The Iron Horse Read online

  ‘Let me see.’ Lord Hendry took the drawing from Colbeck and studied it for a full minute before shaking his head. ‘No, Inspector,’ he said at length. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you.’ He returned the paper. ‘Have you any idea at all who he might be?’

  ‘Not yet, my lord, but we will do before too long. Apart from anything else, someone is likely to report him missing.’ After folding the paper, Colbeck slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Well, thank you for seeing us,’ he said. ‘We won’t trouble you any further.’ Leeming’s attention had drifted back to the painting of the horse. ‘It’s time to go, Victor. Bid farewell to Odysseus.’

  Prodded out of his reverie, the sergeant thanked Lord Hendry profusely before following Colbeck out. The cab was waiting for them outside the house and they clambered in. Colbeck was pensive but his companion was overcome with envy. As they drew away, the sergeant looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘What a wonderful existence!’ announced Leeming. ‘To live in a mansion like that and to own racehorses – it’s my notion of paradise. Lord Hendry was such an impressive gentleman in every way.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Colbeck. ‘A pity that he felt the need to lie to us.’

  ‘He struck me as an honest, straightforward man.’

  ‘You may revise that opinion when you go to Cambridge.’

  Leeming spluttered. ‘Cambridge?’

  ‘I want you to find the hotel where Lord Hendry stayed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two reasons, Victor. I’d like to know how and when that hatbox was stolen. And I’d like you to get a good description of the woman posing as Lady Hendry.’

  ‘But she was Lady Hendry. You heard what he said, sir.’

  ‘What I heard was a man being evasive,’ said Colbeck. ‘If he really had been there with his wife, he’d have volunteered the name of the hotel instead of refusing to give it. And if he was going to the races in Newmarket, why not stay there instead of Cambridge?’

  ‘Perhaps the accommodation is better in Cambridge.’

  ‘It’s not the accommodation that interests me but the person with whom he was sharing it, the person for whom he bought that hat in Jermyn Street. Since we can’t get her name from Lord Hendry, we’ll have to find it by other means.’

  Leeming sighed. ‘Do I have to take a train to Cambridge?’

  ‘Go on horseback, if you prefer. Emulate a king.’

  ‘What king?’

  ‘Charles II,’ said Colbeck. ‘He used to ride all the way to Newmarket to see the races then ride back to London again. That’s upwards of eighty miles in the saddle. Do you think you could manage that in a day, Victor?’

  ‘I’ll go by rail,’ conceded Leeming. ‘And I hope you’re wrong about Lord Hendry. He spoke so caringly about his wife that it never crossed my mind he might have a mistress.’

  ‘You’re too trusting, Victor.’

  ‘What other lies did he tell us?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Am I to go to Cambridge on my own, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then how do I find the hotel where Lord Hendry stayed?’

  ‘By using your intelligence,’ said Colbeck. ‘Cambridge is a charming city but it won’t have many hotels where a member of the aristocracy would deign to stay. Eliminate them one by one.’

  ‘What about you, Inspector?’

  ‘Oh, have no fear. I’ll be on my travels as well – if I can persuade the superintendent to let me go there, that is.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Ireland.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Superintendent Edward Tallis was pushed to the verge of apoplexy.

  ‘Ireland?’ he said. ‘You want to go to Ireland?’

  ‘With your permission, sir,’ said Robert Colbeck.

  ‘Denied.’

  ‘I haven’t given you my reasons yet.’

  ‘Save your breath, Inspector.’

  ‘I’m not making this request lightly, sir.’

  ‘And I’m not turning it down lightly,’ said Tallis, glaring at him. ‘Here you are, in the middle of a murder investigation, and you come up with some hare-brained scheme about crossing the Irish Sea.’

  ‘That’s where the answer may lie, Superintendent.’

