The murder of Eric Gordon Tombe stands out as one of the most perplexing and mysterious cases in recent criminal history. For months, the details surrounding his death remained unclear, until a series of extraordinary events finally led to its unravelling. Tombe’s body was discovered at the bottom of a well on The Welcomes Stud Farm in Kenley, Surrey—an estate he had co-owned with his business partner, Ernest Dyer. The investigation eventually pointed to Dyer, but only after his sensational suicide in Scarborough, which cast suspicion on him and brought the crime into focus.
One of the most striking aspects of the case was the role played by Tombe’s family, particularly his father, Reverend Gordon Tombe. The Reverend had been deeply affected by a vivid and haunting dream his wife experienced. In the dream, Mrs. Tombe saw their son’s body lying at the bottom of a well. This vision was so powerful that it drove the Reverend to press authorities to investigate, a move that might otherwise not have been taken seriously by Scotland Yard. His persistence, combined with his methodical approach to uncovering details, proved invaluable in reviving the case.
In September of 1923, the investigation was officially taken up when Scotland Yard dispatched detectives to Kenley, including Divisional Detective-Inspector Hedges and lead investigator Francis Carlin. They arrived at The Welcomes, which had fallen into disrepair since Tombe’s mysterious disappearance over a year earlier. Eric Gordon Tombe, a twenty-eight-year-old former artillery officer, had vanished without a trace, leaving behind questions and growing suspicions. His partner, Ernest Dyer, another ex-officer, had been running the farm with him until it was ravaged by a fire in April 1921. Following the fire, The Welcomes ceased operating, and the property slipped into abandonment.
When the detectives arrived, they were met with a scene of neglect. The once-thriving stud farm was now desolate, with crumbling stable walls and overgrown yards. The five wells that dotted the property were hidden beneath thick layers of weeds and grass, contributing to the eerie atmosphere that now surrounded the investigation. One of these wells would soon yield Eric Tombe’s body, in a grim confirmation of Mrs. Tombe’s dream.
The task was arduous. The wells had not been used in years, and their structures had decayed significantly. The men laboured for hours, digging through overgrowth and debris, their progress slow but steady. By nightfall, the search had yielded nothing from the first two wells. However, as they worked into the early hours of the morning, their tools finally struck water in the third cesspool. The tension mounted as they drew closer to discovering what had long been buried beneath the surface.
By the flickering light of hurricane lanterns, the detectives continued their grim work, their silhouettes casting eerie shadows across the desolate grounds of The Welcomes Stud Farm. The scene, with men swinging picks and shovelling debris under the dim, wavering light, bore an unsettling resemblance to the infamous nights of the resurrectionists, Burke and Hare. The detectives laboured tirelessly, clearing the manhole of the well, which had been choked with earth, grass, and the remnants of bricks and rubbish.
At last, they reached the water, and after several attempts at lowering and raising the bucket, a disturbing discovery was made. A man's foot emerged from the murky depths. As the CID officers continued their excavation, it became horrifyingly clear that a body had been forced through the narrow manhole, headfirst, and deliberately concealed beneath layers of debris. The detectives worked with a grim determination, knowing they were about to uncover the final resting place of the young man who had vanished over a year earlier.
When the body was finally brought to the surface, the sight was too gruesome to describe in detail, but the clothing was surprisingly well-preserved. It was by these garments, along with the victim’s gold wristwatch, tiepin, and cufflinks, that Eric Tombe’s parents were able to confirm the worst—the body was indeed their son’s. The discovery validated Mrs. Tombe’s haunting dream in every respect, as the Reverend Gordon Tombe had insisted all along.
A post-mortem examination soon revealed further chilling details. Eric Tombe had been shot at close range with a sporting gun, likely the cause of death, before his body was unceremoniously discarded into the well. The focus of the investigation shifted. The question now was not just how Eric had died, but who had murdered him—and why.
As the case evolved, the next chapter unfolded far from the quiet Surrey countryside. The scene shifted to the bustling seaside town of Scarborough. On November 16, 1922, Detective-Inspector Abbott from the CID arrived at the Bar Hotel to investigate a man using the alias Fitzsimmons. This man had drawn police attention after issuing a series of fraudulent cheques and placing suspicious advertisements in the local papers. These ads promised employment to men of "the highest integrity," but only after a deposit was paid—a classic scam that had aroused suspicion. Fitzsimmons' shady dealings had made him a person of interest.
