Stennard read the letter. ‘Take the left fork,’ he ordered.
Colbeck resumed his role as the coachman. He flicked the reins and sent the horses off at a brisk trot. Leeming only knew the directions to the place they were just leaving. Colbeck was worried that he’d be unable to find them once they plunged into the woodland ahead but he had to obey orders. Taking the left fork, he drove on a winding road through trees so tall and close together that they blocked out most of the light. After half a mile, they came to a large clearing. As they emerged from the shadows, they found the sun dazzling. Colbeck brought the coach to a halt some twenty yards or more from a horse and cart. A thickset man in his fifties jumped down from the cart.
‘Where’s the money?’ he demanded.
Stennard got out of the coach. ‘Show me the painting first.’
The man lifted the painting off the back off the cart and walked across to them. Colbeck watched as the man removed the cloth so that Stennard could see Rain, Steam and Speed. He was so delighted that he handed over the leather bag at once. Before he released the painting, the man insisted on counting the money. Because he was poorly dressed and spoke roughly, Colbeck knew that he was merely a go-between and not one of the actual thieves. The inspector sensed that they were under surveillance from the trees ahead. That was where the real villains were lurking. Of Leeming’s whereabouts, he was less certain. The sergeant might have lost their trail completely.
Having counted the money, the man turned round and signalled to someone concealed behind him. Then he gave the painting to Stennard, leapt up onto the cart with the leather bag and snapped the reins. The cart swung round before heading off at speed in the opposite direction. Stennard, meanwhile, was on his knees, holding the frame in his hands as if embracing a kidnapped child who’d been returned to him. Colbeck got down from the coach to look at Turner’s work and felt a thrill of recognition. It was truly a masterpiece.
‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ said Stennard. ‘I’d have paid twice the money for it.’
‘With luck, my lord, it won’t have cost you anything.’ Colbeck looked around. ‘We’ll just have to hope that Sergeant Leeming was able to stay on our tail.’
Leeming, in fact, was more concerned with staying in the saddle. Playful rather than mutinous, the horse kept bucking at unadvertised moments or going too close to bushes as if trying to brush off its rider. When the coach had reached its first location, Leeming had remained out of sight and watched through a telescope. Only when he saw the vehicle disappear into woodland did he come out of hiding and ride on. Pursuit was difficult but he eventually got within sound of the coach. He could hear its wheels rumbling over the road. When the noise stopped, however, he was lost. All that he could do was to wait patiently and listen.
Long, slow minutes rolled past. He kept his ears pricked but he heard nothing. The horse, however, became aware of a sound and sprang into life. Before he realised what was happening, Leeming was being carried through the undergrowth at a canter. He emerged from cover onto an open road and saw that he was chasing a horse and cart that was rattling along at full tilt. He dug his heels into his mount to urge it on and soon began to close on the fleeing cart. Leeming knew, however, that catching it up was easier than stopping it. Though he had a pistol in his pocket, he needed two hands to hold onto the reins. In the event, the driver lost his nerve. As Leeming galloped level with him, the man heaved hard and brought the cart to a gradual halt. It took Leeming a little longer to rein in his horse. He’d never been so pleased to jump from the saddle. Apart from anything else, it allowed him to take out the pistol.
‘Don’t shoot, sir!’ pleaded the man.
‘I’m arresting you for the theft of a painting.’
‘I didn’t take it — I swear it. He paid me to hand it over, that’s all. I needed the money, sir. I’ve just been turned out of my cottage and have only the clothes I stand up in. Take pity on me,’ he begged, extending both palms in supplication. ‘Give me something to relieve my misery.’
‘I have just the thing,’ said Leeming.
And he clapped the handcuffs onto the man’s wrists.
Madeleine Colbeck was overjoyed to learn that her wish had come true. When they were actually on their way to Stennard Court the next day, she still couldn’t believe it.
‘This is a wonderful treat for me, Robert.’
‘You deserve it, my love.’
‘I never thought that Lord Stennard would agree to it.’
‘You underestimate your husband’s powers of persuasion,’ said Colbeck with a grin. ‘The truth of it is that he was so pleased to get the painting back that he could refuse me nothing — even though the case is not yet over.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever recover that money?’
‘I’m certain of it, Madeleine. I already have two suspects in mind.’
‘Will Victor Leeming be joining us at the gallery?’
‘No,’ replied Colbeck. ‘He’s too busy making enquiries about the suspects I just mentioned.’
‘Shouldn’t you be doing that?’
‘Wait and see, my love.’
They left the train at Berkhamsted and hired a cab to take them to the house. Stennard gave Madeleine a cordial welcome and insisted on taking her by the arm to show her around the exhibition. Colbeck trailed behind them. Drooling over each painting, their host took them from one to the other in sequence. At the end of one row, they crossed the gallery to work their way along the other wall. It was when they reached Turner’s painting that Stennard’s happiness swelled to its peak.
‘It’s the painting I most covet in the whole exhibition,’ he said with a grand gesture. ‘I’d give anything to own it.’
‘So would lots of collectors,’ remarked Colbeck.
Madeleine was staring at it with open-mouthed admiration, studying once again its extraordinary use of colour. It was worth making the journey there simply to relish the work of a genius. All of a sudden, she stiffened and took a step forward to peer more closely. When she turned around, she was in evident distress.
‘It pains me to say this, my lord,’ she said, deferentially, ‘but it’s a fake.’
‘How dare you even suggest it!’ exclaimed Stennard.
‘My wife knows the painting extremely well,’ said Colbeck.
‘And so do I. That’s a genuine Turner — take my word for it.’
‘Then where is the hare?’ asked Madeleine, pointing. ‘In the right-hand corner, there should be a hare. It’s not very distinct in the original but it’s there.’
Stennard used his monocle to scrutinise the canvas. Refusing to believe that he’d been duped, he searched for the tiny animal but to no avail. It was not there. Madeleine had exposed a fraud.
‘There’s one way to make certain,’ said Colbeck, lifting the frame from its hood and lowering it to the floor. He turned it round to examine the back. Fresh tacks had been put into it. There were holes where the original ones had been removed. ‘The evidence is fairly conclusive, I think.’
Stennard’s heart missed a beat as the saw the telltale holes. Turner’s work had been removed and a copy of it put in its place. His earlier delight was transformed into cold fury. He rounded on Colbeck.
‘We’ve been tricked,’ he roared. ‘I paid all that money for a fake.’
‘I had a feeling that it might be a clever copy,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘They kept the original so that they could extract even more money out of you. In time, you’d have received a second demand.’
‘A second demand?’ Stennard goggled. ‘What is going on?’
Colbeck moved away. ‘Excuse me, my lord. I have to authorise some arrests.’
Herbert Stagg counted out the money with a gleeful chuckle. The short, stout man who’d called at his lodging was Ruthin Woodvine, an art dealer. He was paying Stagg for the valuable information he’d received. Woodvine shared his elation.