The railway viaduct irc-3 Read online

  'Would that be Mr Alexander Marklew?'

  'Yes. Do you know him?'

  'Not personally,' said Colbeck, 'but I gather that he's also invested in the Mantes to Caen line. When he hears about the setbacks in France, he may realise that this is a much wider investigation that he imagined.'

  'Marklew is only one of my problems,' moaned Tallis. 'I've had the commissioner on my tail as well and an Inspector Sidney Heyford keeps writing from Liverpool, asking me why the great Robert Colbeck has failed to make any discernible progress. That's a theme taken up elsewhere,' he went on, bending down to retrieve a newspaper from his wastepaper basket. 'There's biting criticism of the way that we've handled this investigation and you are now referred to as the Railway Defective.' He thrust the newspaper at Colbeck. 'Take it.'

  'I'm not interested in what newspaper reporters think,' said the other. 'They don't understand the complexity of the case. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll take Victor back home then make arrangements to return to France.'

  'No,' said Tallis, pounding the desk. 'You stay in London.'

  'I must insist, Superintendent.'

  'You are overruled. Nothing on earth would induce me to send you gallivanting off on another pointless French adventure. You belong to the Metropolitan Police not to the Surete.'

  'It looks as if I belong to neither, sir,' said Colbeck, rising to his feet with dignity. 'Since you refuse me permission to go as a member of the Detective Department, then I'll do so as a private individual.'

  'Don't talk nonsense, man!'

  'I'm quite serious, Superintendent. I feel very strongly that this case can only be solved in France and I mean to go back there on my own account, if necessary. Give me a few minutes,' he said, as he walked to the door, 'and you shall have my resignation in writing.'

  'You can have mine, too,' added Leeming, getting out of his chair with difficulty. 'Inspector Colbeck is right. If you do not have faith in our judgement, then I'll leave the Department at once.'

  'Wait!' yelled Tallis.

  He could see the futility of blustering. The two of them were in earnest. The loss of Victor Leeming would be a blow but he could be replaced by promoting someone from below. Robert Colbeck, however, was quite irreplaceable. He not only had an unrivalled record of success as a detective, he had a comprehensive knowledge of railways that was founded on a deep love of steam transport. Whenever serious crimes occurred on a railway, the company involved always asked for Colbeck to investigate. If he were to leave Scotland Yard, a huge vacuum would be created. Superintendent Tallis would have to explain to the commissioner why he had forced his best officer to resign, and he could imagine the withering reprimand that he would get in return. It was time to give ground.

  'How long would you need in France?' he growled.

  'As long as it takes,' replied Colbeck, going back to the desk to pick up the cigar box. 'Perhaps I can offer you one of these, sir?' he said, holding it out. 'It might stimulate your thought processes while I compose my letter of resignation.'

  Madeleine Andrews was preparing a meal in the kitchen and musing on the changes that had come into her life since she had met Robert Colbeck. He had not merely urged her to develop her artistic talent to the point where she had actually managed to earn money from it, he had enlarged her world in every way. Until she had met him, Madeleine was happy enough looking after her father and educating herself by means of books, magazines and lectures. It had never crossed her mind that she would one day assist a detective inspector in a murder investigation and become – albeit unofficially – the first woman to have a role at Scotland Yard. Colbeck had brought love, interest and excitement into the house in Camden. Entertaining fond thoughts of him made the most menial chores seem pleasant. When she worked on, there was a smile on her face.

  Madeleine had just finished peeling the potatoes when she heard the rasp of wheels pulling up outside the house. Only one person would call on her in a hansom cab. Tearing off her apron, she wiped her hands dry in it then cast it aside. As she rushed to the front door, she adjusted her hair. She flung the door open. When she let Colbeck in, she was enfolded in a warm embrace.

  'I was just thinking about you, Robert,' she confessed.

  'Good.'

  'I had no idea that you were back in England.'

  'Only briefly,' he told her. 'I'll be sailing across the Channel again this evening.'

  'Why? What's happened? Do you know who the killer is?'