  ‘Poppycock! When a severed head is found in Crewe and when the hatbox in which it was being transported was bought in London by someone who lives near Reigate, then I’d say we were dealing with an exclusively English murder.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘It’s the only way of looking at it, Inspector.’

  Arms folded, Tallis sat back heavily in his chair. They were in his office at Scotland Yard and he was not in an accommodating mood. If Colbeck had suggested sailing to America, he could not have met with a more resounding rebuff. It was time to delve into the murky reservoir of their past disagreements.

  ‘Do you happen to recall a murder that took place aboard a train in Twyford a couple of years ago?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Vividly.’

  ‘Then you may also recall how obstructive you were when I argued that the only way to solve a crime that took place in Berkshire was to travel to Ashford in Kent.’

  ‘I was not obstructive,’ said Tallis indignantly. ‘I was simply being cautious. When further evidence emerged, I saw the virtue of sending you to Kent.’

  ‘Where two separate murders were successfully solved.’

  ‘We can both take credit from that, Inspector.’

  ‘Let’s move on to the Sankey Viaduct, if we may,’ said Colbeck smoothly. ‘When a man was hurled over the viaduct from a moving train, you thought I was mad to insist that my investigations should begin in France.’

  ‘It seemed a lunatic course of action at the time.’

  ‘What was the result, sir?’

  ‘The killer was eventually tracked down and caught.’

  ‘You did everything in your power to stop me from sailing to France,’ said Colbeck. ‘The only way I finally wrung a concession out of you was by threatening to resign from the Detective Department.’

  Tallis’s face darkened. ‘Where is all this leading?’

  ‘To the present situation – it’s comparable to the two cases I’ve just mentioned. When you trust my judgement, I secure arrests. When you block my initiatives, guilty men go free.’

  ‘The cases bear no resemblance to each other,’ Tallis said, waving a hand. ‘The murder victim at the Sankey Viaduct was a Parisian. There was a reasonable argument for moving the inquiry to France. As for the other victim, he was so closely linked to an execution at Maidstone Prison that I encouraged you to go to Kent.’

  Colbeck’s memories were very different. In both instances, Tallis had hampered him at every stage of the investigation and only the inspector’s single-mindedness had enabled him to solve the respective crimes. The superintendent had deliberately rewritten history.

  ‘We have no proof whatsoever,’ Tallis continued, ‘that the murder victim discovered at Crewe has any discernible link with Ireland. You might just as well charge off to the Hebrides.’

  ‘I’d not find many racehorses there, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This crime is somehow connected to the Turf,’ said Colbeck with obvious conviction. ‘I feel it in my bones, Superintendent.’

  ‘Sciatica.’

  ‘It’s no accident that the hatbox in question was one purchased by Lord Hendry. He owns the favourite for the Derby.’

  ‘That information is irrelevant. I’m not a betting man.’

  ‘It might be advantageous for you to take an interest in this year’s race, sir. Three horses stand out from the listed starters – Odysseus, Merry Legs and – the one that fascinates me – Limerick Lad, an Irish horse.’

  ‘I abhor gambling in all its forms,’ said Tallis coldly, ‘and that’s not the only thing I have against the Derby. It’s a magnet for every criminal within a hundred miles. Year after year, pick
pockets, prostitutes, fraudsters, ruffians and villains of every kind flock to Epsom Downs in search of rich pickings. Only a veritable army of policemen could keep them under control and we do not, alas, have such an army at our disposal. Don’t mention the Derby to me, Inspector,’ he went on, curling his lip. ‘If it was left to me, I’d cancel the whole disgraceful event.’

  ‘You’d cancel most things that people enjoy, sir.’

  ‘Large crowds mean constant crime.’

  ‘Abide by that argument and you’d stop every circus, fair and public celebration in London – not to mention royal processions.’

  ‘You’re being facetious.’

  ‘I’m questioning your prejudice against racing.’

  ‘I have no prejudice – I just oppose it wholeheartedly.’

