Peril on the Royal Train Read online

  ‘Can ye no’ even gi’ me some of the money?’

  ‘You’ll get nothing until we’ve gathered more evidence.’

  ‘But I need it,’ said Farr, plaintively.

  McTurk roared with laughter. ‘We all need money,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing special about you. Be patient, lad. I’ll get back to you in the fullness of time.’

  ‘Is that a promise, sir?’

  ‘My word is my bond.’

  But even as the solemn assertion came out of his mouth, McTurk rescinded it in his mind. He wasn’t going to let four hundred pounds be wasted on a simple shepherd. All that Farr had done was to see something of possible interest. It was McTurk who’d act on the information and – if it proved crucial – who deserved to profit from it. Stroking his beard, he watched the shepherd trudge off with his dog dancing around him. It was pure accident that he’d chosen to relieve himself there. It was a moment of destiny. Thanks to what he’d been told, he might well end up with four hundred pounds and the satisfaction of having got the better of the renowned Railway Detective.

  McTurk grinned all the way back to the crash site.

  Robert Colbeck sat back and enjoyed the view. Unlike Leeming, he relished every moment of the train journey to Glasgow, marvelling at the ascent of Beattock Bank and the work of the navvies who’d laboured to build the track in such unpromising terrain. Nairn Craig was his travelling companion but he soon fell asleep, leaving Colbeck to stare out of the window and appreciate some of the delights of Scotland. When they neared their destination, Craig suddenly woke up, profuse in his apologies.

  ‘I’m so sorry that I dozed off, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Train journeys always send me to sleep. I’m a walking paradox, a man who runs a railway yet can’t keep his eyes open when he travels on it.’

  ‘You must be very fatigued. This business has kept you up all hours and the sheer anxiety of it all must be draining.’

  ‘Oh, it is – never was a truer word spoken.’

  When he dispatched Leeming to Glasgow, Colbeck had warned him that he’d be joining him there later in the day. His work at the site was complete and he felt that he needed to be close to the headquarters of the company. Craig was less confident that anything could be gained by looking into the private life of the three dead railwaymen. To him, they were random victims.

  ‘I doubt that the sergeant has found anything of moment,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t underestimate him,’ cautioned Colbeck. ‘He has a gift for burrowing away until he gets what he wants. Victor Leeming seldom returns empty-handed.’

  ‘I hope that proves to be the case now.’

  ‘What plans do you have regarding compensation, Mr Craig?’

  The general manager twitched. ‘Compensation? For whom, may I ask?’

  ‘Why,’ said Colbeck, ‘for the families of the victims, of course. Their grief is sharpened by the loss of their wage earner. They will surely struggle. I assumed that a benevolent man such as you would insist on making a gesture of some kind.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Craig, pretending that that had always been his intention. ‘It’s a matter to which I’ve given some thought. There will be some form of remuneration. After all, they died in the service of the Caledonian. That fact must be respected.’

  Without his mention of the subject, Colbeck surmised, it would not even have crossed the general manager’s mind. The company employed a large staff at set wage rates. Whatever the circumstances, they were not in the habit of making unscheduled payments to their families. Colbeck made a mental note to pursue the issue until it was resolved. The unnatural deaths of Laidlaw, Murray and Grint deserved some recompense.

  When they reached the station, John Mudie was waiting to welcome Craig to bring him up to date with what had been happening. Colbeck was glad to be free of the general manager. Though a keen supporter of the detective, he was starting to question his methods and that was irritating. Pushing his way through the crowd with his luggage, Colbeck’s attention was drawn to a figure on a bench. The man was reading a newspaper so his face was completely covered but the creased trousers and the unpolished shoes disclosed his identity. It was Leeming.

  ‘Hello, Victor,’ said Colbeck, going across to him.

  The sergeant lowered the paper. ‘I didn’t expect you this early, sir.’

  ‘Normal service has been resumed. I caught the train from Beattock.’

