‘Did he ever give you her address?’
She looked blank. ‘He had no need to.’
‘No, I suppose not. But, as you’ll understand, I’m anxious to find her. Effie Kellow is his next of kin. She needs to be told that he’s been…’ He stopped to rephrase what he was going to say. ‘…that he met with an unfortunate accident.’
‘My husband will be distraught when he hears,’ she said, blowing her nose into the handkerchief. ‘He’s not in the best of health. I don’t really know how to break it to him.’
‘I’d wait until you get used to the idea yourself, Mrs Jennings,’ advised Leeming. ‘I can see that it’s been a terrible shock for you.’
‘It has, Sergeant. It’s almost like losing a son.’
Tears which had threatened throughout suddenly came in a waterfall and Leeming could do nothing until she had cried her fill. He sat and watched helplessly. When she finally regained a modicum of composure, he rose from his seat and glanced upwards.
‘Could I possibly see Mr Kellow’s room?’ he enquired.
Mrs Jennings stiffened. ‘Why?’
‘It would be interesting to see where he lived.’
‘The room is cleaned regularly,’ she said, striking a defensive note. ‘I look after my lodgers, Sergeant. It’s the reason they stay with me for so long. I’m not like some landladies.’
‘Mr Kellow was obviously very happy here.’
Mollified by his comment, she got up, wiped away the last of her tears then led the way upstairs. Kellow’s room was on the top floor. It was surprisingly large and its window gave him a clear view of the street below. Unlike the room downstairs, it was sparsely furnished. Apart from the bed and a sagging wardrobe, there was only a table and an upright chair. On the table were a couple of well-thumbed books on the art of the silversmith and a notebook with a few sketches in it. When Leeming tried to open the door of the wardrobe, Mrs Jennings was affronted.
‘You can’t look in there,’ she chided. ‘It’s private.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll do so on my behalf, Mrs Jennings. I just wondered if there might be some letters from his sister that bore her address. Could you take a look, please?’
She rummaged reluctantly through every item in the wardrobe but there were no letters. Nor was there anything else to indicate where Effie Kellow lived. It troubled Leeming that she was still unaware of her brother’s fate. As he took a last look around the room, a wave of sadness splashed over him. The young silversmith had lived modestly yet been murdered in possession of a highly expensive coffee pot that he had helped to make. His talent had been his undoing. Now he would never be able to fulfil his ambition of owning his own premises and rescuing his sister from the drudgery of service.
‘Thank you, Mrs Jennings,’ he said. ‘I’ll let myself out.’
But she did not even hear him. The landlady had gone off into another trance, lost in happy memories of her former lodger and pressing one of his beloved books against her ample breasts as if it was imparting warmth and reassurance.
Robert Colbeck was pleased to see that the manager was in a less hysterical state that morning. Now that the corpse had been removed, Archelaus Pugh felt that he was in charge again and could devote all his energies to the smooth running of the hotel. It was he who told the inspector that Kate Linnane was now able to see him at last. Colbeck went up to her room at once. He did not expect her to add much to what Nigel Buckmaster had already told him but he wanted to hear a woman’s appraisal of the silversmith.
In response to his knock, he was invited into the room. He opened the door to find the actress reclining on the chaise longue with a book in her hands. Wearing a silk robe with a floral pattern on it, she looked up with an inquiring smile. Colbeck closed the door then introduced himself.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Inspector,’ she said, smile remaining in place as she looked him up and down. ‘I do apologise for not being able to see you yesterday but I was profoundly upset by what happened here yesterday. The murder was only three doors away.’
‘I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered now, Miss Linnane.’
She put her book aside. ‘You’ve spoken to Nigel, I gather.’
‘Mr Buckmaster was very helpful.’
‘I hope that I can be equally helpful,’ she told him. ‘But do please sit down.’
‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, taking a seat and noting that she had been studying the text of Macbeth. ‘I understand that you think this tragedy is in some way connected with the play you’ve chosen to perform in Cardiff.’
‘I’m convinced of it, Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Have you had bad experiences with Macbeth before?’
‘More than once,’ she replied with a slight grimace. ‘The worst occasion was in Abergavenny last year. I was in the middle of the sleep-walking scene when a balcony at the rear of the hall collapsed. There was the most appalling amount of noise and dust so I simply raised my voice over it. Miraculously, nobody was badly injured but I was so grateful to get offstage at the end of the scene.’
‘I don’t think you’ll have that problem in Cardiff, Miss Linnane.’
She rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘I always have a problem in Wales,’ she moaned. ‘That’s why I hate coming here. On our last visit, we performed The Merchant of Venice in Swansea.’
‘Then you doubtless took the role of Portia.’
‘I tried to, Inspector. During my speech in the trial scene one night, a dog suddenly scampered up on to the stage and bit Bassanio on the ankle. Laughter drowned out every subsequent line.’
‘I’m sure you overcame the interruption like the consummate artiste you are,’ he said, nobly. ‘I had the good fortune to see your Desdemona and your Ophelia. Both were truly memorable.’
‘Thank you!’ she said with a delighted titter. ‘I had a feeling that you might be a theatregoer though, judging by your appearance, you should be on the stage rather than in the audience. You have the look of a born actor, Inspector.’
‘I did toil in an allied profession,’ he admitted. ‘For some years, I was a barrister and there’s a histrionic element in every court case. To that extent, I was something of an actor though I could never aspire to the standard set by you and by Mr Buckmaster. However,’ he went on, ‘diverting as it would be, I haven’t come to discuss the world of theatre. A more pressing business has brought me here.’
‘Mr Kellow!’ she sighed. ‘It’s terrifying to think that such a thing could happen to him. I was amazed to hear that he was in this hotel. When he left us at the station, he was going to deliver the coffee pot to a house on the outskirts of the town.’
‘Someone clearly deflected him from that purpose.’
‘How?’
‘That’s a matter for conjecture at this stage. Perhaps you could begin by telling me what impression Mr Kellow made on you.’
‘To be quite frank,’ she said, ‘he made very little impression at first. He was out of his depth, Inspector. When he stepped into a first class carriage, he was floundering. We managed to bring him out of his shell eventually and he had a simple integrity that was rather touching. Nigel and I both had the feeling that he was being exploited by his employer, who under-paid and over-worked him, but Mr Kellow nevertheless spoke highly of him. And when he showed us that coffee pot,’ she continued, eyebrows arching in unison, ‘we were astonished. It was nothing short of magnificent.’
‘Mr Buckmaster says that you have a penchant for silver.’