  ‘Then I beg you to assign this case to someone else,’ said Colbeck abruptly. ‘Find someone who doesn’t have wild impulses like mine. Someone who believes that the crime has nothing whatsoever to do with the forthcoming Derby and who would therefore never imagine in a million years that a severed head found in Cheshire might be destined for Brian Dowd in Ireland.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Brian Dowd is the owner of Limerick Lad, sir. Unlike the vast majority of owners – Lord Hendry among them – he is also the horse’s trainer. However,’ he went on, getting to his feet, ‘none of this is germane to the investigation. The person who replaces me will conduct his enquiries exclusively on English soil.’

  Edward Tallis glowered at him. Resisting the temptation to reach for a cigar, he weighed up the implications of what Colbeck had said. To replace the inspector would be as rash as it was foolish. Nobody commanded the respect of the London and North West Railway in the way that Colbeck did. He was revered and his knowledge of railway lore was unmatched. But that did not make him infallible. Colbeck had made mistakes in the past and Tallis was convinced that he was making the biggest of all now. He flung out a challenge.

  ‘Give me one good reason why I should send you to Ireland.’

  ‘Look at my copy of Bradshaw,’ suggested Colbeck.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’d see the choice of trains confronting the person who travelled with that stolen hatbox. One destination would catch your eye, sir – Holyhead. Fifteen minutes after leaving the train at Crewe, the man could have caught another to North Wales.’

  ‘This is idle supposition.’

  ‘Humour me, Superintendent.’

  ‘I’ve made that mistake before.’

  ‘Let me go to Ireland.’

  ‘It’s an unwarranted use of police money.’

  ‘Then I’ll pay for the trip myself,’ said Colbeck earnestly. ‘As long as you reimburse me when you discover that idle supposition can sometimes produce benefits.’

  ‘Not in this case,’ Tallis promised, asserting his authority. ‘Sound, solid, unrelenting detective work is the only way to achieve a good result and it must be done here in England where the crime occurred.’ When Colbeck tried to speak, he was silenced with a peremptory gesture. ‘I’ll hear no more, Inspector. Get out there and find me a killer – and don’t you dare mention Ireland to me again.’

  There was a tap on the door. In response to a barked command from the superintendent, a young detective constable came in with a letter. After giving Colbeck a deferential smile, the newcomer handed the letter to Tallis.

  ‘This came from the coroner, sir,’ he said. ‘Marked urgent.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  While the messenger went out, Tallis tore open the letter and took out the missive. His eyes widened with interest.

  ‘A headless body was hauled out of the Thames this morning,’ he explained, still reading it. ‘From its condition, it appears that it was in the water for a couple of days at least. Although it was hideously bloated, the coroner is certain that the body and the severed head belong to the same person.’

  ‘May I hazard a guess, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘Is the man’s height given?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Then I guarantee that he’ll be no taller than five feet.’

  Tallis blinked. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I suspect that he might be a jockey.’

  ‘His height is approximately four foot ten.’

  After studying the letter again, Tallis put it aside and reached for a cigar. Deep in thought, he did not light it but rolled it slowly between his palms. He was reluctant to change his mind at the best of times, particularly where Robert Colbeck was involved, but he came to see that he had no choice. His voice dripped with rancour.

  ‘You did say you’d pay your own fare to Ireland, didn’t you?’

  Colbeck beamed. ‘There and back, Superintendent.’

  ‘I’m still not persuaded, however,’ warned Tallis.

  ‘Then I’d better find the evidence that will bring you around to my point of view. Thank you, superintendent,’ he went on, moving happily to the door. ‘You won’t regret this decision.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I’d made one,’ grumbled the other.

  Then he lit his cigar and puffed on it with a vengeance.

