Peril on the Royal Train Read online

  ‘I was hopin’ to see ye,’ he said.

  ‘How was the market?’

  ‘It was a’right.’

  ‘Did ye get a guid price for the lambs?’

  ‘Let’s no’ talk about tha’. Come wi’ me, Bella.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Where are we goin’?’

  ‘I’ve somethin’ to show ye.’

  She was excited. ‘Is it for me, Jamie?’

  ‘It’s for both of us.’

  Taking her by the hand, he led her upwards until they crested the hill. They walked along the ridge then stopped to take in the view. It was still afternoon but dark clouds were robbing the sky of some of its light. Farr had a canvas bag slung from his shoulder. Reaching into it, he took out the telescope and held it out to her. He expected a cry of delight but she looked disappointed. It was not the gift for which she’d hoped.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Can ye no’ see, Bella? It’s a telescope.’

  ‘I’ve heerd tell of them but never seen one before.’

  ‘Hold it,’ he invited, thrusting it at her. ‘Take it, feel it.’

  She did as he bade her. ‘It’s heavy, Jamie.’

  ‘Put your eye to it.’ He laughed when she did so. ‘Tha’s the wrong end to look into. Turn it round like this.’

  He twisted it round for her then urged her to peer into it. When she did so, she let out a gasp of wonder. She let the telescope move slowly across the landscape.

  ‘It’s magic,’ she said, turning to him with a giggle. ‘Everything seems close enough to touch.’

  ‘I bought it for us, Bella. Are ye pleased?’

  ‘I love it. I can see for miles. I could even see the people in tha’ trap.’

  Farr stiffened. ‘What people?’ He looked downwards. ‘I don’t see them.’

  ‘Try lookin’ through this,’ she advised, handing him the telescope.

  He put it to his eye and adjusted it. ‘Thank ye.’

  It didn’t take him long to pick out the figures moving slowly in the distance. The trap was travelling parallel with the railway line. Well off the beaten track, it seemed an odd place for visitors to be.

  ‘Can ye see them now?’ said Bella.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied, with growing interest, ‘I can.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘How did Mr Renwick react to the news?’

  ‘I think it’s fair to say that he was staggered by it, sir.’

  ‘Did it never cross his mind that that was what the burglar was after?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘He assumed that the man came in search of valuables. Why should anyone break into a house to look at a timetable for the royal train?’

  ‘We know the answer to that now,’ said Tallis, grimly.

  ‘Until I explained what had happened in Scotland, Mr Renwick refused to accept the truth. He thought it too ludicrous for words at first.’

  ‘I’m glad that he’s taking it seriously now.’

  ‘Oh, he is,’ said Colbeck. ‘There’s no question about that. When I finally left him, he was still chiding himself for not seeing a connection between the burglary and the royal family’s visit to Balmoral. The one consolation for him, of course, is that the suspected attack is due to take place not on the LNWR but on the Caledonian.’

  ‘What was Renwick’s advice?’

  ‘He wanted to cancel the train altogether.’

  ‘That’s the sensible thing to do.’

  ‘But it won’t be the most productive, sir.’

  On his eventual return to Scotland Yard, Colbeck had delivered his report to Tallis in the latter’s office. Having been earlier deprived of what he saw as his right to visit Buckingham Palace, Tallis was in a peevish mood. He kept interrupting Colbeck with additional questions, harrying him relentlessly and trying to catch him out so that he could administer a reproach. To his chagrin, he was never given an opportunity to do so. Coping with every demand made on him, Colbeck answered clearly, calmly and concisely. It served to increase the superintendent’s irritability.

  ‘And what’s taken you so long?’ asked Tallis, glancing up at the clock on the wall. ‘I expected you back hours ago.’

  ‘Mr Renwick took me to his office,’ replied Colbeck, ‘and he later invited me to join him for luncheon.’

  ‘Luncheon! You shouldn’t have wasted your time over a leisurely meal. I needed you back here. There’s a crime to be investigated.’

