Mystery at the Station Hotel E-Book

Edward Marston

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Railway Detective
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 411

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Shrewsbury, 1866. At the Station Hotel, staff struggle in vain to rouse Mr Julian Lockyer who requested an early wake-up call to catch a train. When they force open the door, they are horrified to discover a bloodied corpse in the bed, a knife still in the dead man's hand. Inspector Robert Colbeck, the Railway Detective, is dispatched to investigate and soon begins to question whether this is really a case of suicide. For why would a man reaching the pinnacle of his career, about to be named the Chairman of the Great Western Railway, choose to take his own life? And why was his trip to Shrewsbury a secret from his family? Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming must probe deeply into Lockyer's life and lies to find the answers and to catch the killer.

Leseprobe

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PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON

‘A master storyteller’

Daily Mail

‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’

Time Out

‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’

Sunday Telegraph

‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’

Historical Novels Review

‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’

The Guardian

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MYSTERY AT THE STATION HOTEL

EDWARD MARSTON6

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE CHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENABOUT THE AUTHORBY EDWARD MARSTON COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

Shropshire, 1866

Days began early for Molly Burrage. As owner of the Station Hotel in Shrewsbury, she had to get up at the crack of dawn to unlock the front door so that staff members who lived elsewhere could get in, then she worked through the long list of jobs she had compiled the previous night. Molly was tireless. A stout, bustling, grey-haired widow in her fifties, she was alert, industrious and always smartly dressed. In every way, she set a standard that her employees struggled to match. None of them had her energy and sense of commitment. Nor did they have her natural air of authority.

When she heard the front door open and shut, she did not need to see the newcomer. Molly identified the miscreant at once.

‘You’re half an hour late, Annie,’ she snapped.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Burrage. What happened was this …’ 8

‘Don’t even try to give me one of your excuses. I know them off by heart. There’s a penalty for lateness,’ said Molly, coming into the corridor to confront the young woman. ‘I’ll take it off your wages.’

‘That’s unfair!’ cried Annie.

‘It’s the rules.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’

‘Well, now that you’re finally here, make yourself useful. The gentleman in number five asked for an early call because he has a train to catch. Knock on his door and be sure to wait until you hear Mr Lockyer wake up.’

‘Yes, Mrs Burrage.’

‘Well, don’t stand there gawping,’ said Molly. ‘Do what I told you.’

‘I will,’ said the other, heading for the stairs.

Annie Garrow was tall, slim, and gangly with a shock of red hair and a freckled face. Now sixteen, she had been overjoyed to land a job at the Station Hotel. The quick turnover of guests meant that she got to meet a whole range of people. Whenever at work, she was conscientious and willing. Her only fault was her bad timekeeping. Given an order, she sought to impress her employer by rushing upstairs to the first floor and trotting to the designated room. Annie rapped on the door with her knuckles. When there was no sound from within, she knocked even harder but there was still no response. She therefore resorted to pounding on the door with her fists. Even if he were fast asleep, the guest was bound to be roused.

Yet she still could not hear any noise from inside the room. It was not the first time it had happened to her. On two previous occasions when she had been told to wake guests up, she had been 9met by stony silence. In both cases, the gentlemen involved were in a drunken stupor. A brass band playing only feet away could not have woken them up. Had the same thing happened to her again? Annie ran back downstairs to report to her employer.

‘I couldn’t wake the gentleman up, Mrs Burrage,’ she said.

‘Then you didn’t try hard enough, girl. Mr Lockyer was most insistent. He needs to catch a particular train, and our job is to make sure that he is at the station on time. I’ll show you how to wake someone up,’ she went on, heading for the stairs with Annie trotting behind her. ‘You must be firm. Men of Mr Lockyer’s age often have poor hearing. Make allowance for that.’

‘I used both fists,’ wailed Annie.

‘Shut up, girl – and watch me.’

When she reached the room in question, Molly knocked on the door. Eliciting no response from within, she kicked the door hard with her foot a couple of times. Once again, the noise failed to wake up their guest. Seeing the exasperation coming into Molly’s face, Annie had the sense to hold her tongue. She watched as the other woman pulled out a key from her pocket and thrust it into the lock. After turning it sharply, Molly tried to open the door, but it would not budge.

‘He’s bolted himself in,’ she complained.

‘Then we’ll just have to leave him be,’ said Annie.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, girl! If a guest makes a request, we must obey him. Go and fetch Mr Harris and be quick about it!’

‘Yes, Mrs Burrage.’

Turning on her heel, Annie raced off downstairs and went into the bar. In less than a minute, she returned with the bulky figure of Wilfred Harris, the resident barman, who had worked at the hotel for years and was used to coping with emergencies. Annie 10was chattering in his ear. Molly snapped her fingers to shut the girl up then turned to the barman.

‘I need to get inside this room, Wilf. It’s bolted so there’s only one way to open it.’

‘Stand back,’ he said, grasping the knob and twisting it.

After testing the door with his shoulder, he drew himself back then smashed into it with full force. The bolt flew off immediately and the door swung open. Since the curtains were closed, the room was in shadow. Someone was alone in the bed, apparently asleep. Molly went into the room and pulled back the curtains before crossing to the bed and shaking the guest’s shoulder. Julian Lockyer did not respond. When she shook him again, Molly dislodged the bedsheet from his neck and exposed an ugly red wound that stretched from ear to ear. His bare chest was covered with blood.

