Inspector Colbeck's Casebook Read online

  Hawley bit back a reply and turned away, shamefaced.

  It only remained for Colbeck to look at the locomotive and tender. James Barrett was an informative guide, standing on the footplate with the inspector and explaining how everything worked. His deep love of Castor was obvious. She had been one of the finest steam locomotives that he had ever driven. Alfred Neale waited until the two men descended from the footplate before he turned detective.

  ‘That’s how it must have happened,’ he said, brow furrowed in thought. ‘The villain was hiding in second class when we set off. Some time during the journey, he climbed into Mr Proudfoot’s carriage and stabbed him. It’s the only explanation, Inspector.’

  ‘You may well be right, Mr Neale,’ said Colbeck, pretending to agree with him, ‘though it does raise the question of how the killer knew that Matthew Proudfoot would be travelling on what is, after all, an unscheduled train.’

  ‘He must have followed his victim to Paddington.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Then slipped into the carriage when nobody was looking.’

  ‘He weren’t there when I checked,’ said Hawley, officiously. ‘And I’m sure that I did. When there’s no conductor on board, it’s my job.’

  ‘There is another way he might have got into that carriage,’ said Barrett, stroking his chin reflectively. ‘We moved quite slow out of Paddington. He could have jumped on the train then.’

  ‘That would mean he was a railwayman,’ noted Colbeck. ‘Someone who knew his way around the station and the goods yard. Someone agile enough to leap onto a moving train.’ He distributed a polite smile among the three of them. ‘Thank you,’ he went on. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘Can we can take her on to Swindon now, Inspector?’ asked Barrett, hopefully. ‘We’re already half a day behind on delivery.’

  Colbeck shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Barrett,’ he said, ‘but I’d like you and the train to stay here a little longer. Sergeant Leeming will be here soon. I want him to take a look at the scene of the crime. A second pair of eyes is always valuable.’

  ‘I need to get back to my wife,’ said Neale, irritably.

  Hawley tapped his chest. ‘So do I. Liza will miss me.’

  ‘I got no wife myself,’ said Barrett, ‘but I’d still like to be on my way. There’s mechanics waiting for us at Swindon.’

  ‘You can’t hold us here against our will,’ insisted Neale.

  ‘This is a murder investigation,’ Colbeck told them, ‘and that takes precedence over everything else. Now, why don’t you all join me for luncheon? I’ve a lot more questions to put to you yet.’

  Sergeant Victor Leeming arrived early that afternoon. He was a stocky man in his thirties with the sort of unfortunate features that even his greatest admirers could only describe as pleasantly ugly. Though he was relatively smart, he looked almost unkempt beside the immaculate inspector. Leeming was carrying a well-thumbed copy of Bradshaw’s Guide, the comprehensive volume of public railway timetables that was issued monthly. Colbeck took him aside to hear his report.

  ‘What did you discover, Victor?’ he asked.

  ‘That Matthew Proudfoot is well known on this stretch of line,’ replied Leeming. ‘He lived in Reading and travelled up and down to London all the time. He wasn’t a popular man – always trying to find fault with the way that trains were run and stations manned. I wouldn’t like to repeat what a porter at Slough called him.’

  ‘Did anyone see him as the train passed by yesterday evening?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  Leeming took out his notebook. ‘Here we are,’ he said, flipping to the right page. ‘He was seen going through Hanwell station, West Drayton, Langley and Maidenhead.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Railway policemen, in the first three cases.’

  ‘And at Maidenhead?’

  ‘The stationmaster, Mr Elrich.’

  ‘Are they sure that it was Matthew Proudfoot?’

  ‘Completely sure, Inspector. By all accounts, he was a very distinctive man. All four witnesses swear that he was sitting in the window of the first-class carriage as Castor went past.’ He tapped his notebook. ‘I even have the approximate times written down. Do you want them?’

