Peril on the Royal Train Page 12

  As he turned into the street where he lived, he lengthened his stride and whistled cheerfully. His success would have many beneficial consequences, none more satisfying than his proven ability to do what the Railway Detective had failed to do. He longed to see the look of dismay on Robert Colbeck’s face when he heard what had happened. In the event, he saw the face much sooner than he anticipated. When he let himself into the house, his wife was in the passageway in a state of high anxiety. Standing behind her was the very man about whom he’d just been thinking.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Colbeck with an icy smile. ‘We need to talk.’

  When he handed the man over at the police station, Leeming was disappointed. His captive was not, after all, Lackey Paterson. He was a petty criminal, wanted for a string of thefts. Tipped off by the landlord of The Stag that a detective was hanging about nearby, the man had flown into a panic and left the pub. When he saw Leeming, he’d hared off in the opposite direction, only to be overhauled after a long chase. He’d not only been arrested, he was nursing a head wound that throbbed incessantly. The fact that he’d been prepared to use a knife would tell against him in court. From the effusive way in which the police thanked Leeming, he could see how glad they were to have the man in custody at last. A prolific thief had been taken off the streets of Glasgow.

  Leeming blamed himself for his folly. In alerting the landlord of the pub, he’d lost all chance of catching Lackey Paterson. If the man had been staying there – or had turned up later – he would have been warned that an English detective was on his tail. Instead of taking a decisive step in the investigation, Leeming had wasted his efforts on someone who had no connection whatsoever with it. In flattening his man to the ground, he’d scuffed his own trousers and torn his coat. His top hat had gone flying down the street. The chase had not only exhausted him. Leeming had been left with a general feeling of discomfort and a face that glistened with sweat. The euphoria of the arrest had been utterly dissipated.

  To continue his surveillance of the pub was clearly futile. Paterson would never be caught there. Nor was a raid on the place advisable. All that he could do was to establish that gambling took place there and he already knew that. Leeming had no grounds to arrest the landlord and every reason to keep away from him. He’d get nothing but blank resistance from that quarter. It was time to admit defeat and renew his efforts on the following day. There was the vague hope that the police might help to find Paterson for him but he wasn’t at all sure that they’d be looking for the man with any commitment. They already had enough on their hands, trying to police a violent city with insufficient men to exert any real control.

  Shoulders sagging and knees still smarting from the contact with the pavement, he left the police station and looked for a cab to take him back to The Angel Hotel. He suddenly felt lonely and bereft. He desperately needed Estelle and the children but the joys of family life seemed a million miles away.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Colbeck, watching him shrewdly.

  ‘I went out for a walk,’ replied McTurk.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that you’re well enough to do so. The excuse you gave for taking a day off was that you were unwell. I see no signs of illness.’

  ‘I improved as the day wore on.’

  ‘I wonder why that was.’

  The sardonic note annoyed McTurk. He was aggrieved that Colbeck had dared to come to his house to interrogate him and resolved to tell whatever lies were necessary. His wife – a short, stringy woman with a wrinkled face and wayward brown hair – knew nothing of what her husband had been doing and couldn’t unwittingly betray him. McTurk simply had to maintain a solid front.

  ‘What right have you got to come here?’ he demanded, taking the initiative.

  ‘I wish to solve a crime,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘So do I, Inspector. We all want the villains arrested.’

  ‘You misunderstand me. The crime that takes precedence at this moment is one of theft, compounded by fraud. I’m talking about evidence being stolen from one source then passed off as your own.’

  McTurk goggled. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, I think you understand me very well.’

  ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘But you’ve no call to do so.’

  ‘Why waste time?’ said Colbeck, wearily. ‘Put this pretence aside.’

  ‘There’s no pretence involved. I resent you coming here.’

  ‘And I resent your hindering this investigation,’ came the stinging retort. ‘People have been killed and immense damage has been inflicted on the company that employs you. Yet all that interests you is getting your hands on the reward money by means of deception.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said McTurk, squaring his shoulders. ‘I must ask you to leave.’

