Peril on the Royal Train Page 14

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind, Mr Craig. I can’t promise that we can provide any humble pie but I’ve an excellent malt to tempt you. Wait here while I fetch some glasses. There’s nothing like whisky for stimulating the brain,’ he added, moving to the door. ‘It will help us to find the answer we seek.’

  ‘What answer is that?’

  ‘If these brothers are not, after all, the culprits,’ said Rae, ‘then who is?’

  It was after midnight when they approached the engine sheds and their dark clothing made them all but invisible. Tam Howie carried a lamp that could give some degree of illumination when the shutter was opened. Ian Dalton had the pot of paint. It seemed extraordinarily heavy, his sense of guilt adding weight to it. Dalton was having misgivings. Inspired by what Howie and his wife had done, he believed that it would be easy to follow suit. In fact, it was a nerve-racking exercise. It was only when they crept across the railway lines that he realised just how much was at stake. If caught, he stood to lose his freedom, his job and his reputation. Whatever happened, there’d be uneasiness at home because, in order to explain his absence at that hour, he’d been forced to lie to his wife for the first time in their marriage. She would never dare to tax him on the subject but their relationship would undergo a subtle change.

  ‘Stop!’ ordered Howie, crouching down.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Dalton, quaking slightly.

  ‘The nightwatchman is doing his rounds.’

  They stayed low for several minutes. Dalton’s legs were aching and there was a searing pain across his shoulders. When he heard footsteps pass within yards of them, he almost fell over. Howie waited until the coast was clear before nudging him. As he tried to follow his friend, Dalton discovered that the paint pot had doubled its weight and was biting into his hand. He was grateful when they eventually slipped into the engine shed and he was able to put it down.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ asked Howie.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly, Tam.’

  ‘It will soon pass. Flora and I felt the same the first time.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, it was a long time ago.’

  Howie risked opening the shutter on the lamp so that he could pick his way along the shed. When he reached a locomotive, he stopped and pointed.

  ‘There’s your canvas,’ he said. ‘Leave your signature on it.’

  Dalton didn’t believe that he’d be able to hold the brush steady, let alone scrawl a message. His hands were shaking too much. He steeled himself to go on, reminding himself why they were there and what higher purpose they served. Instead of thinking of himself, he needed to focus on the damage that the Caledonian had done to the purity of the Sabbath. This was his chance to punish it. Opening the paint pot, he dipped in the brush and wrote the first giant letter on the side of the boiler. It gave him a strange thrill. Once he’d added a couple more letters, his fears began to evaporate. He even started to take pleasure in what he was doing. When the slogan had been finished, Howie ran the lamp along its full length and beamed with appreciation.

  ‘Well done, Ian!’ he said, grasping his arm. ‘You’re one of us now.’

  ‘Thank you, Tam. I was glad of the chance to do it.’

  ‘There’ll be lots of other chances, don’t worry.’

  ‘Now that it’s over, I feel so excited.’

  ‘You’ve struck a blow for the Sabbath.’

  ‘Is it true that Flora has actually done this?’

  Howie chuckled. ‘Oh, she’s done a lot more than paint slogans,’ he said, proudly. ‘You wouldn’t believe how daring my wife is, Ian. Nothing daunts Flora.’

  Madeleine Colbeck read the letter three times before putting it down. Couched in loving terms and written in lucid prose, it gave her details of the investigation in which her husband was engaged. Though she was pleased to have more information about the case, she was distressed to learn that it might keep Colbeck away from her for some time. When she called on her father that morning, she told him what she’d learnt about the train crash. Andrews was troubled by the details.

  ‘It could have been me, Maddy,’ he said, soulfully. ‘Not that I’d ever have worked for the Caledonian, mark you, but you know what I mean. It could have been me or Gideon Little or Jonas Marklew or any other driver in that goods train. A deliberate blockage of the line could have killed any one of us. My heart goes out to the driver – and to the fireman and guard, of course. I’m bound to think that there, but for the grace of God, go I.’