  ‘No thank you, Victor,’ said Colbeck, holding up a hand. ‘You’ve told me the one thing I needed to know. Mr Proudfoot was alive when the train left Maidenhead. I had a feeling that he would be.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because the longest stretch between stations on that line is the one that runs from Maidenhead to Twyford. It’s just over eight miles. Given the speed at which they were travelling, that would allow the killer the maximum time – well over a quarter of an hour – in which to strike.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Leeming. ‘It’s only two miles between Hanwell and Ealing – even less between there and Southall station. He must have waited for open country before he attacked.’

  ‘Biding his time.’

  Leeming put his notebook away. ‘Have you made any progress at this end, Inspector?’

  ‘A great deal.’

  ‘Do we have any clues?’

  ‘Several, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘When a little more evidence has been gathered, we’ll be in a position to make an arrest. Meanwhile, I want the stretch of line between Maidenhead and Twyford to be searched.’

  Leeming gaped. ‘All of it?’

  ‘They can start at Twyford station and work their way back. My guess is that it will be nearer that end of the track.’

  ‘What will?’

  ‘The murder weapon. It was thrown from the train.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Would you hang on to a bloodstained knife?’ asked Colbeck. ‘But that isn’t the only item I want to locate. Close by, they should also find the wallet and watch that were stolen from Matthew Proudfoot.’

  ‘You sound as if you already have the name of the murderer.’

  ‘Let’s say that I’ve narrowed it down to two people.’

  ‘Accomplices?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so somehow.’

  ‘Who are these men?’

  ‘I’ll introduce them to you in a moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘First of all, let me tell you what I’ve been up to while you were busy elsewhere.’

  Driver Barrett was relieved when he was told that he had permission to take the train on to Swindon. What neither he nor Fireman Neale could understand, however, was why Robert Colbeck insisted on travelling on the footplate with them. They were also mystified to hear that Victor Leeming would be sitting in the first-class carriage. George Hawley was even less pleased with the arrangement. Deprived of a supply of beer, he sat alone in the brake van and moped.

  Swindon was over forty miles down the line and they had to time their departure so that they did not interfere with any of the down-trains from London. An able fireman, Neale had gotten up a good head of steam as Castor finally pulled out of Reading station. Colbeck had never been on a moving locomotive before and he was glad that he had given his top hat to Leeming for safekeeping. There was no real protection from the elements on the footplate and, the faster they went, the greater the strength of the wind. Colbeck’s hat would have been blown off his head.

  There were other problems he had not anticipated. Dust got into his eyes, noisome fumes troubled his nostrils and he had to brush the occasional hot cinder from his sleeve. The ear-splitting noise meant that speech had to be conducted in raised voices. Nevertheless, Colbeck was impressed by the remarkable running quality of Castor, given greater stability on the broad gauge track.

  ‘What speed are we doing now?’ he asked.

  ‘Almost thirty miles an hour,’ said Barrett, who had an instinctive feel for the pace of the train. ‘She can go much faster, Inspector.’

  ‘Take her up to thirty-five – the speed you were doing yesterday.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  Colbeck stood back
so that the two men could do their work. He felt a sudden rush of heat as the door of the firebox was opened so that Neale could shovel in more coke. The door was slammed shut again. Smoke was billowing out of the chimney and forming clouds in their wake. Steam was hissing and the locomotive rattled and swayed. Colbeck found it an exhilarating experience but he was not there to enjoy it. As soon as he had got used to the rocking motion of the train, he checked his watch before slipping it back into his waistcoat pocket. Then he stepped back onto the tender and worked his way slowly along its side.

  ‘What, in God’s name, is he doing?’ cried Neale.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Barrett.

  ‘Where does he think he’s going?’

  Colbeck heard him but gave no reply. He needed every ounce of concentration for the task in hand. The second-class carriage was coupled to the tender but it was shaking crazily from side to side. Not daring to look down, Colbeck reached across the void, got a grip on the roof of the carriage and, with a supreme effort, heaved himself up onto it. He needed time to grow accustomed to the roll of the carriage. Getting up off his hands and knees, he remained in a crouching position in the middle of the roof until he felt sufficiently confident to stand up properly. He then made his way gingerly towards the first-class carriage.