Inspector Abbott arranged to meet Fitzsimmons at the hotel and proceeded to search his belongings. While heading upstairs, Abbott noticed the man make a sudden movement towards his pocket, as if to destroy something incriminating. Acting quickly, the inspector tackled him. In the ensuing struggle, a revolver went off, and Fitzsimmons was killed instantly after turning the gun on himself, the bullet striking him at point-blank range.
What came next was even more shocking. Among Fitzsimmons’ possessions, police discovered an eye-shade, a mask, some war medals, and a badge of the British Legion. But most startling of all was a bag marked with the initials "E.T."—the same initials as Eric Gordon Tombe. Inside the bag were several personal items belonging to Eric Tombe, along with a collection of one hundred and eighty blank cheque forms, each with Tombe’s signature pencilled on them.
The evidence was damning. The man calling himself Fitzsimmons had not only been forging cheques in Eric Tombe’s name but had seemingly impersonated him in various ways after his disappearance. This shocking revelation raised more questions than answers. How had Fitzsimmons, or whatever his real name was, come into possession of Eric’s belongings? And, more critically, was he directly involved in the murder, or was he simply a fraud who had seized an opportunity after Tombe's death?
At that point, the connection between Fitzsimmons and Ernest Dyer, Eric’s former business partner, began to tighten. The investigation was far from over, and while Eric Tombe’s body had been recovered, the full truth of his murder was still shrouded in mystery.
At this stage in the unfolding drama, it became clear that Ernest Dyer, burdened by debt and desperation, had resorted to increasingly reckless measures to raise money. Whether Dyer had intended to travel around the country impersonating Eric Tombe and using forged cheques to support himself remains a question that may never be answered. However, all evidence pointed toward his intent to use Tombe's identity for financial gain.
When Dyer took his own life in Scarborough, there was still a significant gap in the investigation—the link between Dyer’s suicide and the discovery of Tombe’s body in the well at The Welcomes remained unclear. To bridge this gap, investigators retraced the events that led up to Tombe’s disappearance and began piecing together crucial information that gradually emerged, thanks in part to Reverend Gordon Tombe’s persistence and details gathered from a woman who had been a mutual acquaintance of both Tombe and Dyer.
The connection between the two men went back to their days at the Air Ministry following the First World War. After the war, Tombe and Dyer formed a partnership and acquired The Welcomes Stud Farm, which had previously been owned by Percy Woodland, a well-known racehorse trainer. While Tombe focused on the motoring side of the business, Dyer managed the horses. Their partnership seemed promising at first, but cracks began to appear in 1921, when a fire broke out at The Welcomes. The insurance company deemed the circumstances of the fire suspicious and refused to pay the £12,000 claim submitted by Dyer. Notably, the farm had only cost £5,000 to purchase. Tombe, for his part, had no involvement in the insurance, and at the time of the fire, it was only Dyer who had been present on or near the property.
Dyer’s background revealed more about his dubious character. Originally from Brighton, the son of a working-class family, he had left home and spent years living by his wits, accruing debts wherever he went. Despite obtaining a military commission during the war, he returned to his unscrupulous ways after leaving the army. In London, he developed a reputation for questionable dealings, especially around the West End in areas such as Jermyn Street, Piccadilly Circus, and the Haymarket. He often accompanied Tombe to these establishments, and it became clear during the investigation that Dyer had been living off his partner’s name, gaining credit and favours through his association with Tombe.
One key piece of evidence came from a woman who knew both men well. On April 25, 1922, she had arranged to meet with Dyer and Tombe, along with a group of friends, before they all travelled to Paris together. However, when the group gathered at Euston Station, only Dyer appeared—Tombe was nowhere to be found. Dyer offered an explanation, pulling a telegram from his pocket and reading aloud a message supposedly from Tombe, stating that he had been called away suddenly “overseas.”
It was at this moment that suspicion first took root. The woman, who was intimately familiar with Tombe’s speech patterns, immediately found the wording strange. In all the time she had known him, Tombe had never referred to his wartime service as “overseas.” He always said “France.” This seemingly small detail raised a red flag in her mind. Moreover, Dyer’s behaviour was suspicious. He was visibly nervous, sweating profusely and wiping his face with a trembling hand. His anxiety was palpable, and the woman began to doubt the validity of the telegram.