  ‘Talking to Mr Renwick was an important part of that investigation, sir. I learnt an immense amount from him. Until we went to his office, I hadn’t realised just how much planning went into a royal train journey. The detail is remarkable,’ said Colbeck. ‘Using information about who will be travelling in the royal party, Mr Renwick submits a plan to Buckingham Palace for approval. In this case, the plan was ratified without any correction. A copy of it was kept in Mr Renwick’s safe.’

  ‘And it was inspected by the burglar.’

  ‘It would have told him everything he needed to know, including the speed of the train. Did you know that Her Majesty refuses to travel at any speed in excess of 40 miles per hour? That, by the way, is reduced to 30 miles per hour after dark.’

  ‘But that would help the conspirators,’ said Tallis, fingering his moustache. ‘If the train hared along at full speed, it would be more difficult for them to time their explosion to the right second.’

  ‘They’ll strike where a gradient slows the train down.’

  Colbeck went on to explain what else he’d discovered during his visit to the general manager’s office. Renwick had shown him the plan for the royal train’s journey to Balmoral the previous spring. Immediately behind the engine was a brake van with another at the back of the train. Carriages at either end of the train were set aside for royal footmen and attendants. The royal saloon was at the centre of the train with carriages either side reserved for members of the royal family and foreign dignitaries. Queen Victoria had travelled with a large and illustrious party to what she described as the ‘dear Paradise’ of Balmoral.

  ‘On the way north,’ added Colbeck, ‘Her Majesty broke the journey at Perth station. When she alighted to retire to her accommodation, there was a huge crowd on the platform as well as a band from a Highland regiment.’

  ‘That was last year,’ said Tallis, acidly. ‘If these villains get their way, the royal train will never even reach Perth. In the interests of safety, Her Majesty would be far better off sailing to Scotland.’

  ‘The railway is much quicker and more comfortable, sir. Bad weather can turn even a short voyage into a harrowing experience. The royal yacht cannot compete with a train or Her Majesty would still be sailing in it by choice.’

  ‘The question is academic until we know what decision has been taken at Buckingham Palace. The commissioner should have returned by now. I’ve been expecting a summons any minute.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, seeing a chance to escape and rising from his chair, ‘I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘Stay where you are, man. There’s something I must remind you about.’

  Colbeck resumed his seat. ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘I have taken this investigation into my own hands. You do nothing unless it’s approved by me in advance.’

  ‘That does rather limit my effectiveness, sir.’

  ‘That’s deliberate. You need to be restricted to specific tasks instead of disappearing on impulse to chase something that usually turns out not to be there.’

  ‘I dispute that,’ said Colbeck, firmly.

  ‘Dispute what you wish. It’s a waste of breath. I’ll overrule you at every turn.’

  ‘You’re supposed to handcuff prisoners, sir, not your own detectives.’

  Tallis erupted. ‘I’ll brook no criticism from you, Colbeck!’ he yelled. ‘If I have any more carping, I’ll have you removed from this case altogether.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in!’

  When the door opened, Sir Richard
Mayne sailed in. Colbeck stood up out of politeness and Tallis conjured up a deferential smile. After a nod at Colbeck, the commissioner turned his gaze on the superintendent.

  ‘What’s all that bellowing for?’ he asked. ‘I expected an invitation to enter this office, not an assault on my eardrums. What’s going on in here?’

  ‘Nothing, Sir Richard,’ said Tallis with a hollow laugh. ‘The inspector and I were having a conversation, that’s all. It’s over now. How did you fare at the palace?’

  ‘I was kept waiting an interminable amount of time. When I finally did have an audience with Prince Albert, it took me ages to convince him that the threat was real.’ He turned to Colbeck. ‘It was only when I mentioned the inspector’s name that he began to listen properly. He has great respect for you, Inspector.’

  ‘That’s very gratifying to hear,’ said Colbeck, modestly.

  ‘What decision has been taken?’ asked Tallis.

  ‘None,’ replied Mayne.

  ‘But it can’t be left hanging in the air, Sir Richard.’

  ‘I made that point a number of times.’

  ‘Perhaps I should speak to His Royal Highness.’