Harris moved forward to take over, pulling back the bedclothes completely to reveal the fat, ugly, naked body of their guest. Both wrists had been slashed open. Lying beside the man’s right hand was a blood-stained knife. Molly was aghast and Annie was retching uncontrollably. Mouth agape, Harris was the first to offer an opinion.

‘The poor bugger’s gone and killed himself!’

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CHAPTER TWO

Superintendent Edward Tallis was known at Scotland Yard for his swift response to a summons. As soon as he read the telegraph, he sent for Robert Colbeck. Within a minute, the inspector was standing in front of his superior’s desk.

‘Where is it this time, sir?’ he asked.

‘Shrewsbury. You’ve been asked for by name.’

‘I’ll do my best to justify their faith in me.’

‘On reflection,’ said Tallis, handing him the telegraph, ‘you may not need to go there. If it’s simply a case of suicide in a railway hotel, I think that the local police can easily deal with it.’

‘Then why did they contact us?’ said Colbeck, reading the telegraph.

‘They didn’t. As you can see, the request came from the 12stationmaster. The deceased held a position of some importance in the Great Western Railway.’

‘I know, sir. Julian Lockyer is a name that I recognise.’

Tallis was surprised. ‘Really?’

‘He is on the board of directors and is – or was – more than likely to become its next chairman. In other words, he had a very good reason to stay alive. Would a man about to secure a position he has coveted even think about taking his own life?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then I have good reason to go to Shrewsbury to investigate.’ He handed the telegraph back to the superintendent. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir …’

‘One moment,’ said Tallis. ‘Before you dash off, would it not be sensible to contact the Borough Constabulary? They will tell you if your journey is necessary.’

‘In their eyes, it is not. But for the action of the stationmaster, I would be unaware of what happened in the town. The Shropshire Constabulary and the Borough Constabulary are both based in Shrewsbury. Neither of them feels the need for our assistance. It means that we will be seen as interlopers.’ Colbeck smiled. ‘It’s not the first time we’ll have a frosty reception.’

Edward Tallis sat back in his chair and studied the telegraph once more. He inhaled deeply through his nose then looked up at Colbeck. ‘What is going on up there in Shrewsbury?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘I’m very tempted to come with you.’

‘That would be foolish, sir,’ said Colbeck quickly. ‘Your place is here. A captain must not desert his ship.’

‘It’s the commissioner who is on the bridge at Scotland Yard.’

‘Yes, but he has you at his side because he relies so heavily on 13your advice. Leave this assignment to me and Sergeant Leeming. We’ll be in touch from Shrewsbury as soon as we can.’ Colbeck headed for the door. ‘I don’t know why but I have a feeling that it’s going to be an interesting case to work on. Goodbye, sir.’

And before Tallis could say another word, Colbeck had left the room.

The three of them were sitting nervously in Molly Burrage’s office. Annie Garrow was still trembling, Wilfred Harris was deep in thought and Molly was fearing the impact that the death would have on business at the hotel.

‘Nothing like this has ever happened before,’ she complained. ‘We’ve never lost a single guest here. What will the other guests think when they realise that they’ve been sleeping near a dead body? They won’t be able to leave quick enough. Who will want to stay here when they hear about Mr Lockyer killing himself in that room?’

‘I’ll never forget the shock of seeing all that blood,’ said Annie. ‘It was frightening.’

‘Do you feel well enough to stay here?’

‘Not really, Mrs Burrage. I’m terrified.’

‘Then you’d best go home. I’ll expect you back tomorrow – on time.’

Annie nodded gratefully then let herself out of the room. The sound of the door opening and shutting brought Harris out of his reverie. He turned to Molly.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘Mr Lockyer. When he arrived yesterday, he came into the bar for a drink.’ 14

‘So?’

‘I poured him a whisky.’

‘Nothing wrong in that, is there?’

‘He took it from me with his left hand,’ recalled the barman. ‘And when he paid, he put his left hand into his coat to take out a wallet. Do you see what that means?’

‘Yes,’ she said, eyes widening. ‘He was left-handed.’

‘So why was that knife by his right hand? If he meant to cut his throat and wrists, he’d have used the other hand.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I’ll wager that someone else was in that room, someone who made it look as if he’d killed himself. In fact, it wasn’t a case of suicide at all,’ declared Harris. ‘I reckon Mr Lockyer was murdered.’

‘That’s even worse,’ wailed Molly, struggling to keep tears at bay. ‘How can we ever let that room to a guest? They’d have nightmares in there. Oh, this is terrible, Wilf! It could finish us off.’

‘Let’s see what the police have to say. They’ve been here long enough.’

‘At least they had the body removed.’

‘Yes,’ said Harris. ‘That was a blessing.’

‘No, it wasn’t, Wilf. Having a guest carried out of here on a stretcher by two policemen is an awful thing to see. Tongues will be wagging madly. The hotel will get a bad name.’

‘Nothing can damage your reputation,’ he assured her. ‘Everyone knows that Molly Burrage provides good service for her guests. It’s the reason we keep so busy. Nothing will change.’

‘I hope so.’

