‘I don’t care if he’s the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ said the policeman, taking a firmer grip. ‘I’m taking you into custody to face charges of assault and resisting an arrest.’
To a round of applause from onlookers, Andrews was marched away.
It was late afternoon before Colbeck was able to get across to the police station near Euston. By that time, his father-in-law had been cooling his heels in a dank and cheerless cell for hours. When he was released by the duty sergeant, Andrews made wild threats about suing the police for wrongful arrest. Colbeck hustled him out of the building.
‘You don’t need to tell me the story,’ he said. ‘I read the report. Because I was ready to vouch for you, all charges have been dropped. Please don’t antagonise the police, Mr Andrews, or you may get yourself into a situation from which I’m unable to rescue you.’
Andrews took a deep breath and tried to master his sense of humiliation.
‘Thank you, Robert,’ he said at length. ‘They laughed at me when I said that the Railway Detective was my son-in-law. Now they know better.’
‘Forget what happened at Euston station today. Go back to the events of yesterday. Madeleine told me that a pickpocket had stolen your wallet. How exactly did it happen?’
Andrews gave a vivid account, describing both the pickpocket and his alleged accomplice. Colbeck was not persuaded that either of the men was guilty of the crime or that they were in any way connected.
‘What did the man do after he’d apologised?’ he asked.
‘He rushed straight off towards the platforms.’
‘Then the logical supposition is that he was about to catch a train.’
‘Yes,’ said Andrews, peevishly, ‘and he’d have had my wallet in his pocket.’
‘I beg leave to doubt that, Mr Andrews. Dippers are after rich pickings. With respect, you don’t look like the sort of person who might be carrying a large amount of money.’
‘That doesn’t matter. It still hurt when he took the little I had on me.’
‘In my view,’ said Colbeck, ‘the fact that this man went off to catch a train absolves him of the crime. If Euston was his patch, he’d have stayed there in search of more victims. There’s another point. Pickpockets often have an accomplice to whom they can slip what they’ve stolen. If they’re confronted by a policeman, they’re happy to be searched because they have nothing on them that they don’t legitimately own.’
‘This man did have an accomplice,’ said Andrews. ‘It was the harpist.’
‘Did you actually see him pass any wallets or purses to the old man?’
‘Well, no …’
‘What gave you the impression that they worked together?’
‘I was distracted by the music, Robert.’
‘All that the harpist was doing was to earn a few pennies,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Pickpockets expect more than that. The one who stole your wallet simply seized a moment when your mind was elsewhere. But let me ask you another question,’ he added. ‘Why did you try to solve the crime yourself instead of reporting it to the police the moment you became aware that you’d been robbed?’
Andrews was shamefaced. ‘I thought I could do your job for you,’ he said before thrusting out his chest. ‘And I still might.’
Colbeck asserted his authority and told his father-in-law that his days as an amateur detective were over. A professional criminal would only be caught by those with the requisite experience. He had a surprise for Andrews.
‘I appreciate how you must feel,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘Being the victim of theft is always unpleasant but you were not the only one. There were six other reports yesterday of money being stolen by a pickpocket at Euston. However, no less than fifteen victims came forward at Paddington with the same complaint and the harpist was not playing there. Where crowds gather, there’ll always be dippers on the prowl. Railway stations are their natural habitat.’
Andrews was dejected. ‘Have I lost that money forever, then?’
‘Not necessarily,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’ll ask Sergeant Leeming to look into the case. When he was in uniform, he had a reputation for being able to spot pickpockets at work. Let’s see if he can still do it.’
When she heard what had occurred, Madeleine was torn between sympathy and amusement, sorry that her father had suffered the indignity of arrest yet able to see the irony of a self-appointed detective ending up behind bars. Over dinner with her husband, she thanked him for his intervention.
‘It was very kind of you to step in, Robert.’
‘I couldn’t let my father-in-law get an undeserved criminal record. He was his own worst enemy, Madeleine. He should have come to us right away,’ said Colbeck. ‘How would he feel if I tried to drive a train without any qualifications for doing so?’
‘That’s an unfair comparison.’
‘I fancy that I’d make a better job of it than he did of being a detective.’
‘But you’d have the sense not even to try. Father, on the other hand, couldn’t be held back. He was determined that it would be his case. He’s always been rather impulsive. This is only the latest example.’
‘In principle, I admire what he did but I deplore the way he went about it.’
‘He’ll be terribly upset. I’d better go and see him tomorrow.’
‘That’s an excellent idea, Madeleine,’ said Colbeck. ‘Apart from anything else, it will keep him away from Euston. I don’t want him going there and stepping on Victor Leeming’s toes.’
‘What will the sergeant be doing there?’
‘He’ll be on the lookout for an old harpist and a cunning pickpocket.’
Victor Leeming was very unhappy about being sent to Euston on what he perceived as a rather demeaning errand. As a detective, he dealt with dangerous criminals and helped to solve major crimes. In his eyes, looking for a pickpocket was in the nature of a demotion. The harpist arrived and selected a spot near the ticket office. Dog and cap lay beside him. As the old man began his recital, Leeming rolled his eyes and turned to the uniformed policeman next to him.
‘I hate street musicians,’ he said, bitterly. ‘When I set off for work this morning, there was a hurdy-gurdy man outside my front door. I turned the corner and almost walked into a barrel organ. Farther down the street, someone was playing a violin — it sounded as if he was trying to strangle a cat. But the worst of all was these two lads in kilts,’ he went on with a groan. ‘They were playing bagpipes and going from house to house in search of Scotsmen. The noise was deafening. People gave them money just to get rid of them.’
‘I quite like the harpist,’ said the policeman, defensively.
‘Then you shouldn’t be listening. You’re on duty.’
‘I could say the same of you, sir.’
‘Point towards the waiting room,’ suggested Leeming. ‘If anyone is watching me, I don’t want them to think I’m a policeman. Let them believe I just asked you for directions.’
The policeman obeyed. Leeming pretended to thank him before walking over to the waiting room. Once inside, he stood by the window so that he could see the ever-changing crowd around the harpist. Nothing remotely suspicious occurred. After a barren half an hour, he stamped his foot in irritation and went outside again, making for the bookstall where he bought a newspaper. While opening it up as if reading it, he kept one eye firmly fixed on the people enjoying the music.
By early afternoon, Leeming was becoming increasingly annoyed. He was even tempted to abandon his vigil and return to more important duties at Scotland Yard. Then something of interest finally took place. A man came out of the ticket office in obvious distress. He scuttled across to the policeman to whom Leeming had spoken earlier. From the way that he patted one side of his chest and pointed towards the harpist, the sergeant deduced that the man’s wallet had been stolen and that the crime had only come to light when he went to buy a ticket. The policeman nodded soulfully as he heard the tale of woe but he didn’t walk towards the harpist to investigate. Having been warned why Leeming was there, he kept well away from the harpist for fear of frightening the pickpocket and accomplice — if such a person existed — away from the station altogether. But at least it was clear that a deft hand was at work. Leeming cheered up. His presence might be justified, after all.