  'Stop firing questions at me and I'll tell you what we've managed to find out so far.' He kissed her then led her to the sofa. 'Sit down.'

  Holding her hand, he gave her a concise account of the visit to France and made her gasp when he revealed that Gaston Chabal was married. Madeleine recalled her interview at the hotel.

  'Mrs Marklew was certain that he was single,' she said.

  'I suspect that that's what she wanted to believe.'

  'He deceived her cruelly.'

  'In two ways,' said Colbeck, sadly. 'He not only enjoyed her favours by posing as a bachelor. Chabal seems to have entered into the liaison for the prime purpose of getting her to persuade her husband to invest in the railway. The French government provided much of the capital required, but private investors were desperately needed. Given the volatile political situation in France, very few people from this country were prepared to risk their money.'

  'How callous of him!'

  'He'd probably have seen it as a piece of clever engineering.'

  Colbeck finished by telling her about the savage beating sustained by Victor Leeming when posing as a navvy. The information made her sit up in alarm.

  'Do be careful, Robert!' she exclaimed.

  'I always am.'

  'I feel so sorry for Sergeant Leeming.'

  'His time as a navvy was not wasted, Madeleine. He unearthed a lot of useful intelligence. It's a pity that it had to end this way.'

  'I hope that you are not thinking of taking his place.'

  'If only I could,' said Colbeck, wryly, 'but it's impossible. With a face like mine, I could never pass as a navvy. Victor could. He looked the part – though he could never have lived that sort of life.'

  'Was the work too hard?'

  'I think it was the sleeping arrangements that upset him.'

  'His wife must have been shocked by what happened.'

  'That's why I went into the house first,' said Colbeck. 'I felt that it would be considerate to prepare Estelle beforehand. In fact, she took it very well. She went straight to the cab and helped Victor out. She's been a policeman's wife for years now. It's toughened her.'

  'Will the sergeant be replaced?' asked Madeleine

  'Not from the Detective Department.'

  'Who else would you take to France?'

  'Someone who will fit more easily into the scene than Victor,' he told her. 'The last I heard of him, he was working as a dock labourer so I fancy that a trip to France might appeal to him.'

  'Who is he, Robert?'

  'The genuine article.'

  Nature seemed to have destined Aubrey Filton to be the bearer of bad news. He had a face that could transform itself instantly into a mask of horror and a voice that rose by two octaves when he was really disturbed. His arms semaphored wildly.

  'It's happened again, Mr Brassey!' he cried.

  'Calm down, Aubrey.'

  'We must have lost thousands of bricks.'

  'How?'

  'Somebody carried them to one of the ventilation shafts and dropped them down into the tunnel,' said Filton. 'The bricks were smashed beyond repair and the line has been blocked.'

  'When did this happen?' asked Thomas Brassey.

  'In the night, sir. They chose a shaft that was furthest away from the camp so that nobody heard the noise. When they'd unloaded the wagon that carried the bricks, they smashed it to pieces. There's no sign of the horse that pulled it.'

  Brassey did his best to remain calm, but exasperation showed in his eyes. He was in his office with Filton.
On its walls were the maps and charts drawn as a result of various surveys. Had work proceeded at the stipulated pace, they would have been ahead of schedule and Brassey could have marked their progress on one of the charts. Instead, they were hamstrung by the sequence of interruptions. The latest of them was particularly irksome.

  'We needed those bricks for today,' said Brassey.

  'I've sent word to the brickyard to increase production.'

  'It's security that we need to increase, Aubrey. How was anybody able to steal so many bricks without being seen?'

  'I wish I knew, sir,' answered Filton, trembling all over. 'How were they able to light that fire, or damage the track in the tunnel, or steal that gunpowder or blow up the wagons? We're dealing with phantoms here, Mr Brassey.'

  'No,' affirmed the other. 'Inspector Colbeck correctly identified our enemy. We're dealing with navvies. Nobody else would have had the strength to drop all those bricks down a ventilation shaft. It would take me all night to do such a thing.'

  'It would take me a week.'

