Superintendent Edward Tallis was known at Scotland Yard for his swift response to a summons. As soon as he read the telegraph, he sent for Robert Colbeck. Within a minute, the inspector was standing in front of his superior’s desk.

‘Where is it this time, sir?’ he asked.

‘Shrewsbury. You’ve been asked for by name.’

‘I’ll do my best to justify their faith in me.’

‘On reflection,’ said Tallis, handing him the telegraph, ‘you may not need to go there. If it’s simply a case of suicide in a railway hotel, I think that the local police can easily deal with it.’

‘Then why did they contact us?’ said Colbeck, reading the telegraph.

‘They didn’t. As you can see, the request came from the stationmaster. The deceased held a position of some importance in the Great Western Railway.’

‘I know, sir. Julian Lockyer is a name that I recognise.’

Tallis was surprised. ‘Really?’

‘He is on the board of directors and is – or was – more than likely to become its next chairman. In other words, he had a very good reason to stay alive. Would a man about to secure a position he has coveted even think about taking his own life?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then I have good reason to go to Shrewsbury to investigate.’ He handed the telegraph back to the superintendent. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir …’

‘One moment,’ said Tallis. ‘Before you dash off, would it not be sensible to contact the Borough Constabulary? They will tell you if your journey is necessary.’

‘In their eyes, it is not. But for the action of the stationmaster, I would be unaware of what happened in the town. The Shropshire Constabulary and the Borough Constabulary are both based in Shrewsbury. Neither of them feels the need for our assistance. It means that we will be seen as interlopers.’ Colbeck smiled. ‘It’s not the first time we’ll have a frosty reception.’

Edward Tallis sat back in his chair and studied the telegraph once more. He inhaled deeply through his nose then looked up at Colbeck. ‘What is going on up there in Shrewsbury?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘I’m very tempted to come with you.’

‘That would be foolish, sir,’ said Colbeck quickly. ‘Your place is here. A captain must not desert his ship.’

‘It’s the commissioner who is on the bridge at Scotland Yard.’

‘Yes, but he has you at his side because he relies so heavily on your advice. Leave this assignment to me and Sergeant Leeming. We’ll be in touch from Shrewsbury as soon as we can.’ Colbeck headed for the door. ‘I don’t know why but I have a feeling that it’s going to be an interesting case to work on. Goodbye, sir.’

And before Tallis could say another word, Colbeck had left the room.

The three of them were sitting nervously in Molly Burrage’s office. Annie Garrow was still trembling, Wilfred Harris was deep in thought and Molly was fearing the impact that the death would have on business at the hotel.

‘Nothing like this has ever happened before,’ she complained. ‘We’ve never lost a single guest here. What will the other guests think when they realise that they’ve been sleeping near a dead body? They won’t be able to leave quick enough. Who will want to stay here when they hear about Mr Lockyer killing himself in that room?’

‘I’ll never forget the shock of seeing all that blood,’ said Annie. ‘It was frightening.’

‘Do you feel well enough to stay here?’

‘Not really, Mrs Burrage. I’m terrified.’

‘Then you’d best go home. I’ll expect you back tomorrow – on time.’

Annie nodded gratefully then let herself out of the room. The sound of the door opening and shutting brought Harris out of his reverie. He turned to Molly.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘Mr Lockyer. When he arrived yesterday, he came into the bar for a drink.’

‘So?’

‘I poured him a whisky.’

‘Nothing wrong in that, is there?’

‘He took it from me with his left hand,’ recalled the barman. ‘And when he paid, he put his left hand into his coat to take out a wallet. Do you see what that means?’

‘Yes,’ she said, eyes widening. ‘He was left-handed.’

‘So why was that knife by his right hand? If he meant to cut his throat and wrists, he’d have used the other hand.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I’ll wager that someone else was in that room, someone who made it look as if he’d killed himself. In fact, it wasn’t a case of suicide at all,’ declared Harris. ‘I reckon Mr Lockyer was murdered.’

‘That’s even worse,’ wailed Molly, struggling to keep tears at bay. ‘How can we ever let that room to a guest? They’d have nightmares in there. Oh, this is terrible, Wilf! It could finish us off.’

‘Let’s see what the police have to say. They’ve been here long enough.’

‘At least they had the body removed.’

‘Yes,’ said Harris. ‘That was a blessing.’

‘No, it wasn’t, Wilf. Having a guest carried out of here on a stretcher by two policemen is an awful thing to see. Tongues will be wagging madly. The hotel will get a bad name.’

‘Nothing can damage your reputation,’ he assured her. ‘Everyone knows that Molly Burrage provides good service for her guests. It’s the reason we keep so busy. Nothing will change.’

‘I hope so.’

‘To be honest, I’m more worried about Annie than about the hotel.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s still young and innocent. The poor girl didn’t empty her stomach just because she saw all that blood. It was because it was the first time in her life that she looked at a naked man.’ Harris grimaced. ‘That sight is going to haunt her for the rest of her days.’

Victor Leeming was accustomed to sudden departures to distant locations. As soon as Colbeck told him that they had to leave London, the sergeant scribbled a note to his wife then reached for the valise that contained all that he needed for nights spent away. Colbeck did the same thing, penning a swift letter and leaving it on his desk beside Leeming’s note, confident that both missives would be delivered by hand to their respective wives. Leaving Scotland Yard, they hailed a cab. In what seemed like no time at all, they were climbing into the empty compartment of a train.

‘Why are we going to Shrewsbury, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘We’ve been summoned by the stationmaster.’

‘He has no warrant to get in touch with us. Why didn’t he consult the local police?’

‘I suspect that he did just that, Victor. They probably told him that it was none of his business and that we were, in any case, not needed.’

‘That means we’re going where we’re not actually wanted.’

‘The stationmaster wants us,’ said Colbeck. ‘He acted wisely.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a pity we can’t go via the Cotswolds.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d appreciate a word with Stephen Rydall.’

‘Do you mean that man we met from Frampton Mansell?’

‘Yes, he sits on the board of the Great Western Railway. I’d have been glad to hear his opinion of Julian Lockyer.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He might well have been the next chairman of the company,’ said Colbeck, ‘but his corpse was discovered this morning at the Station Hotel in Shrewsbury.’

‘Was it a natural death?’

‘According to the telegraph, it was a suicide. I disagree. Why would a man about to achieve a position he has yearned for suddenly kill himself? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Do you think a rival at the GWR is involved?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me, Victor. As we know only too well, railway ownership is a dog-eat-dog world. Competition between companies is fierce and the same goes for rivals among directors. They may beam at each other across the table at board meetings but each one of them is seeking power and influence. Mr Lockyer was not the only candidate for the position of chairman.’

‘Would someone kill to achieve such a position?’