‘To be honest, I’m more worried about Annie than about the hotel.’

‘Why?’ 15

‘She’s still young and innocent. The poor girl didn’t empty her stomach just because she saw all that blood. It was because it was the first time in her life that she looked at a naked man.’ Harris grimaced. ‘That sight is going to haunt her for the rest of her days.’

Victor Leeming was accustomed to sudden departures to distant locations. As soon as Colbeck told him that they had to leave London, the sergeant scribbled a note to his wife then reached for the valise that contained all that he needed for nights spent away. Colbeck did the same thing, penning a swift letter and leaving it on his desk beside Leeming’s note, confident that both missives would be delivered by hand to their respective wives. Leaving Scotland Yard, they hailed a cab. In what seemed like no time at all, they were climbing into the empty compartment of a train.

‘Why are we going to Shrewsbury, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘We’ve been summoned by the stationmaster.’

‘He has no warrant to get in touch with us. Why didn’t he consult the local police?’

‘I suspect that he did just that, Victor. They probably told him that it was none of his business and that we were, in any case, not needed.’

‘That means we’re going where we’re not actually wanted.’

‘The stationmaster wants us,’ said Colbeck. ‘He acted wisely.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a pity we can’t go via the Cotswolds.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d appreciate a word with Stephen Rydall.’

‘Do you mean that man we met from Frampton Mansell?’

‘Yes, he sits on the board of the Great Western Railway. I’d have been glad to hear his opinion of Julian Lockyer.’

‘Who is he?’ 16

‘He might well have been the next chairman of the company,’ said Colbeck, ‘but his corpse was discovered this morning at the Station Hotel in Shrewsbury.’

‘Was it a natural death?’

‘According to the telegraph, it was a suicide. I disagree. Why would a man about to achieve a position he has yearned for suddenly kill himself? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Do you think a rival at the GWR is involved?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me, Victor. As we know only too well, railway ownership is a dog-eat-dog world. Competition between companies is fierce and the same goes for rivals among directors. They may beam at each other across the table at board meetings but each one of them is seeking power and influence. Mr Lockyer was not the only candidate for the position of chairman.’

‘Would someone kill to achieve such a position?’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Where will we stay in Shrewsbury?’

‘There are three hotels mentioned in Bradshaw,’ said Colbeck, flipping through the pages of the handbook he always carried on train journeys. ‘Here we are,’ he went on as he found what he was looking for. ‘The recommended hotels are The Lion, The Raven and The George. I’m sure that any one of them will be ideal for our purposes.’

‘What about the Station Hotel itself?’

‘It looks as if it may well have been a murder scene. That means the place will be crawling with policemen. I think we deserve more privacy.’

Molly was alone in her office when there was a tap on the door. It opened to reveal the sizeable frame of Detective Inspector Hubert 17Crabbe. He was a tall, square-jawed, middle-aged man with a pair of bristling eyebrows meeting to create a bushy hedge that all but concealed his eyes.

‘Well?’ asked Molly, rising to her feet.

‘I do not believe we are dealing with a suicide, Mrs Burrage.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m certain. Mr Lockyer was murdered by someone who escaped through the window. Before he left, the killer bolted the door. I’d like a list of all the other guests here, please.’

Molly was shaken. ‘You’re not suggesting that one of them could be the killer, are you?’

‘We must explore every possibility.’

‘What reason could anyone have to …?’

‘I can think of several reasons, Mrs Burrage. The obvious one that comes to mind is theft. Everything of value has disappeared – his wedding ring, wallet, pocket watch, cufflinks and clothing. Even his shoes were stolen. The killer missed nothing. Everything was stuffed into Mr Lockyer’s valise and taken.’

‘Do you think the killer was a local man?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Crabbe with emphasis. ‘Thanks to us, all the real villains in Shropshire are either dead or in prison. The killer came from somewhere else. I’d put money on it.’ He took out his notebook. ‘I’ve taken a full statement from Wilf Harris. Now it’s your turn.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And I understand that there’s a third person to interview.’

‘Annie Garrow. She works here.’

‘I’ll need to speak to her.’

‘Yes, of course. I sent her home, so you’ll have to go there. Please be gentle with the girl.’ 18

‘Don’t tell me how to do my job, Mrs Burrage. Now then,’ he said, lowering himself into a seat and producing a pad and pencil, ‘at what time did Mr Lockyer arrive here yesterday?’

‘Not long after three in the afternoon, I’d say.’

‘What was your first impression of him?’

‘Well, to be honest, I didn’t like him at all. He was so bossy – one of those men who expects to be treated as if he’s the only guest in the hotel. Wilf probably told you the same thing. Mr Lockyer walked in here as if he owned the place. Also,’ she added, ‘I didn’t like the look of contempt he gave me. It was as if I was his minion. I won’t take that sort of treatment from anybody, Inspector.’

‘In his case,’ said Crabbe, ‘you won’t ever have to.’

‘He insisted on having a room with a double bed.’

‘But he was staying here on his own.’

‘He said that he was a restless sleeper.’

Crabbe sniffed. ‘Not any more.’