  ‘There’s no need to be morbid about it, Father.’

  ‘Driving a train means taking a risk. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ said Madeleine, recalling the time when her father was assaulted by train robbers. ‘I’m glad all that risk is behind you.’

  ‘What pleases me is that Mr Renwick appreciates our work.’

  ‘And so he should. You were a loyal servant to the company.’

  ‘I learnt my trade properly and I taught it to dozens of others. It’s only fitting that I should be invited to the dinner this week.’

  ‘That’s one reason I came to see you. I’m not sure what to wear.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you’ll look beautiful in it, Maddy.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The other drivers will be there with their wives,’ he told her, ‘and all of them are as wrinkly as prunes.’

  ‘Father!’ she protested.

  ‘I take that back. Horace Oldfield’s wife is as fat as a pig without a wrinkle on her. You’ll outshine every woman in the room.’

  ‘Well, I expect you to show more respect to the ladies there.’

  ‘I will, Maddy. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Thanks to what you’ve just told me, I expect to be the centre of attention.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘We’ll be in a room full of railwaymen,’ he said. ‘What else will they talk about but the crash up in Scotland? They’ll be agog for news. And I’ll be in a position to tell them exactly what’s going on in the investigation.’

  Summoned to the general manager’s office, Superintendent McTurk believed that he was about to receive praise for his part in the arrests. Back in uniform and with his brass buttons polished to a high sheen, he knocked on the door before opening it. Nairn Craig was standing behind his desk. Colbeck was also on his feet. Their manner was not welcoming. McTurk closed the door behind him.

  ‘You sent for me, Mr Craig?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said the other. ‘I require an explanation.’

  McTurk was puzzled. ‘An explanation for what, sir?’

  By way of reply, Craig lifted up the newspaper on his desk and handed it to him. McTurk saw his name in the headline and quailed. The article applauded his bravery in capturing the two men responsible for the train crash and it made much of the fact that a Scotsman had outshone the much-vaunted Railway Detective. Words that McTurk had uttered while in his cups were quoted in full.

  ‘Did you say all this?’ demanded Craig.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t.’

  ‘You’d obviously been drinking at the time.’

  ‘I may have had one drink, sir, but that was all.’

  ‘Does that mean you were completely sober when you made these ridiculous claims?’ asked Colbeck. ‘That would be even more reprehensible.’

  ‘This is a tissue of lies,’ said McTurk, passing the newspaper to Craig.

  ‘And you were the person who told them,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Did it never occur to you,’ said Craig, ‘that discretion is needed at a time like this? You should have had enough experience to keep your mouth shut. The press feed off things like this. Someone who heard you boasting in that pub obviously sold the story to a newspaper. Once they established from the police that suspects by the name of Ewen and Duncan Usher were indeed in custody, it gave credence to what you were bragging about. The villains had been caught by you,’ he added with sarcasm. ‘Three
cheers for Superintendent McTurk!’

  ‘There’s been a misunderstanding,’ said McTurk, writhing in discomfort.

  ‘There has indeed,’ agreed Colbeck, taking over. ‘Overlooking the fact that Sergeant Leeming and I actually fought with the two men, there was a serious misunderstanding on your part. Ewen and Duncan Usher were not, after all, behind the disaster on the line. They had nothing whatsoever to do with it.’

  McTurk’s jaw dropped. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘No, Superintendent, you didn’t think, you merely assumed and that’s fatal for any self-appointed detective. Granted,’ said Colbeck, ‘the evidence was stacked heavily against the brothers but it turned out to be misleading. Before you told your cronies in the pub that you had effectively solved the crime on your own, you should have waited until you knew the outcome of the interviews we had with Ewen and Duncan Usher.’

  ‘But they seemed so guilty, sir. They resisted arrest.’