  ‘He came to see me, Superintendent. A young shepherd named Jamie Farr told me what he’d first told you.’ Colbeck lifted a questioning eyebrow. ‘Now do you realise why I’m here?’

  McTurk was dumbfounded. He and Colbeck stood facing each other in the parlour of the house. During the stunned silence, McTurk’s wife entered.

  ‘Should I offer the gentleman some refreshment?’ she asked, tentatively.

  ‘We won’t be staying,’ said Colbeck, politely.

  ‘Oh, I see – very good, sir.’

  Hands waving apologetically, she withdrew to the kitchen. Her husband, meanwhile, was trying to think of a way to extricate himself from an awkward situation. Deprived of his uniform, he felt completely powerless. For his part, Colbeck was interested to see the man in a domestic setting. McTurk was so wedded to his career as a railway policeman that it never occurred to the detective that he had a wife and two small sons. Once she’d admitted the visitor, Mrs McTurk had hustled the boys upstairs. Since they were unusually obedient for their age, Colbeck deduced that McTurk ran the home with a rod of iron. His wife certainly had the beaten look of a woman who’d never challenge her husband.

  Hands behind his back, Colbeck fixed him with a penetrating stare.

  ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ve been misinformed, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you claiming that the shepherd lied to me?’

  ‘No, no,’ said McTurk, ‘I’m sure that he spoke as honestly as he could. I took him for a good, reliable witness. Where he led you astray was in his belief that I intended to deprive him of his reward, because I swear to you that I had no such intention. Once the men had been caught, I’d have insisted that the money went to young Jamie.’

  ‘Then why did you say nothing to Inspector Rae and to me?’

  ‘I wanted to clarify certain details before doing so.’

  ‘You went in search of two men and four hundred pounds,’ said Colbeck, glaring at him, ‘and you weren’t prepared to share the glory or the money with anyone else.’

  ‘You can’t prove that.’

  ‘The proof is standing right in front of me.’

  McTurk attempted to brazen it out but Colbeck knew too much. He was also extraordinarily intimidating in the narrow confines of the parlour. McTurk was bigger and broader but he seemed to shrink into insignificance. Before entering the police service, Colbeck had been a barrister and knew how to grow in stature during a cross-examination. Without saying a single word, he exerted intense pressure on the railway policeman. McTurk eventually capitulated, eyes closing and head dropping.

  ‘Right,’ said Colbeck, ‘let’s hear the truth, shall we?’

  When he got back to the hotel, Leeming felt even more uncomfortable. His dirt-spattered trousers and torn coat made the staff look at him askance. Before he could repair to his room to change, he was handed a note from Colbeck. It summoned him as a matter of urgency. Forgetting all about his appearance and his annoyance with himself, he signalled another cab and headed for the Caledonian headquarters. The note had revived him. Colbeck would not have sent for him unless there’d been
a dramatic development in the case. The capture of Lackey Paterson no longer dominated his mind and might even prove to be irrelevant.

  Reaching his destination, he went to the room used by the inspector as an office and found that Nairn Craig and Rory McTurk were also there. At first, Leeming didn’t recognise the railway policeman because he was not in uniform. A suit robbed the man entirely of his power and dignity. Craig was beaming with delight but McTurk was scowling. Colbeck explained the situation.

  ‘The superintendent has been doing our job for us,’ he said with a sideways glance at McTurk. ‘He’s not only identified two suspects, he’s established their whereabouts.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Leeming without artifice, ‘congratulations to you, Superintendent!’

  ‘Thank you,’ muttered McTurk.

  ‘Congratulations are not entirely in order,’ warned Colbeck, ‘but let that rest for the moment. The point is that the superintendent has provided information that may turn out to be crucial. For that reason, I felt that he was entitled to be there at the moment of arrest. Apart from anything else, we might need him.’

