The Railway Detective irc-1 Page 5

  Maud Ings was in a quandary. Wanting to protect her husband, she was deeply hurt by his treatment of her. Refusing to accept that he could be involved in a crime, she came to see that the evidence was pointing against him. She wrestled with her conscience for a long time but Colbeck did not rush her, recognising that her situation was already exerting almost unbearable pressure upon the woman. She was the discarded wife of a man who might turn out to be involved in a major crime. It took time for her to adjust to the full horror of her predicament.

  Eventually, she capitulated and gabbled the information.

  ‘I don’t know the woman’s name,’ she said with rancour, ‘but I think that she lives in the Devil’s Acre.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Superintendent Edward Tallis was just finishing another cigar when there was a knock on the door of his office. It was late but he rarely left his desk before ten o’clock at night, believing that long hours and continual vigilance were required to police a city as large and volatile as London. He cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘Come in,’ he called, stubbing out his cigar in an ashtray.

  Robert Colbeck entered. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I was wondering when you’d deign to put in an appearance.’

  ‘Sergeant Leeming and I have been very busy.’

  ‘To what effect?’

  ‘I believe that we’ve made slight headway, Superintendent.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘There’s still a lot of intelligence to gather,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I wanted to keep you abreast of developments. Is this a convenient time?’

  ‘No,’ said Tallis, grumpily, ‘it most definitely is not. My head is pounding, my bad tooth is aching and I’m extremely tired. This is a highly inconvenient time, Inspector, but I’ll endure it with good grace. Take a seat and tell me what you have to report.’

  Colbeck chose a leather armchair and settled back into it. Relying solely on his memory, he gave a concise account of the progress of the investigation and drew a periodic grunt of approval from the other man. He took it as a good sign that Tallis did not even try to interrupt him. Colbeck just wished that the cigar smoke were not quite so acrid, mingling, as it did, with the stink from the gas lighting to produce a foul compound.

  ‘Where is Sergeant Leeming now?’ asked Tallis.

  ‘Questioning senior figures at the railway company,’ said Colbeck. ‘I left him to do that while I called at the home of William Ings.’

  ‘But the cupboard was bare.’

  ‘The man himself may not have been there, Superintendent, but I feel that I gathered some valuable clues. I strongly advise that we keep the house under surveillance in case Mr Ings should chance to return.’

  ‘Why should he do that?’

  ‘To give his wife money and to see his children.’

  ‘The complications of marriage!’ sighed Tallis, sitting back in his chair. ‘The more I see of holy matrimony, the more grateful I am that I never got embroiled in it myself. I daresay that you feel the same.’

  ‘Not exactly, sir.’

  ‘Then why have you remained single?’

  ‘It was not a conscious decision,’ explained Colbeck, unwilling to go into any detail about his private life. ‘I suppose the truth is that I have yet to meet the lady with whom I feel impelled to share my life, but I have every hope of doing so one day.’

  ‘Even if it might impede your career as a detective?’

  ‘Unlike you, sir, I don’t see marriage as an impediment.’

  ‘Anything that prevents a man from devoting himself to his work is a handicap,’ announced Tallis. ‘That’s why I limit my social life so strictly. We have an enormous amount to do, Inspector. London is a veritable sewer of crime. Our job is to sluice it regularly.’

  ‘I have a feeling that this case will take us much further afield than the capital, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘The robbery occurred in a rural location in Buckinghamshire and that county is hardly a hive of criminal activity. On the other hand, the crucial information about the mail train was doubtless supplied by someone in London.’

  ‘William Ings?’

  ‘I reserve judgement until we get conclusive proof.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if we already have it.’

  ‘The evidence is only circumstantial,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘Do I have your permission to arrange for the house to be watched?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘Why not, sir?’

  ‘Only a fool would dare to go back there again.’

  ‘Only a fool would run up gambling debts.’

  ‘I can’t spare the men.’

  ‘You said that I could have unlimited resources.’

  ‘Within reason,’ Tallis reminded him, ‘and I don’t happen to think that keeping this house under observation is a reasonable use of police time. Ings has obviously gone to ground somewhere else. I doubt if his wife will ever see the rogue again.’

  Colbeck was far too used to having his suggestions blocked by his superior to be irritated. It was something he had learnt to accept. Edward Tallis seemed to take pleasure from frustrating any initiatives that the other man put forward. It was one of the reasons why the antipathy between them had deepened over the years.

  ‘It’s your decision, sir,’ said Colbeck with exaggerated civility.

  ‘Abide by it.’

  ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘Invent some hare-brained scheme of your own to subvert me,’ said Tallis with vehemence, ‘and I’ll not stand for that. It’s happened before, as I know to my cost.’

  ‘I only took what I felt were the appropriate steps.’

  ‘You resorted to untried, unauthorised methods. And, yes,’ he admitted, raising a hand, ‘they did achieve a measure of success, I grant you. But they also left me to face a reprimand from the Commissioners. Never again, Inspector – do you hear me?’

  ‘Loud and clear, sir.’

  ‘Good. You must follow procedure to the letter.’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent.’