  ‘That’s out of the question,’ said Mayne. ‘Prince Albert wishes to see only Inspector Colbeck and Archibald Renwick. They must present themselves at the palace at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘We’ll be there, Sir Richard,’ said Colbeck, obediently.

  ‘I should go with you,’ asserted Tallis. ‘If I am to run this investigation, I must be involved at the highest level.’

  ‘Two people were requested by name,’ said Mayne, coldly, ‘and you were not one of them, Superintendent. Colbeck and Renwick can manage perfectly well without you looking over their shoulder. Isn’t that true, Inspector?’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘I believe that it is.’

  It had been a wearisome day for Victor Leeming. After his visit to the rehearsal room, he went in search of one of the men whose name he’d been given by Buckmaster. It took him to a squalid tavern in a Deptford backstreet. Feeling out of place and blatantly unwelcome, Leeming nursed a pint of beer for over an hour before Orlando Foxe finally turned up. Old, haggard and decrepit, the newcomer nevertheless had a faded grandeur about him. He tossed a mane of silver curls and used expressive gestures. To get his attention, all that Leeming had to do was to invite him to sit at his table and to buy him a drink. Foxe poured it down his throat as if emptying a bucket of water.

  ‘I needed that,’ he said, smacking his lips.

  ‘I’m told that you give elocution lessons,’ Leeming began.

  ‘I give lessons of any kind that bring in money, my dear friend. What you see before you is a master of his art, a veteran of the theatre, a thespian supreme. I can teach you how to speak properly onstage, sing a sweet ditty, move with true dignity, employ every manner of gesture and handle a sword convincingly in a duel. You will also learn how to wear costumes as if they belonged to you. No aspect of drama is beyond my scope. All that I require is appropriate remuneration.’

  ‘I’m not here on my own account, Mr Foxe.’

  ‘You wish to engage my services for a friend?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m anxious to track someone down and I believe that he may be a pupil of yours.’

  Foxe became wary. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘This gentleman would want the best teacher and I’m told that that’s you.’

  ‘I can’t disagree with that,’ said Foxe with a lordly wave of a hand. ‘My reputation goes before me. Who recommended me?’

  ‘It was an actor by the name of Nigel Buckmaster.’

  Foxe gasped. ‘Don’t mention that foul fiend!’

  ‘But he spoke well of you, sir.’

  ‘Keep that charlatan away from me!’ cried Foxe, holding up both arms as if to ward off a blow. ‘It was he who ruined my career. I’ll never forgive the rogue for that. Treachery, thy name is Buckmaster!’ He grabbed Leeming’s arm. ‘You have just twisted the knife in a very deep wound. I was a leading actor before that bombastic fool first stepped on a stage. My talent is natural while his is artificial. We have nothing whatsoever in common.’

  Leeming disagreed. In his view, Foxe and Buckmaster were hewn from the same rock. Both men were imposing, egotistical and blessed with deep, rich voices. Indeed, Foxe might have been an older version of the actor-manager. Evidently, there was intense professional rivalry between them. Not wishing to inflame Foxe again, he changed his tack.

  ‘You must come across many different accents,’ he said, casually.

  ‘None as untutored as your own, I dare swear.’

  Leeming rode over the insult. ‘What’s the most difficult to get rid of?’

  ‘That depends on how hard each individual is prepared to work,’ said Foxe. ‘A good student will shed the most dreadful accent in a matter of months, if not weeks; a bad one is stuck with it for life. Everything comes down to dedication.’

  ‘Some voices must be more difficult to improve. I’ve just returned from a visit to Scotland. They talk in gibberish there. Could you make a Scotsman speak English in a way I could understand?’

  Foxe was fuming. ‘I am a Scotsman,’ he declared, one hand to his breast, ‘and I resent that slur on my nation. We have the purest vowels and the most decisive consonants in the whole British Isles. If you’ve come to mock us, begone with you! What gives you the right to sneer at us when you speak as if you have a live crab crawling around inside your mouth?’ He jabbed a finger. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘My name is Victor Leeming, sir.’

  ‘Then take yourself off, Mr Leeming.’