Her suspicions deepened as time passed and Tombe remained missing. Determined to get to the truth, she invited Dyer to her house one day, bringing along two friends for support. Once Dyer arrived, she confronted him bluntly, accusing him of lying about the telegram. “I don’t believe Eric sent that wire,” she said. Then, in a bold move, she directly accused Dyer of foul play: “You’ve done away with him. If you don’t tell me all you know, I shall go to Scotland Yard and put the detectives on your track.”
Dyer’s reaction was telling. He became deeply agitated, his composure crumbling under the pressure. “If you do that,” he stammered, “I might as well blow my brains out.” His words, a mixture of deflection and desperation, only fueled her suspicions further.
It was this woman’s brave confrontation with Dyer, coupled with the Reverend Tombe’s insistence, that laid the foundation for the investigation that followed. Piece by piece, the web of deceit and criminal activity that Dyer had spun began to unravel, culminating in his suicide. But even in death, the full extent of his guilt and involvement in Tombe’s murder was not entirely clear. What was certain, however, was that Dyer had lived on borrowed time—borrowing not only Tombe’s name and resources but ultimately attempting to borrow his very identity.
At this point in the investigation, it became clear that Ernest Dyer must have felt the walls closing in. Despite ample opportunity to flee the country—he had both a passport and access to substantial funds—Dyer made no such move. Instead, he remained in familiar haunts, as if daring fate to catch up with him. Perhaps he believed that Eric Tombe's body, hidden so carefully in the well at The Welcomes, would never be found. Or maybe the allure of his lifestyle, steeped in luxury and vice, held him too strongly, convincing him that he could bluff his way through the growing suspicion.
Evidence from this period shows that Eric Tombe’s bank account, which had roughly £2,570 in it at the time of his death, became Dyer’s primary target. By late April, just days after Tombe’s murder, a letter was sent to Lloyd’s Bank in the West End. The letter, supposedly from Tombe, requested a transfer of £1,350 to a Paris account and gave Dyer permission to access the funds. The signature was accepted by the bank as genuine, allowing Dyer to exploit the account freely. In July, another letter arrived at the bank, informing them that Tombe had granted Dyer full power of attorney. This gave Dyer unchecked control over Tombe’s finances, and he wasted no time in draining the account.
Dyer's extravagant lifestyle in the months following the murder was well documented. By September 1921, he was travelling under the alias “Tomber,” leaving a trail of fraudulent cheques across western England, from Hereford to Cheltenham. The pattern of "stumer" cheques, all returned “R.D.” (refer to drawer), indicated that Dyer had burned through the stolen money at an alarming rate, spending lavishly in both London and Paris. His indulgence in "haunts of luxurious vice" became a critical part of the investigation, as it aligned with a well-known pattern among criminals.
Investigators, including members of the C.I.D., had long observed a psychological pattern in murderers and other criminals who turn to excessive spending after committing their crimes. Dyer’s behaviour seemed to fit this mould perfectly. Murder, for all but the most callous, often weighs heavily on the conscience. The guilt manifests as a need to surround oneself with distractions, to avoid solitude where the spectre of guilt looms largest. In an attempt to drown out their internal torment, murderers often seek out company, paying for drinks, dinners, and extravagant outings. In doing so, they often betray themselves, leaving behind a trail of reckless spending.
The second motive for this behaviour is tied to the very reason for the crime itself—money. Once a criminal, especially one driven by greed, obtains the funds they sought through murder, they often gratify their desires immediately, indulging in everything they had long coveted. As such, it becomes easier for detectives to track them down by following the trail of noticeable extravagance.
A key moment in the investigation came when the lead detective, seeking more insight into Dyer's movements after Tombe’s murder, interviewed Mrs. Dyer. This interview provided a striking glimpse into a chilling moment that had occurred just two months after Tombe’s death. Mrs. Dyer vividly recalled a June night in 1922, while she was alone in their cottage at The Welcomes—the only building that had survived the fire.
It was around eleven o’clock when she heard the sound of stones striking against the drainpipe outside. Dyer was supposed to be away in France at the time, so she was startled by the noise. Thinking it might be nothing, she called her dog and cautiously opened the front door. Outside, the yard was illuminated only sporadically as the moon peeked through thick clouds racing across the sky. The scene was one of eerie contrast: patches of silvery moonlight alternated with deep, foreboding shadows, casting the desolate farm in a ghostly glow.
Standing in the doorway, Mrs. Dyer peered into the shifting light, the oppressive quiet broken only by the occasional clatter of stones. The sense of something—or someone—lurking just beyond her sight was palpable. Her instincts, sharpened by recent events, told her that this was no ordinary occurrence. Though she did not know it then, this seemingly minor incident would later play a key role in understanding Dyer’s increasingly erratic behaviour, driven by guilt and desperation as the net of justice slowly tightened around him.