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CHAPTER THREE

Victor Leeming hated travelling by train. By way of a defence mechanism, he fell asleep as soon as possible. Colbeck was as immaculately dressed as usual, but the sergeant was now a rumpled heap on the seat opposite, his top hat beside him and his snores hidden beneath the noise of the wheels as they sped along the rails. Looking at his friend, Colbeck gave an affectionate smile. Others might complain about Leeming’s spectacular untidiness, but the inspector knew his true worth. Having the sergeant beside him in any investigation was a source of great comfort.

It was not Colbeck’s first visit to the county town of Shropshire. He had been there years earlier to meet a man named Donald Underhill, a local solicitor, who was a suspect for the murder of a woman whose body had been found in a shallow grave close to the Newcastle and Carlisle Railway. In fact, Underhill had been 20innocent of the crime but had nursed more than a fondness for the beautiful young widow in question. Colbeck had warmed to Shrewsbury the moment he saw it, relishing its sense of history and its total lack of major industry. Underhill had told him that the town was known chiefly for its cakes and brawn, jellied loaves that were justifiably popular on market days.

The person he had noticed at Shrewsbury General Station on his first visit was the stationmaster, Simon Biddle, a small, skinny individual of uncertain age who atoned for his lack of physical presence by having a voice like thunder. Even if a train was speeding through the station, the voice could be heard rising effortlessly above the roar. Colbeck hoped that the stationmaster was more subdued in conversation.

Leeming suddenly twitched then sat up abruptly.

‘Where are we?’ he asked, struggling to open an eye.

‘Less than half an hour from Shrewsbury, Victor.’

‘Good God! Have I been asleep that long? I’m so sorry.’

‘No apology required. You obviously needed a good rest. It’s just as well. Once our investigation is under way, neither of us will have much time to enjoy any slumber.’

‘Is it going to be a difficult case?’

‘I believe so. There was a note of desperation in the stationmaster’s telegraph.’

‘Why was that?’

‘He has no trust in the local constabulary,’ said Colbeck. ‘That’s why he turned to us.’

Word had spread throughout the town like wildfire that something terrible had occurred at the Station Hotel. Hard facts took second place to fevered speculation. On their way to the station, people 21hung around outside the hotel for a short while, hoping to learn more of what happened during the night. Molly Burrage glanced through the window of her office.

‘There must be dozens of them out there,’ she protested. ‘We’ve become a peepshow.’

‘People are bound to be curious,’ said Hubert Crabbe.

‘Can’t you tell them that the body has been taken away?’

‘They’ll soon disperse. They all have trains to catch.’

‘Yes,’ she moaned, ‘but as soon as they go, they’ll be replaced by another set of ghouls.’

‘The stink of death always attracts an audience, Mrs Burrage. It’s human nature. If you wish, I’ll put a uniformed constable outside to move people on.’

‘That would help, Inspector. He could tell them the body is no longer here.’

‘Leave it to me,’ he said. About to move away, he remembered something. ‘I need to give you a word of warning. There’ll be a lot of press interest. I’ll issue a statement, of course, but that won’t keep them at bay. The newspapers will be desperate to speak to you.’

‘I don’t want publicity!’ she cried.

‘There’s no way that you can avoid it, Mrs Burrage. You were there when the dead body was discovered. And so was Wilf Harris, of course. You’re both afraid that people will stay away from here because of what happened. The opposite is likely to happen,’ he warned. ‘When people stop work at the end of a long day, a lot of them will come into your bar so that they can hear Harris telling them exactly what happened. He’s going to have a big audience.’

‘That’s terrible!’

‘It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. You ought to take him aside and 22tell him to say as little as possible. Otherwise, your bar will turn into a music hall. Crowds will flock in to hear the tale of the blood-covered corpse. You don’t want that to happen, do you?’

Shaking visibly, Molly put a hand against the wall for support.

When their train finally arrived at the station, the detectives did not need to search for the stationmaster. The voice of Simon Biddle cut sharply through the hubbub. He had picked Colbeck out by virtue of the latter’s striking appearance.

‘I’m over here!’ he cried, waving an arm.

Spotting him near the exit, they moved towards him with the crowd surging around them. Suddenly, Biddle disappeared. Leeming was worried.

‘We’ve lost him,’ he said.

‘He’s still there, Victor. He is very short. He’s probably been standing on something.’

‘I’ve never heard anyone with a voice as loud as that.’

‘It’s the thing I noticed about him when I first came here.’

As the other passengers began to disperse, the stationmaster came burrowing through the remnants of the crowd. He stopped to marvel at the detectives.

‘Thank God you’ve come!’ he said.

‘We’ve responded to your summons,’ said Colbeck. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Leeming, by the way.’ Leeming smiled wearily but Biddle ignored him. ‘How did you recognise me?’

‘I’ve followed your career with great interest, Inspector. There were sketches of you in the newspapers.’ He pointed a finger. ‘My office is over there. Make yourselves comfortable while I dispatch this train.’

‘Good idea,’ said Colbeck. 23

He and Leeming walked along the platform until they came to the office. As soon as they entered it, they saw the newspaper cuttings pinned to the notice board. All of them related to their previous cases. Colbeck was praised by name in most of the headlines. There was an occasional mention of Leeming. The office was filled with an amiable clutter of charts, lists, timetables and advertisements. On the large calendar, they noticed, each day had been cancelled with a decisive black cross.