  Victor Leeming surprised himself. For the first time in his life, he almost enjoyed a train journey. Though he was travelling away from London, he had the comfort of knowing that he would be able to return to his family that night and shake off the memory of his two unsought trips on the railway. Cambridge was within comparatively easy reach of the capital and he realised how beautiful the scenery was on the way there. As the train maintained a steady speed through open country, Leeming observed how effortlessly it overtook coaches and carts rumbling along roads that, from time to time, ran parallel with the line. By the time he reached his destination, he was compelled to admit that the railway did, after all, have its advantages.

  Renowned for its university, Cambridge was also a thriving market town that brought people in from a wide area. While students inhabited the cloistered calm of the colleges or sought more boisterous pleasures on the playing fields, the narrow streets were thronged with local residents, visitors and the occasional beggar soliciting money from both. Having no inclination in that direction himself, Leeming had always been daunted by Cambridge’s reputation for scholarship. In reality, it was not at all intimidating. To his relief, he found it a warm, welcoming, friendly place filled with what he deemed were refreshingly ordinary people.

  Cambridge was small enough to explore on foot and replete with such wonderful medieval architecture that even the sergeant stopped to gape from time to time. There were a number of hotels but, as Colbeck had predicted, not all of them would have attracted someone like Lord Hendry, especially if he was there with someone other than his wife. Comfort and discretion would be the qualities he would expect from his accommodation. It took Leeming less than half an hour to find the establishment. After three failed attempts, he finally located the hotel he was after, a half-timbered building from the late Elizabethan period with a recently painted exterior and a sagging charm. Situated in a quiet street, the Angel Hotel offered a compound of luxury, tradition and quality service.

  When he asked to see the manager, Leeming was taken to a low-ceilinged room that served as an office and obliged Neville Hindmarsh to duck as he rose to his feet behind his desk. Had the sergeant not already have removed his top hat, it would have been scythed from his head by one of the solid oak beams. Unsettled by a visit from a Scotland Yard detective, the manager waved him anxiously to a seat before resuming his own.

  ‘What brings you all the way from London?’ he inquired.

  ‘We’re involved in an investigation, sir,’ replied Leeming, ‘and the name of this hotel cropped up in the course of it.’

  ‘And what exactly are you investigating?’

  ‘A murder.’

  Hindmarsh gulped. He was an exceptionally tall man in his forties, lean, long-faced and with a studious air. He looked less like the mana
ger of a hotel than the Fellow of a nearby college who had wandered absent-mindedly into the building after mistaking it for the Senior Common Room. When the sergeant explained that he wanted to know more detail about the theft of a hatbox, Hindmarsh blushed as if being accused of the crime himself. He needed a moment to compose himself.

  ‘I think you’ve been misinformed, Sergeant,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No hatbox – or any other item, for that matter – was stolen from this hotel. We pride ourselves on the security we offer our guests. It’s a major reason why many of them return to us again and again.’

  Leeming was puzzled. ‘Nothing was stolen?’

  ‘If it had been, it would have been reported to the police.’

  ‘Lord Hendry assured us that the theft occurred here and he would surely know. You do recall the recent visit he and his wife made here?’

  ‘Very clearly.’

  ‘Then why does his version of events differ from yours?’

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ said Hindmarsh nervously. ‘What I can tell you categorically is that the hatbox was not taken on these premises. I distinctly remember seeing Lady Hendry depart with it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I was standing by the door to bid her farewell when the porter carried it out to the cab. Lady Hendry arrived with one hatbox and left with it. I’d take my Bible oath on that.’

  ‘I can’t believe that her husband deliberately misled us.’

  ‘I’m sure it was an honest mistake,’ said Hindmarch, groping for an explanation. ‘Perhaps the item was stolen at the railway station. Unfortunately, we’ve had luggage taken from there before. When he mentioned this hotel, Lord Hendry could have been hazarding a guess. After all, he was not here at the time.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Leeming. ‘Where else would he be?’

  ‘At the races in Newmarket.’

  ‘What about Lady Hendry?’

  ‘She remained here for a while then left to catch an afternoon train. Lady Hendry had all of the luggage she had brought.’