  ‘Most criminals resist arrest, as you well know. As it turns out, there’s a whole string of offences for which they can be charged but they do not – contrary to what that newspaper article is telling its many readers – include wanton destruction on the Caledonian. You’ve made us all look rather stupid, Superintendent.’

  ‘None more so than yourself,’ said Craig, bitterly.

  McTurk was mortified. He remembered trying to impress his friends in the pub but he hadn’t anticipated that his words would travel all the way to a local newspaper. In trying to harvest some glory for himself, he’d told outrageous lies, cast aspersions upon the skills of Colbeck and Leeming, embarrassed the company for whom he worked and accused two men of a crime that they didn’t commit. His brass buttons might be shining but his face was darkened by guilt.

  ‘I don’t know what to say …’ he began.

  ‘You’ve said far too much already,’ declared Craig, tossing the newspaper aside. ‘It wasn’t enough for you to steal information provided by someone else and to pass it off as your own. You also had to be the courageous man who caught the two most wanted men in Scotland. Your talents are clearly wasted here,’ he continued with withering scorn. ‘A man of your supreme abilities needs to spread his wings. Well, you’ll have the chance to do so.’ He pointed a finger. ‘You’re a disgrace to that uniform, Superintendent. You no longer have the right to wear it. I’m not only dismissing you so that you can no longer contaminate the Caledonian with your odious presence, I’m demanding that you send Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming a written apology for the way that you tried to sully their reputations. Then you can go to the offices of the newspaper and explain why you supplied so much false information.’ McTurk stood there dithering. ‘Get out, man! And change out of that uniform immediately.’

  Hurt and humiliated, McTurk left the room with his tail between his legs.

  ‘You were justifiably hard on him, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘You reminded me of someone at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘He deserved it, Inspector. He’ll never work for the Caledonian again.’

  ‘I was pleased that you mentioned the way that he made use of the evidence that came from that young shepherd. That was unscrupulous. However, while it didn’t lead to the capture of the men we’re after, the information did have a positive result. The Usher brothers have been robbing your freight traffic for months. They made a lot of money out of items stolen from your wagons.’

  ‘That’s right,’ conceded Craig. ‘You did make important arrests.’

  ‘Don’t you think that that fact should be recognised, sir? I’m thinking about Jamie Farr. Thanks to him, we’ve sent two villains to prison for a long time. I fancy that calls for a reward of some kind.’

  The general manager’s brow crinkled and he gave a loud sniff.

  ‘Let me mull it over, Inspector.’

  After the excitement of the two arrests, there came a worrying lull in activity. Nothing happened for two days. The investigation continued but it was fruitless. No new evidence came to light and no fresh suspects were unmasked. Leeming became increasingly restive. Staying in a hotel that unnerved him, he was trapped among people whose voices were often incomprehensible and he was in a city he’d grown to dislike more and more. As a result of their investigation, three criminals had been taken into custody but none of them had any link to the train crash. Whoever had brought a stretch of the Caledonian to a standstill seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Hopes of finding them diminished with each day.

  Leeming’s principal task remained the arrest of Lackey Paterson. As other suspects were ruled out, the former railwayman sparked off additional interest. His work at the quarry placed him within easy reach of the crash site and his sudden disappearance aroused understandable suspicion. If he was indeed back in Glasgow, Paterson would by now be aware that the police were looking for him. Given the chance, the landlord of The Stag would certainly have warned him. Yet knowing that he was wanted, Paterson had failed to come forward to clear his name. Leeming reasoned that that either meant he was not in the city or that he’d gone to ground there. In a community that size, the number of hiding places was unlimited. A stranger like the sergeant could hunt for years without ever finding him.

  He was alone in Colbeck’s temporary office when Inspector Rae called.

  ‘Ah,’ said the visitor, ‘I’m glad that I caught you.’

  ‘I’m afraid that Inspector Colbeck isn’t here. He went off to catch a train.’