After sending the train on its way, Biddle came into the office and beamed at Colbeck. ‘A thousand thanks for coming, Inspector!’ he said effusively. ‘We need someone of your experience. Inspector Crabbe would never have solved the murder on his own.’

‘I thought it was a case of suicide,’ said Leeming.

‘That’s what we were meant to think, Sergeant.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If a guest at the hotel had killed himself, all they’d need is two policemen to carry the body out. But a whole posse of them turned up. Mark my words, Detective Inspector Crabbe would only be involved if it was a murder case. He’s been in that hotel for hours.’

‘I look forward to meeting him,’ said Colbeck.

‘But I haven’t told you about the victim yet. I had a brush with Mr Lockyer when he arrived here yesterday. He was full of himself,’ recalled Biddle. ‘When he got off the train, he came looking for me and boasted that he was a member of the GWR board. He had the gall to criticise the station and told me that it must be improved.’

‘He had no authority to do so, Mr Biddle.’

‘Lockyer obviously loved to bully people. That’s why I knew he didn’t kill himself. He’s the kind of man desperate to stay alive 24so he can give orders to underlings like me.’

‘Have you any idea who might have murdered him?’ asked Leeming.

‘No, Sergeant – but I think there’ll be a lot of suspects. He was very easy to hate.’

‘The sooner we get involved in the search for the killer,’ said Colbeck, ‘the better. Before that, we’ll need to find some accommodation. Can you recommend a hotel?’

‘The Lion will be ideal for you. It’s in Wyle Cop – that’s at the end of the High Street.’

‘What beer do they serve?’ asked Leeming.

‘The best in the county. Take one of the cabs outside the station.’

‘Oh, I think that a walk is in order,’ said Colbeck. ‘We need to stretch our legs after a long train ride. And it will give us a chance to find our way around.’

‘The Lion was good enough for him,’ said Biddle, ‘so it should suit you as well.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Charles Dickens, the famous writer. He stayed in Shrewsbury. They say that he wrote parts of them Pickwick Papers right here in The Lion.’

‘Excellent,’ said Colbeck, beaming. ‘It sounds like the perfect place for us.’

Hubert Crabbe was thorough. Having questioned the owner and the barman of the hotel, he went to the address given to him by Molly Burrage. He wanted to hear Annie Garrow’s version of events. She lived in a tiny house in one of the poorer suburbs. When he knocked on the door, it was opened by the girl’s mother, 25a scrawny woman in her fifties with a servile manner. She was alarmed to hear that a detective inspector wished to question her daughter.

‘Annie’s a good girl, sir. We brought her up proper. She’s not in any trouble, is she?’

‘I just want to ask her what happened at the hotel.’

‘It fair frightened her to death, sir. When she come back here, Annie was in a terrible state. She’s calmed down a bit now but she’s still … well, shaking like mad.’

‘That’s understandable, Mrs …’

‘Winnie Garrow. I’m her mother.’ She stood back. ‘Please come in.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, stepping into the house.

The first thing he noticed was an unpleasant smell that seemed to be coming from the little scullery at the rear. As he went into the living room, he was struck by how cramped it was and how battered its furniture appeared to be. Curled up on the sofa was Annie, visibly trembling. When she saw him enter, she leapt up and drew back in alarm. Her mother came into the room.

‘This is Inspector Crabbe from the Borough Police,’ she explained. ‘He wants to speak to you, Annie.’

‘What about?’ asked her daughter nervously.

‘What happened this morning at the hotel.’

‘Hello, Annie,’ said Crabbe, perching on the edge of an armchair. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve taken statements from Mrs Burrage and Mr Harris. They told me that you were the first person to go to Mr Lockyer’s room.’

‘That’s right,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Burrage sent me to wake him up.’

‘Had you seen the gentleman before?’ 26

‘Oh, yes, sir. I was there when he arrived at the hotel yesterday.’

‘Describe him in your own words.’

‘What?’ She looked helplessly towards her mother.

‘Just tell the inspector what you saw, Annie,’ advised the older woman.

‘Well,’ said the other, ‘he was sort of … well, very grand, and he looked very rich to me. When he took his top hat off, I could see that he had no hair. He was rude to Mrs Burrage. I remember that.’

‘Did he notice you?’

‘Yes, he did, and he frightened me.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Well, he’d been so nasty to Mrs Burrage,’ she explained. ‘When he turned round and saw me, I was afraid that he’d do the same to me. But he didn’t.’

‘How did he talk to you?’ prompted Crabbe.

‘He didn’t say a word, sir. He just stared at me for a long time. It worried me. His eyes were sort of … glowing. Then he did something that scared me.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He smiled at me,’ said Annie. ‘Only it wasn’t a kind smile to show that he liked me. It was a sort of cruel smile. When he looked me up and down, I was shaken. Don’t ask me why. I just felt that he was thinking …’ A blush came into her cheeks. ‘… bad thoughts.’

27

CHAPTER FOUR

When Detective Constable Alan Hinton got back to Scotland Yard, he discovered that Colbeck and Leeming had been sent off on an assignment. The detective constable knew what he had to do. Letting himself into the inspector’s office, he picked up the two letters left on the desk and resolved to deliver them as soon as he could. Hinton was a tall, lithe, handsome man in his thirties who had worked with Colbeck and Leeming several times. Each case had been a learning experience for him. When he left the building, he went first to the inspector’s house, where he was admitted by a maidservant. Emerging from the drawing room, Madeleine Colbeck was delighted to see him.