The scene that Mrs. Dyer witnessed that eerie June night had haunted her ever since. As she stood in the moonlit yard, watching her husband emerge from the shadows with a deathly pale face, she couldn't have known the full gravity of what had transpired. Her dog, sensing danger, had already reacted, growling and charging toward the old cowshed, alerting her to a hidden presence. To her shock, the figure concealed in the shadows was none other than her husband, Ernest Dyer. His agitated state and trembling voice raised immediate suspicion.
"Ernest, what are you doing here? I thought you were miles away," she asked, confusion and concern mixing in her voice.
Despite the mildness of the June night, Dyer was visibly shaking, his teeth chattering as he stammered, "You know the state of my credit. I don't want to be seen near here in the daylight." He spoke with a sense of desperation, as though the weight of his actions was catching up to him. As Mrs. Dyer moved toward him, he frantically waved his hands, pleading for her to retreat.
"Don’t come over here! Don’t come out. Get back inside the house, for God’s sake!" he cried, his panic palpable. At the time, Mrs. Dyer had no idea what her husband was so desperate to hide. It wasn’t until the gruesome discovery of Eric Tombe’s body months later that the pieces of that strange midnight encounter fell into place.
In the days following the discovery, Mrs. Dyer’s testimony at the inquest shed light on the complicated partnership between her husband and Tombe. She described Tombe as more of a "sleeping partner," rarely present at The Welcomes, leaving the day-to-day operations in Dyer’s hands. Tombe was a man of mysterious habits, often travelling without explanation. Dyer, meanwhile, had developed a dubious reputation, frequently disappearing for business trips to race meetings and horse sales.
She recalled an occasion in July 1921, a few months after Tombe’s disappearance, when she received a letter supposedly written by Tombe. The letter was brief and accompanied by a cheque for £60, signed in Tombe’s name. The message was cryptic, reading, "I owe this to you through Bill," using Tombe’s nickname for Dyer. Mrs. Dyer, suspecting nothing, cashed the cheque at the bank where Tombe’s account was held. Dyer had told her on more than one occasion that Tombe owed him £1,600, further clouding any doubts she may have had at the time.
One significant trip she mentioned was a visit to Paris with Dyer. During that visit, Dyer attempted to withdraw money from a joint account, one that had been transferred to Paris under Tombe’s and Dyer’s names. At first, he returned empty-handed, claiming he couldn’t draw any funds. However, a month later, Dyer travelled to Boulogne, leaving her behind while he went to Paris again. This time, he returned with a large sum of money. Mrs. Dyer had no way of knowing that this money was part of the larger plan to drain Tombe’s finances and solidify her husband's control over their victim’s assets.
In reconstructing the timeline of events, investigators pieced together a chilling narrative. Dyer had deliberately lured Tombe into a financial partnership, knowing full well the extent of his partner’s wealth. From the beginning, Dyer’s plan had been to eliminate Tombe, seize control of his assets, and assume his identity to exploit whatever financial resources he could. It was clear that Dyer had meticulously plotted the murder, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Tombe, known for his erratic habits and constant travel, was the perfect target. Dyer recognized that Tombe’s frequent absences would delay any immediate concern about his whereabouts. When Tombe failed to appear at social gatherings or at The Welcomes, few raised questions. After all, Tombe’s unpredictable nature was well known, and no one could predict where he might be from one day to the next.
Once Dyer had murdered Tombe—shooting him in cold blood at The Welcomes—he wasted no time in gathering his victim’s personal belongings. He took possession of Tombe’s cheque-books, passport, and other vital documents, giving him unfettered access to his partner’s financial life. The letters to the bank, purportedly signed by Tombe, allowed Dyer to move funds abroad and grant himself full control over the account.
Dyer’s desperation for wealth and status had driven him to a life of forgery and deceit long before he crossed the line into murder. His precarious financial situation and insatiable desire for the high life had led him to concoct a plan so audacious it might have worked—had Tombe’s body remained hidden in the well. Yet, as with many criminals, Dyer had not accounted for the gnawing guilt that would plague him after the murder. His reckless spending and erratic behavior drew attention, and his eventual suicide in Scarborough, while attempting to evade arrest, was a tragic and fitting end for a man whose entire life had become a web of lies.