  Victor Leeming was leafing through his copy of Bradshaw’s when his colleague swung unexpectedly in through the window. The sergeant’s jaw dropped in wonder.

  ‘What are you doing, Inspector?’ he gasped.

  ‘I’m coming to kill you, Victor.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re Matthew Proudfoot. Now – resist me!’

  Drawing an imaginary knife, he mimed an attack on his companion. Leeming caught his wrist but Colbeck was too quick and too strong for him. Tripping up his victim, he pulled his wrist clear then straddled him on the floor before stabbing him in the heart. Colbeck let out a laugh of triumph. When he had pulled Leeming to his feet again, he looked at his watch.

  ‘Less than four minutes,’ he said, contentedly, ‘and that was my first attempt. A man who is used to walking along the roofs of the train would do it in half the time.’

  ‘Why would anyone be stupid enough to do that, Inspector?’

  ‘To get to the brake van to drink beer with the guard. Mr Hawley obviously has a thirst, but even he would need some help to shift a whole gallon. Yesterday,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the person who came along the roofs of the carriages stopped off here to commit murder.’

  ‘That young fireman,’ decided Leeming, snapping his fingers. ‘It must have been Alfred Neale. I thought he had a wild look about him.’

  ‘That was caused by deprivation, Victor.’

  ‘Deprivation?’

  ‘Mr Neale was only married a couple of months ago,’ said Colbeck with wry amusement. ‘I daresay that he was feeling deprived of the joys of wedlock. With a loving wife to care for, I don’t believe that he’d take chances on the roof of a moving train. As for Mr Hawley, our guard,’ he pointed out, ‘he’s too old and fat to climb up there – particularly when he’s been drinking.’

  ‘That only leaves the driver.’

  ‘James Barrett has to be our man.’

  ‘What was his motive?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Colbeck. ‘I’ll go and ask him.’

  Without another word, he climbed back out through the window.

  The speed of the train had increased perceptibly, making for more noise and a greater roll. When Colbeck hauled himself back up onto the roof, he had some difficulty steadying himself. He was not helped when a passenger train raced past in the opposite direction, deafening him with the sound of its whistle and momentarily doubling the amount of thick black smoke with which he had to contend. As he rose to his feet, the smoke began to clear, only to reveal a new hazard. Walking towards him along the roof of the second-class carriage was James Barrett with a fire shovel in his hand. The driver was moving with practised ease.

  ‘You’re too clever for your own safety, Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Put that shovel down, Mr Barrett.’

  ‘Not until it’s sent you to kingdom come.’

  ‘There’s no escape, man.’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ argued Barrett. ‘You signed your own death warrant by travelling on my train. When I’ve got rid of you, I’ll see to that Sergeant Leeming as well. By the time the alarm is raised, I’ll be a long way away from here.’

  ‘With the money you stole from Matthew Proudfoot no doubt.’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly where to find it.’

  ‘That’s why you were so ready to let me search you,’ recalled Colbeck, taking a step backwards. ‘Because there was no chance I’d find anything incriminating, was there?’ Barrett leapt onto the first-class carriage. ‘Just tell me this – what drove you to kill him?’

  ‘Revenge.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘All the things he did to the people employed by this railway,’ said Barrett, curling his lip. ‘Mr Proudfoot was ruthless. He went looking for reasons to have drivers fined or reprimanded. Dan Armitage, my closest friend, was dismissed because of him – Dan hasn’t worked since. And I could name you dozens more who fell foul of Matthew Proudfoot. We give blood for this railway, Inspector. We work long hours in all weathers yet we never got a word of thanks or a touch of respect from Mr Proudfoot. You should have heard the way he talked to me at Paddington. He treated me like dirt. That’s why he deserved to die.’

  ‘Not that way,’ said Colbeck, keeping one eye on the shovel as his adversary inched his way towards him. ‘You must’ve known that you’d never get away with it.’

  ‘But I have, Inspector. Nobody will ever arrest me.’