‘Come on in, Alan,’ she said, having heard his voice in the hall. ‘How nice to see you!

‘I only came to deliver a letter.’ 28

Her smile faded. ‘Oh dear! Does that mean Robert has gone out of London again?’

‘See for yourself,’ he said, handing over the missive. ‘And I have a letter for Victor’s wife as well. I’ll have to find time to deliver it.’

‘I hope they’ve not gone too far away.’

‘Superintendent Tallis has no concern for his detectives. He’ll dispatch them all over the country without a thought for their families. Solving a crime is all that he thinks about.’

‘And he’s quite right to do so. Robert accepts that – and so does Victor.’

‘I’d better deliver his letter to Estelle,’ said Hinton, ‘or she’ll be cooking a meal for him in a couple of hours. Oh,’ he added, ‘have you seen Lydia recently?’

‘No, I haven’t, Alan, but I’ll hear all her news this evening. She’s joining me for dinner, so I’ll have company.’

‘Please give her my best wishes.’

‘You’re most welcome to dine with us.’

He shrugged. ‘I wish that I could, but I have other plans, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s a pity. Lydia will be sorry to miss you.’

‘The feeling is mutual.’

Madeleine gave an understanding smile. She knew how fond the two friends were of each other, and she wished that they could be closer. But that seemed a forlorn hope. As they moved towards the front door, they heard footsteps descending the stairs. Hinton turned to see Caleb Andrews coming towards them.

‘Hello, Mr Andrews,’ he said.

‘Have you brought good news or bad?’ asked the old man.

‘We won’t know until I open this letter,’ said Madeleine, holding it up. ‘How is my lovely daughter?’ 29

‘She was as good as gold. But then, she always is when her grandfather reads her a story. I have a gift.’

‘Stop boasting!’

‘I have, Maddy. You ask her. Before you do that,’ he suggested, ‘why don’t you open that letter and see where Robert will be sleeping tonight?’

Opening the letter with some trepidation, Madeleine read it and smiled with relief. ‘He’s in Shrewsbury. I was afraid he’d be much further away.’

‘Why is he there?’

‘He’s investigating the death of someone on the GWR board.’

‘As long as it’s not someone from the London and North Western Railway board,’ said Andrews. ‘Having spent my life driving trains for them, I have the greatest respect for the members. As for Shropshire, four years ago, we took over that line in partnership with the GWR.’

‘I thought you hated the company, Mr Andrews,’ said Hinton.

‘I hate every company except the London and Northwestern Railway. We’re the best.’

‘You must excuse my father,’ said Madeleine. ‘He’s very prejudiced.’

‘I’m being honest, that’s all,’ claimed Andrews.

‘What sort of place is Shrewsbury?’ wondered Hinton.

‘It’s the county capital of Shropshire,’ explained Madeleine. ‘Robert has been there twice and loved the place. He said that it had some delightful old buildings and a decidedly rural character.’

Andrews grinned. ‘It also has a dead member of the GWR board now.’ 30

Carrying their luggage, Colbeck and Leeming left the station and saw the old castle looming over them, its red sandstone glowing in the sun. The Station Hotel was directly opposite the station, a neat, solid, brick-built establishment that stood out from the half-timbered structures nearby. A uniformed policeman stood outside the front door, moving on anyone who tried to linger there. Shrewsbury was all but surrounded by the serpentine coil of the River Severn. Colbeck led the way down Castle Street until it merged with Pride Hill. They soon turned left into the High Street, which was filled with people going in and out of the motley array of shops, each one displaying their wares outside. Colbeck knew that the street would soon become Wyle Cop because that was where he had visited Donald Underhill during the earlier investigation. Before they got near the solicitor’s office, however, they saw The Lion Hotel, one of the oldest in the town, an impressive coaching inn with Doric columns either side of the front door. What struck Leeming was the sculpted lion above the entrance. He thought it so realistic.

When they entered the building, they found themselves in a reception area where a man in his thirties stood behind a counter. Slim and well dressed, he beamed at them.

‘How may I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked, politely.

‘We’d like to book two single rooms, please,’ said Colbeck.

‘How long will you be staying, sir?’

‘We don’t yet know, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s fine with us, sir. The Lion is at your service for as long as you wish.’

‘It’s a fine old building,’ said Leeming.

‘In its prime, it was the best hotel in Shrewsbury,’ said the man proudly. ‘Seven coaches ran daily from here to London, and 31a further thirteen went to other towns. It’s all changed now, of course. Most of our guests come and go by means of the railway. Now, then,’ he added, ‘let me have your names, please.’

‘Is that Charles Dickens?’ asked Colbeck, looking at the framed photograph on the wall beside the man. ‘We know that he stayed here.’

‘We were honoured to have him, sir. Mr Dickens was kind enough to give us the photograph. Over the years, many distinguished people have stayed at The Lion.’

Leeming beamed. ‘We’re in good company then.’

‘What are your names, please?’

