Cambridge was small enough to explore on foot and replete with such wonderful medieval architecture that even the sergeant stopped to gape from time to time. There were a number of hotels but, as Colbeck had predicted, not all of them would have attracted someone like Lord Hendry, especially if he was there with someone other than his wife. Comfort and discretion would be the qualities he would expect from his accommodation. It took Leeming less than half an hour to find the establishment. After three failed attempts, he finally located the hotel he was after, a half-timbered building from the late Elizabethan period with a recently painted exterior and a sagging charm. Situated in a quiet street, the Angel Hotel offered a compound of luxury, tradition and quality service.
When he asked to see the manager, Leeming was taken to a low-ceilinged room that served as an office and obliged Neville Hindmarsh to duck as he rose to his feet behind his desk. Had the sergeant not already have removed his top hat, it would have been scythed from his head by one of the solid oak beams. Unsettled by a visit from a Scotland Yard detective, the manager waved him anxiously to a seat before resuming his own.
‘What brings you all the way from London?’ he inquired.
‘We’re involved in an investigation, sir,’ replied Leeming, ‘and the name of this hotel cropped up in the course of it.’
‘And what exactly are you investigating?’
‘A murder.’
Hindmarsh gulped. He was an exceptionally tall man in his forties, lean, long-faced and with a studious air. He looked less like the manager of a hotel than the Fellow of a nearby college who had wandered absent-mindedly into the building after mistaking it for the Senior Common Room. When the sergeant explained that he wanted to know more detail about the theft of a hatbox, Hindmarsh blushed as if being accused of the crime himself. He needed a moment to compose himself.
‘I think you’ve been misinformed, Sergeant,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘No hatbox – or any other item, for that matter – was stolen from this hotel. We pride ourselves on the security we offer our guests. It’s a major reason why many of them return to us again and again.’
Leeming was puzzled. ‘Nothing was stolen?’
‘If it had been, it would have been reported to the police.’
‘Lord Hendry assured us that the theft occurred here and he would surely know. You do recall the recent visit he and his wife made here?’
‘Very clearly.’
‘Then why does his version of events differ from yours?’
‘I can’t answer that,’ said Hindmarsh nervously. ‘What I can tell you categorically is that the hatbox was not taken on these premises. I distinctly remember seeing Lady Hendry depart with it.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was standing by the door to bid her farewell when the porter carried it out to the cab. Lady Hendry arrived with one hatbox and left with it. I’d take my Bible oath on that.’
‘I can’t believe that her husband deliberately misled us.’
‘I’m sure it was an honest mistake,’ said Hindmarch, groping for an explanation. ‘Perhaps the item was stolen at the railway station. Unfortunately, we’ve had luggage taken from there before. When he mentioned this hotel, Lord Hendry could have been hazarding a guess. After all, he was not here at the time.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Leeming. ‘Where else would he be?’
‘At the races in Newmarket.’
‘What about Lady Hendry?’
‘She remained here for a while then left to catch an afternoon train. Lady Hendry had all of the luggage she had brought.’
‘How long did they stay at the Angel?’
‘They booked in for three nights, Sergeant Leeming. In the event, they only stayed for one.’
‘Why was that, sir?’
‘Not because of any shortcomings on our part,’ said Hindmarsh quickly. ‘Lady Hendry’s sudden departure was quite unexpected. When her husband got back from Newmarket, he was astonished that she was not here. After paying the bill, he left immediately.’
‘Did you find that behaviour rather strange?’
‘It’s not for me to say, Sergeant.’
‘Have Lord and Lady Hendry ever stayed here before?’
‘Yes,’ said Hindmarsh. ‘On two previous occasions.’
‘When there were races at Newmarket?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Did his wife accompany Lord Hendry to the races?’
‘No, sergeant – Lady Hendry always remained at the hotel.’
‘Does she have no interest in the Turf?’
‘Who knows, sir?’
‘You must have speculated on the reason.’
‘When guests book a room here,’ said Hindmarsh tactfully, ‘they can come and go as they wish. I do not keep an eye on them or pry into their private lives.’
Leeming was not hindered by any restraints. He was employed to pry. There was one obvious reason why the woman posing as Lady Hendry did not go to Newmarket. Lord Hendry was a familiar figure at any racecourse. Had he been seen flaunting his mistress, word would certainly have trickled back to his wife. Colbeck’s theory about the Lady Hendry with the hatbox had now turned into hard fact. The sergeant took out his notebook then licked the end of his pencil.
‘I need your assistance, Mr Hindmarsh,’ he said with what he hoped was a disarming smile, ‘and I don’t think you’ll be breaking a confidence in giving it to me.’
The manager was suspicious. ‘What kind of assistance?’
‘I want you to describe Lady Hendry to me.’
When he finished work that evening, Caleb Andrews paid his customary visit to a tavern frequented by railwaymen. He enjoyed an hour’s badinage with friends, a couple of pints of beer and, by dint of winning two games of dominoes, he did not even have to pay for the alcohol. As he sauntered home towards Camden, therefore, he was cheerful and the mood continued when he reached his house and found that Madeleine had supper waiting for him.
‘You’re back early for a change,’ she observed, giving him a token kiss of welcome. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Yes, Maddy – I’ve been to Crewe and back again.’
‘You must know every inch of that line.’
‘I could drive it in my sleep.’
‘Well, I hope I’m not a passenger when you do it.’ They shared a laugh and sat down at the table. ‘And thank you for coming back while I’m still up. It makes a big difference.’
‘I stopped playing dominoes while I was still winning.’
‘We could have a game afterwards, if you like.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Andrews, raising both hands as if to ward her off. ‘You have the luck of the devil whenever we play a game together. Cards, dominoes, draughts – it’s always the same. You manage to beat me every time somehow.’
Madeleine grinned. ‘I had an excellent teacher.’
‘It was a mistake to teach you at all.’ He forked some food into his mouth. ‘What have you been doing all day, Maddy?’
‘Working and reading.’
‘Have you started your latest painting yet?’
‘I’ve done a pen-and-ink sketch, that’s all.’
‘Will I be in this one?’
‘No, Father – just the locomotive.’
‘It has to have a driver,’ he complained.
‘Figures are my weak spot. I try to leave them out.’