  ‘So what’s your next step?’

  ‘To meet up with Victor Leeming and hear what he found out at the railway company. He acquitted himself well when he talked to the people who were on board the train. He asked all the right questions.’

  ‘I’ll want to know what he gleaned from the railway company.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘What are your plans for tomorrow?’

  ‘I intend to catch the earliest possible train to Birmingham.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Tallis.

  ‘Because I need to speak to the manager of the bank to which that money was being sent. He has a key to open that safe. I’d like to know how it came into the possession of the robbers.’

  ‘So you suspect treachery at that end as well?’

  ‘I’m certain of it, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘I believe that we’re looking at a much wider conspiracy than might at first appear. There was inside help at the Post Office, the bank and, possibly, at the Mint. The robbers might also have had a confederate inside the London and North Western Railway Company,’ he argued. ‘I don’t believe that William Ings is the only man implicated.’

  Tallis grimaced. ‘In other words,’ he said, tartly, ‘this case will take a long time to solve.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to endure even more harassment from all sides.’

  ‘Your back is broad, sir.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ complained Tallis. ‘It presents a big target for anybody with a whip in his hand. If we fail to make swift progress in this investigation, I’ll be flayed alive. I’ve already had to fight off the so-called gentlemen of the press. Tomorrow’s headlines will not make pleasant reading, Inspector. My bad tooth is throbbing at the prospect.’

  ‘There’s a way to solve that problem, Superintendent.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, cheerfully.
‘Don’t buy a newspaper.’

  Caleb Andrews had never known such fierce and unremitting pain. He felt as if his skull were about to split apart. The only escape from the agony was to lapse back into unconsciousness. Every so often, however, he recovered enough, if only fleetingly, to remember something of what had happened and he felt the savage blows being administered by the butt of the pistol again and again. When that torment eased slightly with the passage of time, he became more acutely aware of the pain in his body and limbs. He ached all over and one of his legs seemed to be on fire. What frightened him was that he was unable to move it.

  As his mind slowly cleared, he hovered for an age between sleep and waking, conscious of the presence of others but unable to open his eyes to see whom they might be. There was movement at his bedside and he heard whispers but, before he could identify the voices, he always drifted off again. It was infuriating. He was desperate to reach out, to make contact, to beg for help, to share his suffering with others. Yet somehow he could not break through the invisible barrier between his private anguish and the public world. And then, just as he despaired of ever waking up again, he had a momentary surge of energy, strong enough for him to be able to separate his eyelids at last.

  Faces swam in front of him then one of them swooped in close. He felt a kiss on his cheek and his hand was squeezed very gently. A soft female voice caressed his ear.

  ‘Hello, Father,’ said Madeleine Andrews. ‘I’m here with you.’

  Victor Leeming was weary. After conducting a long and taxing series of interviews at the offices of the London and North Western Railway Company, he was grateful that his duties were almost over for the day. All that he had to do was to repair to Colbeck’s house in order to compare notes with the Inspector. He hoped that the latter had had a more productive evening than he had managed.

  As a cab took him to the house in John Islip Street, he listened to the clacking of the horse’s hooves on the hard surface and mused on the seductive simplicity of a cab driver’s life. Ferrying passengers to and fro across London was an interesting, practical and undemanding way of life, free from the dangers of police work or from the tedium that often accompanied it. One could even count on generous tips, something that was unheard of among those who toiled at Scotland Yard. By the time he reached his destination, Leeming had come to envy the virtues of a less onerous occupation.

  Once inside the house, however, he dismissed such thoughts from his mind. Robert Colbeck had a warm welcome and a bottle of Scotch whisky waiting for him. The two men sat down in a study that was lined with books on all manner of subjects. Neat piles of newspapers and magazines stood on a beautiful mahogany cabinet. Framed silhouettes occupied most of the mantelpiece. Above them, on the wall, in a large, rectangular gilt frame, was a portrait of a handsome middle-aged woman.

  ‘How did you fare?’ asked Colbeck, sipping his drink.

  ‘Not very well, Inspector.’

  ‘Did the railway company close ranks on you?’

  ‘That’s what it amounted to,’ said Leeming, taking a first, much-needed taste of whisky. ‘They denied that any of their employees could have leaked information to the robbers and boasted about their record of carrying money safely by rail. I spoke to four different people and each one told me the same thing. We must search elsewhere.’

  ‘We’ll certainly do that, Victor, but I still think that we should take a closer look at the way the company operates its mail trains. We’ve already exposed the shortcomings of railway policemen.’

  ‘They were rather upset when I told them about that.’

  ‘Understandably.’

  ‘Though not as irate as Inspector McTurk,’ recalled Leeming with a broad grin. ‘He was in a frenzy. McTurk was such a bad advertisement for Scotland.’ He raised his glass. ‘Unlike this excellent malt whisky.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck with amusement. ‘The good Inspector was not the most prepossessing individual, was he? But I’m sorry that you found the railway company itself in an uncooperative mood. I had a much more profitable time at the home of William Ings.’

  ‘What sort of man is he?’

  ‘An absent one.’