  ‘How many arrests are we likely to make, sir?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘We are after two brothers – Ewen and Duncan Usher.’

  ‘Do we know that they were behind the crash?’

  ‘There’s a strong possibility that it was orchestrated by them.’

  ‘Are they in league with Lackey Paterson, by any chance?’

  ‘I’ve no answer to that.’

  ‘We can start asking questions once we’ve got them locked up,’ said Craig, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘Acting on evidence received, we’ve finally got a chance to solve the crime. Good luck, gentlemen!’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t need more men?’

  ‘Three against two puts the odds very much in our favour, Mr Craig, and we do have the element of surprise. That’s why I didn’t want the police involved. The sight of a uniform is a warning signal to any villain.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Leeming, ‘so that’s why the superintendent is in a suit.’

  ‘Yes,’ observed Colbeck, ‘and I’m bound to say that it’s a little smarter than your own attire, Sergeant. Patently, there’s a story behind the torn coat and scuffed trousers. You can tell it to me on the way.’

  ‘Arrest these monsters,’ urged Craig. ‘Show them no mercy.’

  ‘Don’t raise your hopes too high, sir.’

  Nothing could dampen the general manager’s joy. ‘The evidence is quite irrefutable,’ he said. ‘These brothers are plainly guilty. The sooner they’re both in custody, the better.’

  Though Ewen Usher was the older of the two brothers, it was Duncan who made the decisions for the two of them. He had more intelligence and far more imagination. Ewen had strength and daring on his side but little native cunning. He relied on his younger brother to plan their crimes and to handle any money resulting from them. They were tall, muscular men in their late twenties with faces half-hidden by straggly beards. Ewen Usher had been drinking heavily. As his brother counted out the money into two piles, he leant over him and belched.

  ‘Ye’ve more than me,’ he complained.

  ‘I deserve more, Ewen.’

  ‘But I took the risks. I could’ve been killed.’

  ‘Ye made sure that ye weren’t,’ said Duncan, sitting back in his seat. ‘Ye’ve too much to live for – guzzling beer and chasing lassies. What’s the name of tha’ latest wee thing?’

  ‘Never ye mind,’ said Ewen, sourly.

  ‘But I do mind. When ye’ve done wi’ her, pass her on to me.’

  ‘When I’ve done wi’ her, she’ll be half-dead.’

  They shared a crude laugh. Ewen had a coarse charm that somehow excited young women and he took full advantage of it. Duncan was less appealing to the fair sex and, in spite of many attempts, failed to emulate his brother’s success. They lived in a terraced house in one of the rougher districts of the city but their activities were not restricted to Glasgow. In search of prey, they roamed much farther afield.

  ‘Where do we go next?’ asked Ewen.

  ‘It’ll take us time to spend this money first.’

  ‘I’ll drink ma way through it in a fortnight.’

  ‘No, ye won’t,’ said Duncan, firmly. ‘I need ye sober and so do the lassies. Ye dinna want to get a name for brewer’s droop, do ye?’

  ‘Beer doesnae affect ma cock.’

  ‘It affects your brain, mahn, and tha’ needs to stay clear.’ Ewen was interested. ‘Ye’ve another plan, haven’t ye?’

  ‘Aye, I have.’

  ‘Is it to do wi’ the railways again?’

  ‘It is, Ewen. There’s more rich pickings to be had.’

  ‘Where will it be next time?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Having counted out all the money, Duncan scooped up his share of it.

  Before he gave the signal to move in, Colbeck took time to study the position of the house. It was halfway down a narrow street. At the rear of the houses was a tiny garden terminated by a lane. It gave the dwellings two points of entry and exit. Having sent Leeming down the lane, Colbeck waited until he was in place before walking down the street itself. McTurk had been told to approach the house from the other end. They met in the middle of the street. Colbeck rapped on the door. The response was immediate. A face appeared momentarily in the front window then vanished. They heard raised voices inside the house then another face looked out of the window before withdrawing at speed. Colbeck banged on the door with an authoritative fist but there was no hope of being admitted. In fact, a bolt was pushed home in open defiance. Colbeck nodded to McTurk.