‘I am Detective Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard,’ said Colbeck, ‘and this is Detective Sergeant Leeming. We are here to investigate a murder that took place at the Station Hotel. That may take time.’

The clerk’s jaw dropped.

‘Please put our names in your register.’

When the porter delivered the letter to her, Molly was grateful. It was one of many missives sent by the stationmaster. In recent months, Biddle had become a fervent admirer of hers. A lifelong bachelor, he had at last found someone who made the idea of marriage sound faintly appealing. It was the reason that he sent her occasional notes and, from time to time, small gifts. Though she kept him at arm’s length, Molly was touched by his attentions. As she opened the envelope, she expected some words of sympathy from Biddle. Instead of that, she read a message that made her sit up with interest. After waiting a few minutes to absorb the shock, she went straight to the bar.

Wilf Harris was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with a 32teacloth. He saw the excitement in Molly’s face.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

‘I’ve just had a letter from Mr Biddle.’

‘Oh, is that all?’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I wish he’d stop bothering you like that.’

‘He’s given me some important news,’ said Molly. ‘He sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard about Mr Lockyer’s death. As a result, they’ve sent two detectives to investigate the murder – and we now know that it really was a murder and not a suicide.’

‘Does he mention any names?’ asked Harris.

‘Yes, Wilf. The good news is that they’re already here. Simon – Mr Biddle, that is – has met them face to face. One is an Inspector Colbeck, and the other is Sergeant Leeming.’

Harris was impressed. ‘I’ve heard of Colbeck,’ he said. ‘He’s famous.’

‘And he’s come all the way from London.’

‘Biddle has done something useful for once.’

‘Wilf!’ she said in disapproval.

‘Well, he usually sends you silly little gifts.’

‘It’s the thought that counts.’

‘Hah!’

‘He knows how I must be feeling, and he’s done something about it. I appreciate that.’

‘Did his letter say that the detectives would be staying here at the hotel?’

‘No, it didn’t because they’ve gone to book rooms at The Lion.’

‘Pity,’ said Harris. ‘I’ve heard good things about Colbeck. It’d be a pleasure to serve him a drink or two. Hey,’ he added. ‘What about Inspector Crabbe? He’s not going to be happy if someone tries to take the case off him.’ 33

‘They can work together, Wilf.’

‘Fat lot you know about detectives!’ he said with a derisive laugh. ‘They’re very possessive. Crabbe is not going to take orders from somebody who knows nothing at all about Shrewsbury. It’s his case and he’ll fight like a tiger to keep it that way.’

‘Mr Biddle says that Inspector Colbeck is a genius.’

Harris curled his lip. ‘Try telling that to Crabbe and the chief constable!’

It was less than six weeks since Colonel Richard Edgell had been appointed as the chief constable of Shropshire. He was still finding his feet. A compact, straight-backed man in his fifties, he had a complexion that suggested time spent in a hot country. In fact, he had applied for the post two years earlier but – despite his sterling qualities – had not been chosen. When the post became vacant again, the county magistrates decided to save the expense of another contest by appointing the man who had impressed them at his earlier interview. His distinguished career in the army had convinced them that he was an ideal choice.

Edgell soon proved that he had the qualities needed for his new role. He was efficient, decisive and wholly committed. Some of the policemen under his command had doubts about his overbearing manner, but all agreed on one thing. Colonel Edgell was a good listener. During the long report about events at the Station Hotel that Inspector Crabbe delivered, the chief constable was attentive. When the recitation ended, he had some questions.

‘How certain are you that it was not a case of suicide?’ he asked.

‘There can be no doubt about it, Colonel,’ said Crabbe. ‘A left-handed man would never use his right hand to slit his throat and wrists. Also, of course, he had no motive to kill himself. Mr 34Lockyer was a successful businessman on the brink of being made chairman of the Great Western Railway. Who would feel the need to take his own life when he was about to fulfil one of his greatest ambitions?’

‘A fair point, Inspector.’

‘And why choose a place like Shrewsbury when he had a home in London?’

‘What exactly was Lockyer doing here?’ asked Edgell.

‘That’s something of a mystery, Colonel.’

‘Did he say nothing to the manager?’

‘He told Mrs Burrage – she owns the hotel – that he had come to see an old friend.’

‘Did anyone see this person?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Crabbe. ‘Mr Lockyer went out to dinner elsewhere, but nobody knows if he dined at another hotel, or if he visited this friend at the person’s home.’

‘Does anyone remember him returning to the Station Hotel?’

‘The owner says that he got back around ten o’clock and went straight to his room.’

‘What state was he in?’

‘He had obviously been drinking and needed to put a hand against a wall to steady himself. Lockyer asked for an early call because he had a train to catch next morning.’

‘And that was the last time anyone saw him alive?’

‘Except for the killer, that is.’

They were seated in Edgell’s office. It was exceptionally tidy. A framed photograph of the chief constable stood on his desk. It had been taken when he was wearing the uniform of Her Majesty’s Bengal Army. As he glanced at it, a feeling of pride surged through him. He shifted his gaze back to Crabbe. 35

‘What conclusion have you reached?’ he asked.

‘Mr Lockyer was a man of obvious wealth and importance,’ said the other. ‘I think that someone spotted him on his arrival and decided that he was a tempting target.’

‘Is the Station Hotel accustomed to seeing major crimes committed there?’

