‘Nevertheless, Humphrey, I was given to believe that it has. The gallant Inspector was seen to take a fond farewell on her doorstep. And while she may only be a railwayman’s daughter,’ said Sholto with a well-bred leer, ‘she is a fetching young woman. I’d hoped that she’d struggle more so that I could have the pleasure of manhandling her.’
Gilzean was strict. ‘She must be treated with respect.’
‘Am I not even allowed a little sport?’
‘No, Thomas.’
‘But she might like some company in the middle of the night.’
‘Miss Andrews must be unharmed,’ insisted Gilzean, filling his glass from the port decanter. ‘I draw the line at molestation.’
‘Where women are concerned,’ teased Sholto, ‘you were always inclined to be too soft.’
‘I behave like a gentleman, Thomas. So should you.’
‘There are times when courtesy is burdensome.’
‘Not to me.’
Sholto laughed. ‘You really are the strangest creature, Humphrey,’ he said. ‘Who else would send me off to murder a man then insist that I leave a substantial amount of money with his widow?’
‘Mrs Ings needed it — we do not.’
‘I always need money.’
‘Even you must be satisfied with what we have accrued.’
‘It only makes me want more.’
‘Apart from what we gained in the robbery, there were the profits from blackmail. In total, it amounted to almost three thousand pounds. We are in a position to be generous.’
‘Giving money to that woman was unnecessary.’
‘It salved my conscience and appealed to my sense of fair play.’
‘Fair play?’ echoed the other with a derisive laugh. ‘Having her husband killed hardly constitutes fair play.’
‘He betrayed her for that money, remember,’ said Gilzean. ‘He abandoned his wife and family to live with a whore in the Devil’s Acre. I have no sympathy for him — but I did feel that Mrs Ings deserved help.’
Sholto was disdainful. ‘I do not believe in charity.’
‘Cultivate a little benevolence, Thomas.’
‘Oh, I have plenty of that,’ said the other, ‘but I put it to different uses. You see a grieving widow and tell me to put money through her letterbox. When I see a female in distress — Madeleine Andrews, for example — I have the urge to comfort her in a more intimate way and offer my full benevolence.’
‘Miss Andrews is only a means to an end.’
‘My belief, entirely.’
‘I am serious,’ said Gilzean, forcefully. ‘When she is under my roof, she is under my protection. Dismiss any thoughts you may have about her, Thomas. Miss Andrews is here for a purpose.’
‘How long will we keep her?’
‘As long as we need her.’
‘What about the elegant Inspector?’
‘He will surely be aware of her disappearance by now,’ said Gilzean, sniffing his port before tasting it, ‘and, if he is as enamoured as you believe, he will be extremely fretful. That was my intention — to give Inspector Colbeck something to occupy his mind.’
Robert Colbeck slept fitfully that night, troubled by dreams of what terrible fate might have befallen Madeleine Andrews. The news that she had been kidnapped aroused all of his protective instincts and he came to see just how fond he was of her. It was no passing interest. His affection was deep and intensified by her plight. The thought that she was in great danger left him in a fever of recrimination. Colbeck felt responsible for what had happened. She had been taken, he believed, as a way of striking at him. Because he had arrested three men, Madeleine had become a hostage.
He woke up to the realisation that his efforts to find her had, so far, been fruitless. In the wake of the visit from Gideon Little, he had sent police officers to Camden to question all the neighbours in her street in case any of them had witnessed the abduction. One had remembered seeing a policeman outside the door of Madeleine’s house, another had watched the cab setting off, but neither could add to what Colbeck already knew. He had nothing to help him. Madeleine could be anywhere.
Rain was scouring the streets when he stepped out of his house, making London seem wet and inhospitable. Colbeck had to walk some distance along John Islip Street before he found a cab, and his umbrella was dripping. He was glad to get to Scotland Yard. Although it was still early, Superintendent Tallis had already arrived to start work. Colbeck met him in the corridor outside his office. Having been informed of the crisis, Tallis was eager to hear of developments.
‘Any news, Inspector?’ he asked.
‘None, sir.’
‘That’s worrying. Miss Andrews has been missing for the best part of twenty-four hours. I would have expected contact by now.’
‘From whom?’
‘The people who abducted her,’ said Tallis. ‘In cases of kidnap, there is usually a ransom demand within a short time. Yet we have heard nothing. That bodes ill.’
‘Not necessarily, Superintendent.’
‘It could mean that the poor woman is no longer alive.’
‘I refuse to believe that,’ said Colbeck. ‘If the object were to kill Miss Andrews, that could have been done more easily. Nobody would go to the trouble of disguising himself as a policeman so that he could lure her into a cab, when he could dispatch her with one thrust of a dagger.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘Look what happened to William Ings and Daniel Slender, sir. They were both killed with brutal efficiency — so was Kate Piercey.’
‘You are still making the assumption that this abduction is the work of the train robbers.’
‘Who else would kidnap Miss Andrews?’
‘She lives in Camden, Inspector. It’s not the most law-abiding area of the city. Any woman who is young and pretty is potentially at risk.’
‘Of what?’
Tallis was sombre. ‘Use your imagination,’ he said. ‘When we get reports of abductions, young women — sometimes mere girls — are always the victims. They are dragged off to Seven Dials or the Devil’s Acre and forced into the sort of life that Kate Piercey lived.’
‘That is certainly not the case here.’