  ‘I didn’t give you my full title – it’s Detective Sergeant Leeming of the Metropolitan Police Force.’

  A look of terror came into Foxe’s eyes and he shrank back in his chair.

  ‘Don’t arrest me, sir,’ he pleaded. ‘I run a legitimate business and my charges are very modest. Ignore any complaints made against me. I’m an honourable man.’

  ‘Your honour is not in question,’ said Leeming, trying to soothe him with a smile that only disturbed him even more. ‘It’s one of your clients who interests me. He’s a very dishonourable man.’

  ‘Then he is not one of my students. I’m highly selective.’

  ‘His real name is Patrick Scanlan but we know for a fact that he uses a number of aliases. He hails from Willenhall in Staffordshire and you’d have known it from his voice when he first came to London. Someone got rid of his accent for him.’

  ‘So I should hope. It would reek of smoking chimneys.’

  ‘We need to find him,’ said Leeming, seriously. ‘There could be a reward for the person who tells us where he is.’

  Temptation brought a glow to Foxe’s face. The promise of money fired his imagination and he began to invent a story about someone who came to him with a Black Country accent. Even as the fictional character formed in his mind, however, he realised that he could not bamboozle Leeming. The sergeant was too experienced to be taken in by a patent lie. Foxe’s only option was to fall back on honesty.

  ‘I can tell you, hand on heart,’ he said, ‘that I’ve never met the fellow.’

  Leeming believed him. Foxe had an actor’s prodigious memory. If he’d encountered Patrick Scanlan, he’d remember him. The visit to Deptford had been in vain yet it might still yield something of value.

  ‘Do you happen to know what an iambic pentameter is?’ asked Leeming.

  Ever since Colbeck had confided in him, Nairn Craig had been stretched on a rack of apprehension. Unable to sleep, he became increasingly fatigued. Unable to tell his wife about the danger to the royal family, he simply claimed that he was not feeling well. Colleagues at work like John Mudie noticed the bags under his eyes and the shortness of his temper but they knew better than to question him. It would be like thrusting a bare hand into a wasp’s nest. Craig had to keep the terrible secret bottled up inside him. It caused him constant discomfort yet
he accepted Colbeck’s argument that the information could not be voiced abroad. With his company under threat yet again, he became obsessed with finding the most likely spot where any attack would occur. When his visitor called on him, Craig was scrutinising a map on his desk.

  ‘Good day to you,’ said Malcolm Rae, cheerily.

  ‘Ah, hello, Inspector – what brings you here?’

  ‘I’m wondering what happened to the Railway Detective.’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck has returned to London.’

  Rae grinned. ‘Does that mean you’ve dispensed with his services?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Craig, guardedly. ‘He felt that there were lines of inquiry he had to pursue in London. I daresay that he’ll be back before long.’

  ‘Did he tell you what these new lines of inquiry were?’

  ‘I was not made privy to that information.’

  ‘I’m intrigued to know what it is.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to be patient.’

  ‘Surely he gave you some sort of hint?’

  ‘I’ve told you all I can,’ said Craig, flatly.

  He was not taken in by Rae’s pretence that he knew nothing of Colbeck’s whereabouts. The inspector had come to gloat. He was already aware that Colbeck and Leeming had left Glasgow. Enquiries at the Strathallan had also elicited the fact that Colbeck’s wife and father-in-law had spent the night there. Craig had been put in the awkward position of explaining the absence of the man ostensibly leading the investigation into the train crash. It was an odd situation and Rae was exploiting it. Moving to the desk, the inspector stared at the map.

  ‘Is the Caledonian looking to extend its empire?’ he taunted.

  ‘Further expansion is always under review,’ said Craig, folding the map away. ‘But extending a line is an expensive business. Local issues come into play and we always meet with opposition – not least from our competitors, of course. On which subject,’ he went on, trying to distract his visitor, ‘what have you learnt of the NBR?’

  ‘I’ve learnt that the general manager has privately admitted that someone in his employ might have been party to the accident on your line. The search for suspects is both urgent and comprehensive.’