shirt. 'It's just as I thought. He was tied up. You can still see the marks of the rope on his wrists.'

Stockdale was upset. 'I should have noticed that myself.'

'You were only looking for things that fitted your theory.'

Leeming scratched his head. 'The killer must have been a strong man,' he noted, 'if he could overpower and tie up his victim. Why didn't Mr Kellow scream his head off? That's what I'd have done in the circumstances.'

'I very much doubt it, Victor,' observed Colbeck with a smile. 'You would never have been in those circumstances. Your wedding ring would have saved you from illicit sexual contact. What I believe may have happened is this,' he went on, thinking it through. 'Mr Kellow is a young man with a day off in a strange town. He was probably lured in here by a woman who persuaded him to let her tie him up so that she could tease him to heighten his pleasure.' Leeming was shocked. 'Once she had him in that condition, either she or a male accomplice took full advantage of him.'

'That's disgusting!' protested Leeming.

'It happens all the time in Butetown,' said Stockdale, wearily. 'Foreign sailors come streaming off their ships after months at sea and run straight to the arms of the nearest whore. After a drunken night of passion, they wake up to find they've been robbed of every penny. The only difference here is that poor Mr Kellow will never wake up.'

'A trap was set,' concluded Colbeck. 'That's why I incline to the notion that there were two of them. They knew when Mr Kellow was coming to Cardiff and what he would be carrying. He simply had to be enticed away from his errand. This room was booked by a man, giving his name as Hugh Kellow. When his female accomplice had rendered their victim helpless, he committed the murder and they fled.' He turned to Stockdale. 'The body can be moved now, Superintendent. I'll want an autopsy.'

'Of course, Inspector,' said Stockdale.

'I'll need to speak to the manager then I'd like some time with Mr Buckmaster and Miss Linnane. They must have talked at length to Mr Kellow.'