  ‘Do you want two more deaths on your conscience?’

  ‘What conscience?’

  ‘You’ll be hounded for the rest of your life, Mr Barrett.’

  ‘I’ll take that chance.’

  Lunging forward, he swung the shovel hard in an attempt to dislodge Colbeck but the inspector managed to duck under the blow. Barrett was about to strike again when a voice rang out behind him.

  ‘Stop it, Jim!’ yelled Neale, standing on the tender.

  ‘Mind the engine!’ called Barrett over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you going to kill him as well?’ taunted Colbeck. ‘He knows the truth about you now. I’ll wager that you told him you were going to have a drink in the brake van yesterday evening, didn’t you? Mr Neale trusted you. When you swore that you didn’t commit the murder, he believed you. So did Mr Hawley.’

  ‘Be quiet!’ snarled Barrett.

  ‘Come back here,’ pleaded Neale.

  ‘And you can shut up as well.’

  ‘What’s got into you, Jim?’ asked the fireman in dismay.

  Barrett turned round. ‘Just drive the train!’

  Colbeck did not hesitate. Alfred Neale had provided a timely distraction. Taking advantage of it, the inspector stepped forward to grab the shovel and tried to wrest it from the driver’s grasp. There was a fierce battle as both men pushed and pulled, barely maintaining their balance on the roof. Alfred Neale was yelling from the tender and Victor Leeming, hearing the pounding noise on the roof above his head, put his head out of the window even though he could not see what was happening. Castor steamed on as if in some kind of race.

  Holding on to the shovel, each man struggled desperately to shake off the other and gain control of the weapon. Barrett was a powerful man with a murderous impulse but Colbeck was more guileful. As the driver heaved on the shovel with all his might, the inspector simply let go and Barrett was suddenly at the mercy of his own momentum. Staggering backwards along the roof, he lost his footing and slipped to the edge before being thrown violently from the train. He hit the ground with such force that his neck was snapped like a twig. Yet, at the moment of death, he did not relinquish his hold on the shovel.

  Frock coat flapping in the wind, Colbeck knelt down to get his breath back. Alfred Neal
e was horrified by what he had seen. Since he was now in charge of the train, he applied the brakes and put the engine into reverse, bringing the locomotive to a screeching halt a long distance down the line. When Colbeck got to him, the fireman was in tears.

  ‘Jim Barrett, a killer?’ he whimpered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘He told me that he wanted revenge.’

  ‘We all did, Inspector, but none of us would have gone that far.’

  ‘Mr Barrett did,’ said Colbeck. ‘There was too much anger penned up inside him, and too much injured pride. It was like steam building up inside an engine – when it was released, it had frightening power.’

  A full report of the investigation was submitted to Superintendent Edward Tallis. After studying it with interest, he summoned Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming to his office in Scotland Yard.

  ‘Congratulations are in order,’ said Tallis, stroking his moustache.

  ‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ said Leeming, modestly, ‘but I can’t take much credit. It was the inspector who identified the killer.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he was unable to take the man alive. It’s a great pity. Had the fellow been caught and convicted, we would have enjoyed some good publicity in the newspapers for a change.’ His eyes flicked to Colbeck. ‘Try to remember that next time.’

  ‘Arrest was not an option, sir,’ explained Colbeck. ‘I couldn’t put handcuffs on a man who was armed with a fire shovel on the roof of a moving train.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have got involved in such heroics.’

  ‘With respect, Superintendent,’ said Leeming, loyally, ‘I think that the inspector deserves profound gratitude. He risked his life in the course of doing his duty. I wouldn’t have dared to climb up there.’

  ‘The risk was unnecessary.’

  ‘It didn’t seem so at the time,’ argued Colbeck.

  ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘I had to find out how it was done before I could accuse James Barrett of the murder. When he realised that I’d found him out, he chose to resist arrest.’

  ‘Resist arrest?’ echoed Leeming with a hollow laugh. ‘He tried to knock you off the top of that train with a fire shovel. He tried to murder you. That’s rather more than resisting arrest, Inspector.’