  ‘You’re the person I was hoping to see, Sergeant. Let me say straight away that I didn’t believe for a second what that newspaper said about you and the inspector. I felt certain that you’d used appropriate force to make those arrests and needed no help. It was vindictive of McTurk to claim credit for catching those men.’

  ‘The superintendent has paid for his mistake,’ said Leeming, ‘and he sent me a written apology. The matter is closed as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Quite so – it’s time to move forward.’

  ‘Why did you wish to see me, Inspector?’

  ‘I wanted to correct a false impression you may have.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I understand.’

  ‘Well,’ said Rae with his familiar smile, ‘I know that the Glasgow police seemed less than cooperative when you first approached them. You must have felt that they were keeping you at arm’s length.’

  ‘They simply let me know I was encroaching on their territory.’

  ‘And on mine, of course, but I bear you no ill will. Lest you think that the police ignored your request for assistance, I’ve come to tell you that they did what they promised and kept their eyes peeled for a certain person.’

  Leeming’s interest was kindled. ‘Are you talking about Lackey Paterson?’

  ‘He’s definitely back in Glasgow.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘All I know is that he was spotted by an alert constable who’d read the description of him. As soon as he called out the man’s name, Paterson fled. To my mind, that confirms his identity. It was the person you’re after.’

  ‘And where did this sighting take place, sir?’

  ‘It was in the Gorbals.’

  Leeming’s hopes rose. The man had gone to see his wife and child.

  Days had passed since his visit to Glasgow and Jamie Farr had heard nothing. It eroded his belief in Colbeck. The shepherd had placed little faith in the railway policeman to whom he’d given his evidence but he’d been convinced that the inspector would deal more justly with him. Colbeck had promised him that he’d be informed when arrests had been made as a result of the information supplied by the shepherd. No money would be paid over at that stage but at least Farr would know that the process had been set in motion. Ignorant of the slowness and complexity of a major police investigation, he’d expected almost immediate results. In the wake of the crash, many of the looters had been caught within a day. He knew some of them. They’d barely had time to eat their stolen food before police swooped down on
them. Why couldn’t they catch those who caused the crash just as speedily?

  As he sat on the hillside, munching a piece of cheese, he was resigned to the fact that he would get no reward whatsoever. Colbeck was simply a more polite version of McTurk, someone who brushed the lad aside with a false promise. Farr had no access to a newspaper and – even with the help of Bella Drew – no ability to read it properly. For all he knew, the case had been solved and the English detectives had returned to London. He’d never hear of them again. The most dispiriting aspect of it was that Bella would feel he’d let her down. When he came back from his trip to Glasgow, he’d been buoyed up by what he’d been told. He’d finally found someone he could trust and told Bella that the money was as good as his. Unable to take in the enormity of it all, she’d burst into tears and he’d held her in his arms. That little moment had sealed the bond between them. It might now be ripped apart.

  Going to Glasgow had been a terrifying experience but it had seemed worthwhile at the time. Taking the train to London was out of the question. Farr couldn’t find the time or the courage to travel all that way. Even if he did, the chances of his ever getting to meet Inspector Colbeck again were decidedly slim. He had to accept that he’d been tricked once again, cheated out of his reward and, as a possible consequence, robbed of the girl he loved. What would Bella think of him when he confessed that he wouldn’t get a penny? Their plans for a future together would crumble into dust. Farr was embittered. The railway was to blame. It not only killed his sheep and disturbed the calm of the countryside. It had led him astray, holding out a promise that would never be fulfilled. From an accident in which he’d rejoiced, he sought to make profit and it had seemed at one point that he might actually be successful. Then a long and ominous silence had descended.

  The ugly truth had to be faced. Farr had been cast aside and forgotten. He’d never hear from Colbeck or from anyone else involved in the investigation again. He’d been sent back to the obscurity from which he came. Seething with anger, he hardly felt the nose of his dog nuzzling against him. To get his attention, Angus had to give him a gentle bite on the arm. Farr pushed the dog away.