'I've never heard of the man,' said Leeming.

'That's because you never go to the theatre, Victor.'

'How can I on my wage, Inspector? I have a family to feed.'

'Mr Buckmaster is an actor-manager. He has his own company of strolling players. I saw him give a masterly performance as Othello on one occasion.' His eyes moved to the corpse. 'How on earth did his card come to be in the victim's pocket?'

'I can tell you that,' said Stockdale, keen to show that he had not been idle. 'Buckmaster's Players arrived today to spend a week at the Theatre Royal. It appears that Mr Buckmaster and his leading lady, Miss Linnane, shared a compartment with Mr Kellow on the train. They were horrified to hear what happened to him. It was they who confirmed his name. What surprised them was that he came to the hotel. He told them that he was travelling back to London as soon as he had delivered the coffee pot.'

'Perhaps he was due to hand it over to its new owner right here,' suggested Leeming.

'No, Sergeant. He was supposed to take it to the house.'

'What house?

'The one belonging to Mr and Mrs Tomkins,' said Stockdale, 'though it's more like a small palace than a house. Only someone like Clifford Tomkins could afford to buy an expensive coffee pot like that. He made his fortune in Merthyr as an ironmaster then had a mansion built in Cardiff. The coffee pot was a gift to his wife.'

'Let's go back to Mr Buckmaster,' said Colbeck. 'If he travelled all the way here in the company of Mr Kellow, he might have picked up some useful intelligence. I'll need to speak to him.'

'Then you won't have far to go. He and Miss Linnane are staying at the hotel.' Stockdale smirked knowingly. 'They have separate rooms but my guess is that only one of the beds will be used.'

'I don't hold with that sort of thing,' said Leeming, bluntly.