  'What they probably did was to unload a fair number by hand then undo the harness on the horse so that they could tip the whole cart over.'

  'I suppose that the horrible truth is that we'll never know.'

  'Not until the inspector returns, anyway.'

  'Do you really think that he can catch these men?' said Filton, sceptically. 'He hasn't managed to do so thus far and we both saw what happened to Sergeant Leeming.'

  'That incident will only make Inspector Colbeck redouble his efforts. Introducing a man into the Irish camp did have advantages. He was able to warn us about that planned attack on the French.'

  'What if there's another?'

  'That's very unlikely,' said Brassey. 'I think we scared the Irish by telling them that they'd lose their jobs. Work is scarce back in England. They all know that.'

  'It didn't stop some of them from stealing those bricks last night and there'll be more outrages to come. I feel it in my bones.'

  'Don't be so pessimistic, Aubrey.'

  'There's a curse on this railway.'

  'Balderdash!'

  'There is, Mr Brassey. I begin to think that it's doomed.'

  'Then you must change that attitude immediately,' scolded the other. 'We must show no hint of weakness. The villains are bound to slip up sooner or later. We need another spy in their camp.'

  'We already have one, sir.'

  'Do we?'

  'Of course,' said Filton. 'Father Slattery. He knows everything that goes on in the Irish community. It's his duty to assist us.'

  'His main duty is a pastoral one and nothing must interfere with that. If we asked Father Slattery to act as an informer, he'd lose all credibility. What use would he be then? Besides,' he continued, 'he obviously has no idea who the miscreants are or he'd tackle them himself. A priest would never condone what's been going on.'

  'So what do we do?'

  'Wait until the inspector gets back with this new man.'

  'New man?'

  'Yes, Aubrey. I'm assured that he will be ideal for the job.'

  'Ah,' said Brendan Mulryne, swallowing his brandy in a gulp as if it was his last drink on earth, 'this is the life, Inspector. And to think I might be heaving cargo at the docks all day long.'

  'You were working in the Devil's Acre last time we met.'

  'I had to leave The Black Dog.'

  'Why?' asked Colbeck.

  'Because I had a disagreement with the landlord. He had the gall to hit me when I wasn't looking and I take violence from no man. Apart from anything else, he did it at the most inconvenient time.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I was teaching his darling wife a few tricks in bed.'

  Brendan Mulryne roared with laughter. He was an affable giant with a massive frame and a face that seemed to have been hewn out of solid teak by a blind man with a blunt axe. Though he was roughly the same age as Colbeck, he looked years older. There was an irrepressible twinkle in his eye and he had a ready grin that revealed a number of missing teeth. Mulryne had once been a constable in the Metropolitan Police Force but his over-enthusiasm during arrests led to his expulsion. Having caught a criminal, he had somehow seen it as a duty to pound him into unconsciousness before hauling him off to the police station. He had always been grateful to Colbeck for trying to save him from being discharged.

  Since his dismissal, Mulryne had drifted into a succession of jobs, some of them firmly on the wrong side of the law but none that offended the Irishman's strange code of ethics. He would only steal from a thief or commit other crimes against known villains. It was Mulryne's way of restoring what he called the balance of society. In his heart, he was still a kind of policeman and that was why the present situation had so much appeal for him.

  Having crossed the Channel the previous evening, they had spent the night in Le Havre before taking the train to Mantes. Mulryne was a much livelier companion than Victor Leeming. It was his first visit to France and he was thrilled by everything he saw. When the train rattled over the Barentin Viaduct, he gazed down with awe.

  'Be-Jesus!' he exclaimed. 'Will you look at that? It's almost as if we was flying, Inspector.'

  'Thomas Brassey built the viaduct.'

  'Then I'll be happy to shake his hand.'

  'Not too hard,' advised Colbeck. 'You've got the biggest hands I've ever seen on a human being. You can crack walnuts with a gentle squeeze. Go easy on Mr Brassey.'

  'I will.' His face crumpled with sympathy. 'But I'm sorry to hear about Sergeant Leeming.'