  ‘You know what to do,’ he said.

  The brothers argued vociferously. Having courted danger for so long, they’d always known that their luck would run out one day and that the police would hound them. The burly man outside their front door was an image of law and order. The dandy beside him would never venture into their district unless he came on official business. Fearing arrest, they debated what to do.

  ‘Let’s stay and fight,’ cried Ewen, pulling a cudgel from a drawer.

  ‘No,’ said Duncan, ‘we’ll make a run for it.’

  ‘Are ye scared o’ two men?’

  ‘There may be more of them.’

  Ewen waved the cudgel. ‘I’ll smash all their heeds in.’

  But it was their front door that was about to be smashed in. A first kick made it rattle on its hinges. A second one splintered the timber. The bolt that Duncan had pushed home went sailing down the passageway as a shoulder hit the door with thunderous force. It resolved the argument.

  ‘Ger oot of heer, ye fool!’ yelled Duncan.

  ‘Aye,’ said Ewen, gathering up his money from the table and thrusting it into his pocket. ‘I’ll meet up wi’ ye later.’

  Dashing to the back door, he let himself out into the garden. Duncan chose a different mode of escape, running up the stairs and locking himself into his bedroom. The assault on the front door continued.

  It was Colbeck who delivered the final kick. Aiming for the lock, he used his heel to jab at it as hard as he could. The lock gave way and the door swung open. As he rushed in, Colbeck saw that the back door was ajar.

  ‘One of them fled into the garden,’ he said. ‘Go and help the sergeant.’

  ‘What about you, sir?’

  ‘I heard footsteps on the upstairs.’

  ‘Don’t you want my assistance?’ asked McTurk.

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, grimly, ‘he’s all mine.’

  Ewen Usher didn’t get far. Moving the bolt on the garden gate, he expected to make his escape down the lane but someone was waiting for him. As he hurried out, he was tripped up by the outstretched leg of Victor Leeming. Falling heavily, Ewen hit the ground with a thud and unleashed a torrent of expletives. Before he could get up, he found himself held from behind in a vice-like grip. In spite of his power a
nd the rage that fuelled it, he couldn’t dislodge his assailant. Leeming slowly increased the pressure until resistance began to fade. McTurk came lumbering through the garden door and took in the situation.

  ‘Can I be of assistance, Sergeant?’ he said.

  ‘Yes – help me to get the handcuffs on him.’

  ‘Which one of the brothers is this?’

  Leeming grinned. ‘The one I just caught.’

  Colbeck, meanwhile, was confronted by another locked door. Putting his hat aside, he used his shoulder against the timber. After the third blow, the door flew open to reveal an empty bedroom. There was nowhere to hide. The room contained little more than a bed, a chair and a wardrobe too small and rickety to conceal anyone. Covered in filth, the window was shut tight. Nobody had tried to climb through it. Colbeck soon realised where the fugitive had gone. What gave him away was the dust on the bed sheet. It had come down like snowfall when the trapdoor in the ceiling had been opened. Evidently, one of the brothers had clambered up there.

  Colbeck went after him. Taking off his coat, he stood on the bed so that he could reach the trapdoor, pushing it up and disturbing another flurry of dust. He had to brush it out of his eyes. He then took a firm grip on the sides of the opening and hauled himself up into the roof space. Colbeck found himself in a long, black cavern that stretched in both directions over the adjoining houses. The fugitive might be anywhere. Colbeck waited until his eyes grew more accustomed to the dark. He could hear mice scuttling to and fro. More significantly, he could hear someone breathing.

  ‘I’d advise you to surrender, Mr Usher,’ he said.

  There was no reply but someone moved slightly to his left.

  ‘I’m Inspector Colbeck of the Metropolitan Police Force and I’m acting on behalf of the Caledonian Railway. I believe that you can help me in my enquiries.’