Free Inspector Colbeck's Casebook by Edward Marston Page A

harpist. What he did see were several men who looked vaguely like the one who’d bumped into him the previous evening. Madeleine had been right. His loose description of the supposed pickpocket fitted any number of male passengers. During their brief encounter, Andrews had had no time to register the man’s height, age or colouring. He couldn’t even decide if he’d heard an educated voice or a Cockney twang. Detective work was not as straightforward as he’d imagined.
    The musician finally arrived around noon. Covered by a piece of cloth, his Irish harp was small enough to be carried under his arm. The mangy dog trailed after him. He took up a different position this time, squatting down on the ground near a cloakroom where luggage could be deposited. Music soon filled the air. Andrews drifted across so that he could keep the old man under surveillance. Busy people rushed past but there were small groups that loitered for short periods to listen. The first few coins clinked into the cap. The dog fell asleep.
    After an hour or so, the harpist stopped for refreshment. From inside his coat, he pulled out a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. His audience vanished instantly. Once he resumed, however, more and more people moved across to hear him. When the crowd thickened, an impeccably tailored man walked slowly towards the cluster. Andrews watched him like a hawk. As he eased his way to the front of the queue, the man rubbed against several other people with gestures of apology. Andrews recalled the polite gentlemanwho’d bumped into him. Was he looking at the same man? It was a strong possibility. Indeed, the more he studied the newcomer, the more certain he became that he’d identified a pickpocket.
    When the man broke away from the crowd, he bumped accidentally into a woman and immediately raised his hat to her before striding off. It was exactly what had happened to Andrews. What looked like a chance collision was, in fact, an opportunity for the pickpocket to claim another victim. The evidence, Andrews decided, was now overwhelming. It was him.
    Disregarding the fact that he had no power of arrest, Andrews ran after the man and clutched at his arm. The stranger turned to face him.
    ‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ said Andrews, ‘you can return my wallet for a start. You stole it from me yesterday evening when I was listening to your accomplice playing his harp.’
    ‘What the devil are you talking about?’
    ‘You’re a pickpocket. I’ve been watching you at work.’
    ‘I work in a bank,’ said the man, testily, ‘and I’ll be late if I miss my train.’
    ‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Andrews, tightening his grip.
    ‘Leave go of me,’ ordered the man, ‘or I’ll call a policeman.’
    ‘That’s exactly what
I
wish to do.’
    Train passengers were treated to the extraordinary sight of a wiry old character, clinging like a limpet to the arm of an elegant gentleman who was doing everything he could to shake him off. Both were yelling simultaneously for apoliceman. It was only a minute before one came over to see what the commotion was. He was a hefty individual in his thirties with rubicund cheeks.
    ‘What’s going on here, then?’ he asked.
    ‘Get this imbecile off me!’ pleaded the man.
    Andrews released him. ‘Arrest him, constable,’ he said. ‘He’s the pickpocket who stole my wallet yesterday. That harpist is his accomplice.’
    ‘I’ve never set eyes on the fellow before.’
    ‘The two of you work hand in glove.’
    ‘Now calm down, the pair of you!’ said the policeman. ‘We’ll get nowhere if you both jabber away.’ He turned to the man. ‘You tell me your story first, sir.’
    Angered by the deference in his tone, Andrews tried to complain but he was silenced by the policeman with the threat of arrest. The man gave his account of what had happened then opened his frock coat wide.
    ‘If you think I stole anything,’ he challenged, ‘search