  'Victor was unlucky.'

  'He taught me a lot when we were both in uniform.'

  'You're a detective now, Brendan, in the Plain Clothes Division.'

  'Well,' said Mulryne, emitting a peal of laughter, 'clothes don't come any plainer than these.'

  He was wearing the same moleskin trousers, canvas shirt and tattered coat that had served him in the docks, and his hobnail boots were also suitable for work on the railway. A shapeless hat completed the outfit but he had removed it when they boarded the train. Mulryne was tickled by the fact that he was dressed like a typical navvy while travelling in a first class carriage.

  'I'll be carrying on the family tradition,' he said, proudly.

  'Will you?'

  'Yes, sir. My father was a navvy in the old days when the word had its true meaning. Father – God bless him – was a navigator who helped to cut canals. I was born in a navvies' camp somewhere along the line.'

  'I never knew that, Brendan.'

  'I'm a man with hidden secrets.'

  'You'll certainly have to hide a few when we get to Mantes.'

  'I'll soon charm my way in.'

  'That's what Victor thought but they found him out.'

  'It takes an Irishman to beguile the Irish, so it does.'

  'It's the reason I chose you. Most of them are decent, honest, hard-working men and they couldn't have a better priest than Father Slattery.' He saw Mulryne's glum expression. 'What's wrong?'

  'I didn't know I'd have a priest to worry about.'

  'Father Slattery is a dedicated man.'

  'Yes – dedicated to stopping the rest of us having a bit of fun. It's the reason I couldn't stay in Ireland. It's so priest-ridden. You only had to fart and they'd make you say a novena and three Hail Mary's. The place for a man of the cloth,' he declared, soulfully, 'is in a church and not on a railway.'

  'He does valuable work,' said Colbeck. 'More to the point, he knows everyone. That's why you ought to meet him, Brendan. He can introduce you to the others. Father Slattery is a way in.'

  'And will I be seeing you at the service on Sunday, Liam Kilfoyle?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'You said that last week and the week before.'

  'It slipped my mind,' said Kilfoyle, evasively.

  'St Peter has been known to let certain things slip his mind as well,' cautioned the priest. 'How will you feel when you reach the Pearly Gates to find that he's forgotten all y
our good deeds?'

  'I'll remind him of them.'

  'The best way to do that is to attend Mass.'

  'I worship in my own way, Father Slattery.'

  'That's wonderful! When you come on Sunday, you can give us all a demonstration of how you do it. We can always learn new ways to pray, Liam.' He beamed at Kilfoyle. 'I'll see you there.'

  'I hope so.'

  'Are you going to let the Lord down yet again?'

  Kilfoyle swallowed hard. 'I'll try not to, Father.'

  'Spoken like a true Catholic!'

  The old man chuckled and went off to speak to a group of men nearby. It was the end of the day's shift and Slattery was trying to increase the size of the congregation in his makeshift, outdoor church. Kilfoyle was glad to see him go. A wayward Christian, he always felt guilty when he talked to the priest. Memories of sinful nights between the thighs of another man's wife somehow thrust themselves into his mind. It was almost as if Father Slattery knew about his moments of nocturnal lechery with Bridget.

  'What did that old bastard want?' said Pierce Shannon, coming over to him. 'Did he want you to train for the priesthood?'

  'Nothing like that.'

  'Be careful, Liam. You'd have to be celibate.'

  'Then the job'd not suit me. I've got too much fire in my loins for the church. Father Slattery will have to look elsewhere.'

  'Well, it had better not be in my direction.'

  'Why not, Pierce? You might end up as a cardinal.'

  'If I'm a cardinal, you're the Angel bleeding Gabriel.'

  They traded a laugh. Shannon stepped in closer.

  'By the way,' he said, casually, 'it's a shame about that friend of yours, Victor Leeming. He could have been useful to us.'

  'Not any more.'

  'I suppose the truth is that he just didn't fit in here. Pity – he was a good worker.'

  'Victor won't be doing any work for a while.'

  'I liked the man. He had a good punch.'