there were items in his pocket to confirm that he was Mr Kellow. But we alwaysprefer a positive identification from the next of kin – if you feel able to make that effort.’
‘I must , sir,’ she told him, ‘don’t you see that? It’s what Hugh would expect of me. I can’t let my brother down.’
Archelaus Pugh was anxious to make his own small contribution to the murder investigation. When he saw Colbeck crossing the foyer of the hotel, he scurried over to speak to him.
‘May I have a word with you, Inspector?’ he said.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Colbeck.
‘Let me first apologise for being so unhelpful yesterday. I was so completely bewildered by what had occurred in that room that I could not think straight. Indeed,’ he went on, ‘it was only when I went into the kitchens a while ago that my memory was jogged. We took a delivery around noon yesterday.’
‘That’s close to the time of the murder.’
‘I wondered if the delivery man had seen anything odd when he unloaded provisions at the rear of the hotel. So I sent one of my assistant managers off to question him. The warehouse is in Butetown and, luckily, the man was there.’
‘Did he have anything useful to say?’
‘That depends, Inspector,’ said Pugh. ‘I leave you to judge. The fellow didn’t even know that a crime had been committed here and that he might have witnessed something relevant to it.’
‘What did he remember?’ asked Colbeck.
‘There was a lot to unload from the cart so he was there some time. What he recalls is someone coming out of therear entrance in a hurry and walking off in the direction of the railway station.’
‘Was he able to give a description, Mr Pugh?’
‘It’s only a hazy one,’ apologised the manager. ‘The man was young, well-dressed and carrying a large bag. It seemed strange that he should be leaving by the back door. It’s only a servants’ entrance, used by staff and by people making deliveries. Most guests would be unaware of its existence.’
‘Oh, I think this young man may have taken the trouble to learn the geography of the hotel. Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was very enterprising of you to secure this information. It’s possible, of course, that this person has no connection whatsoever with the crime but the timing of his hasty exit is significant – so is the detail about his luggage.’
‘If he caught the train, he could be hundreds of miles away.’
‘He’s bound to have left clues here in Cardiff. When we gather enough of them, we’ll track him down wherever he is.’
After thanking him again, Colbeck left the hotel and strode briskly down St Mary Street. It took him less than twenty minutes to reach the house in Crockherbtown where Carys Evans lived. It was a large, stone-built cottage with a well-established garden at the front. When first constructed, it had stood in splendid isolation but was now cheek by jowl with other houses. Jeremiah Stockdale rarely missed an opportunity to speak to Carys Evans but he felt that Colbeck might be able to question her more effectively if he was not there to distract him. Admitted to the cottage by a servant, Colbeck was shown into a large, low-ceilinged room with exposed beams and oak furniture. In spite of itssize, it had a cosiness that reached out to enfold him.
Carys Evans rose from her chair to greet him and he had a strange feeling that she was expecting him. She showed none of the surprise or hostility of Sir David Pryde.
‘Do sit down, Inspector,’ she said, indicating a chair. ‘Can I offer you any refreshment?’
‘No, thank you, Miss Evans,’ he said, taking a seat.
Sitting opposite, she appraised him. ‘I must say, that you don’t look like a policeman. They tend to be rather large, hefty, clumsy men like Superintendent Stockdale.’
‘You might have thought the same of me when I was in uniform.’
‘I doubt that, Inspector Colbeck.’
Holding his gaze, she gave a half-smile of
‘I must , sir,’ she told him, ‘don’t you see that? It’s what Hugh would expect of me. I can’t let my brother down.’
Archelaus Pugh was anxious to make his own small contribution to the murder investigation. When he saw Colbeck crossing the foyer of the hotel, he scurried over to speak to him.
‘May I have a word with you, Inspector?’ he said.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Colbeck.
‘Let me first apologise for being so unhelpful yesterday. I was so completely bewildered by what had occurred in that room that I could not think straight. Indeed,’ he went on, ‘it was only when I went into the kitchens a while ago that my memory was jogged. We took a delivery around noon yesterday.’
‘That’s close to the time of the murder.’
‘I wondered if the delivery man had seen anything odd when he unloaded provisions at the rear of the hotel. So I sent one of my assistant managers off to question him. The warehouse is in Butetown and, luckily, the man was there.’
‘Did he have anything useful to say?’
‘That depends, Inspector,’ said Pugh. ‘I leave you to judge. The fellow didn’t even know that a crime had been committed here and that he might have witnessed something relevant to it.’
‘What did he remember?’ asked Colbeck.
‘There was a lot to unload from the cart so he was there some time. What he recalls is someone coming out of therear entrance in a hurry and walking off in the direction of the railway station.’
‘Was he able to give a description, Mr Pugh?’
‘It’s only a hazy one,’ apologised the manager. ‘The man was young, well-dressed and carrying a large bag. It seemed strange that he should be leaving by the back door. It’s only a servants’ entrance, used by staff and by people making deliveries. Most guests would be unaware of its existence.’
‘Oh, I think this young man may have taken the trouble to learn the geography of the hotel. Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was very enterprising of you to secure this information. It’s possible, of course, that this person has no connection whatsoever with the crime but the timing of his hasty exit is significant – so is the detail about his luggage.’
‘If he caught the train, he could be hundreds of miles away.’
‘He’s bound to have left clues here in Cardiff. When we gather enough of them, we’ll track him down wherever he is.’
After thanking him again, Colbeck left the hotel and strode briskly down St Mary Street. It took him less than twenty minutes to reach the house in Crockherbtown where Carys Evans lived. It was a large, stone-built cottage with a well-established garden at the front. When first constructed, it had stood in splendid isolation but was now cheek by jowl with other houses. Jeremiah Stockdale rarely missed an opportunity to speak to Carys Evans but he felt that Colbeck might be able to question her more effectively if he was not there to distract him. Admitted to the cottage by a servant, Colbeck was shown into a large, low-ceilinged room with exposed beams and oak furniture. In spite of itssize, it had a cosiness that reached out to enfold him.
Carys Evans rose from her chair to greet him and he had a strange feeling that she was expecting him. She showed none of the surprise or hostility of Sir David Pryde.
‘Do sit down, Inspector,’ she said, indicating a chair. ‘Can I offer you any refreshment?’
‘No, thank you, Miss Evans,’ he said, taking a seat.
Sitting opposite, she appraised him. ‘I must say, that you don’t look like a policeman. They tend to be rather large, hefty, clumsy men like Superintendent Stockdale.’
‘You might have thought the same of me when I was in uniform.’
‘I doubt that, Inspector Colbeck.’
Holding his gaze, she gave a half-smile of
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