‘I can see that.’
‘Instead of buying Dirk Sowerby a drink, I had to borrow money off him to pay my way. I felt such a fool.’
‘Are you absolutely sure that you had the wallet in your coat?’
‘Yes,’ replied Andrews, irritably. ‘Of course, I’m sure.’
‘I’ve known you forget things before,’ Madeleine reminded him.
‘I’ve never forgotten my wallet and my watch, Maddy. I wouldn’t leave the house without them. You know that.’
Madeleine nodded. During all the years she’d lived with her father, she couldn’t remember him forgetting anything of real importance. Andrews had a routine from which he never wavered. The truth had to be faced. Her father was the victim of a pickpocket. She was angry on his behalf but schooled herself to think calmly.
‘Do you have any idea when it might have happened, Father?’
‘I think so. It was when I listened to that harpist.’
‘Go on.’
He recounted the events at Euston station and declared that the man who’d bumped into him was the culprit. Distracted by the music, Andrews felt, he’d been targeted. He was determined to get his money back.
‘I didn’t come here to seek Robert’s help,’ he said. ‘A detective inspector has more important things to worry about than a pickpocket. I just wanted to talk it through with you so that it became clear in my mind. It’s my turn to be a detective now,’ he went on, rubbing his hands. ‘I’ll show my son-in-law that he isn’t the only clever policeman in the family.’
They were in the drawing room of the house that Madeleine shared with her husband, Robert Colbeck. She was an alert, attractive woman who had moved from a modest dwelling in Camden Town to a more luxurious home in John Islip Street in Westminster, slowly settling into the latter. Always pleased to see her father, she was sorry that he’d brought such bad news on this occasion.
‘Would you recognise the man again?’ she asked.
‘I think so. He wore a frock coat and top hat.’
‘Hundreds of men answer to that description, Father.’
‘I may only have seen him for a second but I’m sure I can pick him out.’
She was dubious. ‘Be very careful,’ she said.
‘They’re obviously in this together, Maddy.’
‘Who are?’
‘The harpist and the pickpocket,’ he told her. ‘The one holds your attention while the other moves among the crowd, looking for prey.’
‘I think that’s unlikely,’ she said. ‘An old man with a mangy dog doesn’t sound as if he’d have anything to do with a well-dressed gentleman.’
‘He was no gentleman — he was a thief!’
‘What do you propose to do?’
‘I’ll go back to the station tomorrow to see if the harpist is there. If he is, I’ll watch from a distance to see if the dipper is there with him.’
Madeleine was alarmed. ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ she said. ‘It might be better if I came with you tomorrow.’
‘I can manage on my own,’ he insisted. ‘I don’t need you and I don’t need the famous Railway Detective. This is my case, Maddy, and I mean to solve it.’
Early next morning, Andrews was part of the hustle and bustle of a major railway station once again. People queued for tickets then went in search of the appropriate platforms. There was constant noise and movement. From a vantage point near the main entrance, Andrews kept his eyes peeled. Hours oozed past but there was no sign of the harpist. What he did see were several men who looked vaguely like the one who’d bumped into him the previous evening. Madeleine had been right. His loose description of the supposed pickpocket fitted any number of male passengers. During their brief encounter, Andrews had had no time to register the man’s height, age or colouring. He couldn’t even decide if he’d heard an educated voice or a Cockney twang. Detective work was not as straightforward as he’d imagined.
The musician finally arrived around noon. Covered by a piece of cloth, his Irish harp was small enough to be carried under his arm. The mangy dog trailed after him. He took up a different position this time, squatting down on the ground near a cloakroom where luggage could be deposited. Music soon filled the air. Andrews drifted across so that he could keep the old man under surveillance. Busy people rushed past but there were small groups that loitered for short periods to listen. The first few coins clinked into the cap. The dog fell asleep.
After an hour or so, the harpist stopped for refreshment. From inside his coat, he pulled out a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. His audience vanished instantly. Once he resumed, however, more and more people moved across to hear him. When the crowd thickened, an impeccably tailored man walked slowly towards the cluster. Andrews watched him like a hawk. As he eased his way to the front of the queue, the man rubbed against several other people with gestures of apology. Andrews recalled the polite gentleman who’d bumped into him. Was he looking at the same man? It was a strong possibility. Indeed, the more he studied the newcomer, the more certain he became that he’d identified a pickpocket.
When the man broke away from the crowd, he bumped accidentally into a woman and immediately raised his hat to her before striding off. It was exactly what had happened to Andrews. What looked like a chance collision was, in fact, an opportunity for the pickpocket to claim another victim. The evidence, Andrews decided, was now overwhelming. It was him.
Disregarding the fact that he had no power of arrest, Andrews ran after the man and clutched at his arm. The stranger turned to face him.
‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Andrews, ‘you can return my wallet for a start. You stole it from me yesterday evening when I was listening to your accomplice playing his harp.’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
‘You’re a pickpocket. I’ve been watching you at work.’
‘I work in a bank,’ said the man, testily, ‘and I’ll be late if I miss my train.’
‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Andrews, tightening his grip.
‘Leave go of me,’ ordered the man, ‘or I’ll call a policeman.’
‘That’s exactly what I wish to do.’
Train passengers were treated to the extraordinary sight of a wiry old character, clinging like a limpet to the arm of an elegant gentleman who was doing everything he could to shake him off. Both were yelling simultaneously for a policeman. It was only a minute before one came over to see what the commotion was. He was a hefty individual in his thirties with rubicund cheeks.
‘What’s going on here, then?’ he asked.
‘Get this imbecile off me!’ pleaded the man.
Andrews released him. ‘Arrest him, constable,’ he said. ‘He’s the pickpocket who stole my wallet yesterday. That harpist is his accomplice.’
‘I’ve never set eyes on the fellow before.’
‘The two of you work hand in glove.’
‘Now calm down, the pair of you!’ said the policeman. ‘We’ll get nowhere if you both jabber away.’ He turned to the man. ‘You tell me your story first, sir.’
Angered by the deference in his tone, Andrews tried to complain but he was silenced by the policeman with the threat of arrest. The man gave his account of what had happened then opened his frock coat wide.
‘If you think I stole anything,’ he challenged, ‘search me.’
Andrews had the unsettling feeling that he may have been mistaken, after all.
‘Go on,’ urged the man. ‘You called me a pickpocket. Prove it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Andrews. ‘I took you for someone else.’
‘You assaulted me, you ruffian. Dozens of witnesses will testify to that.’ He appealed to people standing by. ‘You all saw him, didn’t you?’
Several of them nodded their heads. An unprovoked assault had occurred.
The policeman put a hand on Andrews’ shoulder. ‘You’d better come with me,’ he said, trying to lead him away.
‘You can’t arrest me!’ howled Andrews, brushing him off. ‘My son-in-law is a detective inspector at Scotland Yard.’