‘Far from it, sir. It has an exemplary record of good behaviour. The only criminals they have encountered were guests who sneaked out without paying the bill. Mrs Burrage has now made that impossible. Guests are now asked to pay on arrival.’

‘A sensible decision.’

Before they could continue, there was a tap on the door. It opened to reveal a uniformed constable who was holding a letter. He handed it to the chief constable and left the room. When he read the contents of the letter, he turned to his companion.

‘I have distressing news for you, Inspector.’

Crabbe stiffened. ‘Really?’

‘It looks as if you may have competition,’ said Edgell. ‘Does the name Inspector Colbeck mean anything to you?’

‘Yes, he’s a Scotland Yard detective who specialises in crimes related to railways.’

‘That explains why he has come to Shrewsbury. This letter is from Simon Biddle, the stationmaster. Without asking for permission to do so, he sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard and asked for help. It seems that Colbeck and a Sergeant Leeming are already here.’

‘They’ve no right to interfere with our investigation,’ said Crabbe angrily.

‘We should at least see what they have to offer.’

‘I disagree strongly, sir.’ 36

‘Then how should we proceed?’

‘We should put the pair of them on the next train to London, sir,’ insisted Crabbe. ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth. Too many detectives get in each other’s way. Yes,’ he went on, ‘I know that Inspector Colbeck has a reputation for success, but – unlike us – he has no knowledge whatsoever of this county. In short, he would be useless and likely to distract us.’ He tapped his chest. ‘I venture to suggest that we are far better placed in every way to solve any murders here in Shropshire!’

37

CHAPTER FIVE

When the Scotland Yard detectives approached the Station Hotel, the uniformed policeman on duty outside it tried to move them on. It was only when Colbeck explained who they were that the officer stood aside to let them enter the building. They were disappointed to discover that Inspector Crabbe was no longer there, but Molly Burrage gave them a cordial welcome. In the privacy of her office, she delivered a nervous summary of events. They could see how upset she was.

‘Nothing like this has ever happened here before,’ she explained. ‘It’s frightening.’

‘What state is Mr Lockyer’s room in now?’ asked Colbeck.

‘It’s been left exactly as we found it,’ she replied. ‘The door is locked to keep people out.’

‘May we see it, please?’ 38

‘Yes, I suppose so, but I must warn you about something. When we went in there first thing this morning, Annie – she’s a girl who works here – was so shocked that she was sick over the carpet. Inspector Crabbe told us to leave the room as it was, so the mess is still there.’

‘We’ll be careful to step around it, Mrs Burrage,’ said Colbeck easily. ‘We’re used to seeing something nasty at a murder scene.’

‘How have your other guests reacted?’ asked Leeming.

Molly grimaced. ‘They grabbed their luggage and left immediately.’

‘That’s only to be expected,’ said Colbeck. ‘You have our sympathy. I can see that this hotel is clean, welcoming and well run. Mr Biddle spoke highly of it. You’ll soon be as busy as ever.’

‘I do hope so, Inspector.’

Opening the door, she led the way to the stairs and went up them with the detectives. When she reached the room where Lockyer had stayed, she unlocked the door. Molly then stood back to let them go in first. They looked around with interest, noting the blood-stained bedsheets on the double bed. Eventually, Colbeck crossed to the open window and looked out. When he turned to Molly, he made a request.

‘Could we be left alone for a while, please, Mrs Burrage?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. ‘I’m glad to get out of here. It’s so creepy.’

‘We’ll see you in your office.’

She handed him the key. ‘Please lock the door when you leave.’

‘Of course.’ After ushering her out, he closed the door, then turned to Leeming. ‘First thoughts, Victor?’

‘We know how the killer got out, sir, but how did he get in here in the first place?’ 39

‘You’re making a false assumption.’

‘Am I?’

‘How do you know that it was a man?’

‘Who else could it have been?’

‘A woman,’ said Colbeck. ‘Perhaps that’s why Mr Lockyer came here in the first place. He might have had an assignation. It would explain why he asked for a double bed.’

‘I don’t believe a woman could have committed a crime like that.’

‘We’ve arrested more than one woman for poisoning a husband,’ Colbeck recalled. ‘Not that I’m suggesting Mr Lockyer’s wife is involved, mind you. What if he had come here to enjoy the services of a woman who sets a price on her favours?’

‘Then she’d have been seen coming into the hotel.’

‘Not necessarily. Look out of the window and you’ll see how easy it would have been to climb up here. It’s only a question of getting onto the roof of a shed directly below.’

Leeming went the window and peered out. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘If it had been a tryst of some sort, drink would certainly have been involved. Some sort of drug could have been slipped into his glass. It made him drowsy, giving his visitor the advantage. She slit his throat and wrists, stole everything of value and bolted the door before leaving through the window.’ Colbeck spread his arms. ‘It’s one explanation.’

‘I’ll give you another,’ said Leeming. ‘Mrs Burrage told us that it was a warm night. The window was likely to have been left open. When he returned from dinner elsewhere, we were told, Mr Lockyer had been drinking. Supposing he just took off his clothes and fell into bed? He’d have been fast asleep when a thief climbed 40into the room, killed him in the way you described then stole just about everything belonging to his victim.’