  Colbeck told him in detail about the visit to Maud Ings and how his request for the house to be watched had been summarily turned down. Leeming rolled his eyes.

  ‘If only Superintendent Tallis was on our side for once.’

  ‘Now, now, Victor,’ said Colbeck with mock reproof. ‘Do I hear a murmur of insubordination?’

  ‘He’s supposed to put handcuffs on the villains, not on us.’

  ‘He does hamper us now and then, I agree, but we must contrive to work around him. One of the things I want you to do in the morning is to find out who patrols the beat that includes the house. Ask the officers in question to keep an eye out for Mr Ings.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector. What else am I to do tomorrow?’

  ‘Report to Superintendent Tallis first thing,’ said Colbeck. ‘He wishes to know exactly what you found out at the offices of the London and North Western Railway Company.’

  ‘Precious little.’

  ‘That’s rather perplexing, I must say. People with nothing to hide are usually more open and helpful.’

  ‘They were neither.’

  ‘Then we must find out why. When you’ve delivered your report, I want you to go to the Royal Mint to see if there was any breach of security there. I fancy there are more names to unearth than that of William Ings.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t make the mistake of returning to his house?’

  ‘We’ll have to go looking for him.’

  ‘In the Devil’s Acre?’ asked Leeming with disbelief. ‘You’d be searching for a needle in a haystack. Besides, we couldn’t venture in there without a dozen or more uniformed constables at our back.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Colbeck, casually, ‘that won’t be necessary.’

  He finished his drink and put his glass on the mahogany desk. He looked at ease in the elegant surroundings. Leeming was making a rare visit to the house and he felt privileged to be there. Colbeck was a private man who invited few colleagues to his home. It was so much larger and more comfortable than the one in which Leeming and his family lived. He gazed at the well-stocked shelves.

  ‘Have you read all these books, Inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘Most of them,’ replied the other. ‘And the ones I haven’t read, I’ve probably referred to. A good library is an asset for a detective. If you’re interested, I have a few books here on the development of the steam locomotive.’

  ‘No, thank you. I barely have time to read a newspaper.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as leisure when you have a family.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it, Victor.’

  Leeming admired the mahogany cabinet beside him. ‘My wife would covet some of this lovely furniture,’ he said, stroking the wood.

  ‘It’s not for sale, I fear,’ warned Colbeck with a fond smile. ‘I inherited it with the house. My father was a cabinetmaker. Most of the things in here are examples of his handiwork.’

  ‘He must have been a fine craftsman.’

  ‘He was, Victor, but he never wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. My father had boundless faith in the powers of education. That’s why I was packed off to school at such an early age.’

  The clock on the desk began to strike and Leeming realised how late it was. It was time to go home. He downed the last of the whisky in one gulp then rose to his feet.

  ‘What will you be doing tomorrow, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Going to Birmingham. I need to speak to the bank manager.’

  ‘Better you than me. I hate long train journeys. They unsettle my stomach. To be honest, I don’t like travelling by rail at all.’

  ‘Really? I love it. Believe it or not, there was a time in my youth when I toyed with the notion of being an engine driver.’

  ‘The life of a cab driver has more attracti
on for me.’

  ‘You prefer the horse to the steam locomotive?’

  ‘I do, Inspector.’

  ‘Then you’re behind the times, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘The railways are here to stay. In any race between them, a steam train will always beat a horse and carriage.’

  ‘That’s not what happened today, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The mail train came a poor second,’ argued Leeming. ‘It was put out of action completely while the robbers escaped overland by horse. I think that there’s a message in that.’

  Colbeck pondered. ‘Thank you, Victor,’ he said at length. ‘I do believe that you’re right. There was indeed a message.’

  The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. After exchanging loud threats and colourful expletives, the two men leapt to their feet and squared up to each other. But before either of them could land a telling blow, they were grabbed by the scruff of their necks, marched to the door and thrown out into the alleyway with such force that they tumbled into accumulated filth on the ground. Rubbing his hands together, the giant Irishman who had ejected them sauntered back to the crowded bar.

  ‘I see that you haven’t lost your touch,’ said a voice in the gloom.

  ‘Who are you?’ growled Brendan Mulryne, turning to the man.

  ‘I was waiting for you to remember.’

  Mulryne blinked. ‘Haven’t I heard that voice before somewhere?’

  ‘You should have. It gave you a roasting often enough.’

  ‘Holy Mary!’ exclaimed the other, moving him closer to one of the oil lamps so that he could see the stranger more clearly. ‘It’s never Mr Colbeck, is it?’

  ‘The very same.’

  Mulryne stared at him in the amazement. The Black Dog was one of the largest and most insalubrious public houses in Devil’s Acre and the last place where the Irishman would have expected to find someone as refined as Robert Colbeck. The detective had taken trouble to blend in. Forsaking his usual attire, he looked like a costermonger down on his luck. His clothes were torn and shabby, his cap pulled down over his forehead. Colbeck had even grimed his face by way of disguise and adopted a slouch. He had been standing next to Mulryne for minutes and evaded recognition. The Irishman was baffled.