By the time of his death, Dyer had left behind a trail of deception, false identities, and shattered lives. But the truth—of his role in Eric Tombe’s murder and the elaborate plan to steal his partner’s fortune—had finally come to light. Through the determined efforts of investigators and the fragments of evidence pieced together from multiple sources, the full extent of Dyer’s crimes was exposed. Though justice came too late for Eric Tombe, it served as a stark reminder of the lengths some men will go to for wealth and the inevitable consequences of their actions.
Dyer's audacious plan to impersonate Eric Tombe was disturbingly methodical. Equipped with Tombe’s passport, Dyer managed to pass as his victim with unsettling ease. By simply adding a slight moustache, a feature Tombe had worn, Dyer's resemblance to the man whose photograph was in the passport was striking. With this disguise, he traversed the Continent, weaving a trail of deceit through multiple countries. This was not a crime of impulse but one meticulously designed to erase Eric Tombe from existence.
The body presented the gravest risk. Dyer couldn’t allow Tombe’s remains to be discovered, for even the slightest hint of foul play could unravel everything. He needed Tombe to simply disappear, to vanish into thin air, leaving behind a mystery that could be easily explained as an unexpected departure or a man fleeing from personal troubles. If the world believed Tombe had gone “into the blue,” Dyer could move forward with his plan to syphon every last penny from his partner’s accounts, unchecked.
And so began the forgeries.
To those unfamiliar with Eric Tombe's handwriting, the signatures Dyer produced would have passed as genuine. But upon closer inspection, those versed in the art of handwriting analysis would marvel at Dyer’s skill. His forgeries were nearly flawless. The fluidity of the strokes, the slight slant in Tombe’s handwriting—it was all replicated with such precision that it astonished the detectives.
Through these forgeries, Dyer drained Tombe’s accounts, amassing around £2,000 in just five months. But like a man addicted to the thrill of luxury, that money quickly vanished. Dyer had tasted the high life—extravagant dinners, lavish outings in London and Paris—but it couldn’t last. Soon, the well ran dry, and with no more of Tombe’s capital to draw from, Dyer turned to the next logical step: exploiting his victim’s credit.
He travelled across England, forging cheques and defrauding people in various towns. It was only a matter of time before the law caught up with him, and he found himself in Scarborough, on the brink of exposure.
When Dyer took his life in Scarborough, it was not for fear of being caught as a mere fraudster. No, in his mind, the stakes were far higher. He believed the net had closed in on him, that the police were finally on his trail for the murder of Eric Tombe. When the inspector arrived at his door, Dyer saw only one escape—suicide. He couldn’t have known that, at that moment, the charges were only for fraud and forgery. He imagined the noose tightening, the scaffold rising before him. His fear of a trial for murder drove him to take his own life, leaving behind a final, desperate act in a life filled with deceit.
It’s an interesting question to ponder—what might have happened if Dyer had been arrested only on fraud charges? If no connection to Tombe had been discovered in his papers, it’s possible he would have served a relatively short sentence. The investigators were, after all, only pursuing him for financial crimes at that point. The full truth of Tombe’s murder might have remained concealed for years, or even indefinitely. The police, skilled as they are, cannot rely on instinct or suspicion alone. They are bound by the evidence, and without a solid link between Dyer and Tombe’s disappearance, they might never have uncovered the murder.
But fate had other plans. Dyer’s room in Scarborough held the keys to unravelling his web of lies. There, amongst his possessions, were the damning papers that tied him irrevocably to Tombe. His forgeries, his impersonation, his desperate theft of his partner’s identity—all came to light. And so, even in death, Dyer could not escape the truth.
At the Coroner’s Court, when the jury delivered their verdict of "guilty," they did more than condemn Dyer. They acknowledged the tireless work of the police, who had pieced together the complex puzzle of deceit, murder, and forgery. They also expressed their profound sympathy for Eric Tombe’s family, especially his father, the Reverend Gordon Tombe, whose unwavering pursuit of justice had played a pivotal role in the case’s resolution.
It was a remarkable thing, the way the Reverend had become involved. The starting point of the entire investigation was, in fact, a dream—a strange, prophetic vision that led the Reverend to question his son’s fate. It was a dream that proved to be a turning point. It set the wheels of justice in motion, eventually leading to the capture of Dyer and the resolution of a case that might otherwise have slipped through the cracks of history.
Audio- extract from Reminiscences of an ex-detective by Francis Carlin.
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