  ‘Don’t mention that climb to me. It was a nightmare.’

  ‘You’ll be going down it next time so you can keep your eyes open. Still,’ said Colbeck, sitting beside him. ‘That can wait. How has the day gone?’

  ‘I’d like to think I made some progress, sir.’

  ‘Good – let’s find somewhere a little more private and you can tell all.’

  They adjourned to the waiting room and found it half-empty. Taking seats in a corner, they were able to talk without being overheard. Leeming gave a full account of his movements in Glasgow. Colbeck was intrigued to hear about the disappearance of Lackey Paterson in the wake of his assault on Jock Laidlaw. It gave credence to his theory that personal enmity might lie behind the train crash.

  ‘We need to find the man,’ he said, ‘and do so quickly.’

  ‘Don’t send me off to the quarry,’ pleaded Leeming. ‘I don’t think I could face another train journey.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of sending you, Victor. I’ll retrace my steps.’

  ‘What am I to do meanwhile?’

  ‘You can take our luggage to the hotel where Mr Craig has kindly reserved rooms for us. He’s been very attentive to our needs. I just wish he’d been equally attentive to the needs of the families of the victims. If I hadn’t nudged him in that direction,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘he wouldn’t have considered offering compensation to them for their loss.’

  ‘But that’s such an obvious thing to do, sir.’

  ‘It’s an additional expense and Mr Craig was anxious to avoid it.’

  ‘What about the reward money?’

  ‘That’s an unavoidable outlay.’

  ‘I know that, Inspector. What I’m asking is this – if we solve the crime, do we get the reward? By rights, we ought to.’

  ‘I agree, Victor. Anyway,’ Colbeck went on, getting up, ‘you take a cab to The Angel Hotel and wait for me there. I have an appointment at the quarry.’

  ‘Be careful, sir. Paterson has a temper on him.’

  ‘Then I’ll take pains to provoke it. There’s no better way to learn the true character of a man than by making him lose his self-control.’ He chuckled. ‘I do it all the time with Superintendent Tallis.’

  It was not until early evening that Tam Howie returned home. After a busy day at the office, he could turn his mind away from commerce and concentrate on something else. The visit of Ian Dalton had been a bonus. They now had another pair of hands at their disposal. It would enable Howie and his wife to be more enterprising in their battle against the railways. Having grown up at a time when the Sabbath was sacrosanct, he was determined to return it to that state. Rail services on a Sunday were an insult to God. They encouraged people away from their kirks and other places of worship, solely in the name of profit. Howie was well acquainted with the need for profit but there were six other days when it could be pursued with vigour. In his view, that was enough for anybody. He remembered the occasion when Jesus turned the money changers out of the temple. That, in essence, he felt, was what he was trying to do, expelling the unrighteous and restoring respect for the Almighty.

  The cab dropped him off outside his home in one of the more prosperous districts of the city. The maidservant admitted him and his wife gave him a token kiss of welcome. When they adjourned to the parlour, he told Flora the news about their new recruit. Her pleasure was tempered with caution.

  ‘Ian Dalton is a good man,’ she said, ‘but how far can we trust him?’

  ‘He’s a willing volunteer. That’s enough for me, Flora.’

  ‘I’m not sure that
he’s altogether discreet.’

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself on that score,’ he said. ‘I’ve impressed upon him the absolute need for discretion. Secrecy is our main weapon. Dalton appreciates that.’

  ‘I’m worried about his wife.’

  ‘Morag will take no part in it.’

  ‘Perhaps not but she’ll be aware that her husband is up to something. What if she objects or lets the cat out of the bag?’

  ‘Stop fretting,’ he advised. ‘Dalton’s marriage is very different to ours. He doesn’t have a wife like you who is passionate about the causes in which she believes. Morag Dalton is a little mouse of a woman with nothing to say. That’s why he was so astounded when I told him that you were involved.’ He smiled quietly. ‘Dalton just couldn’t believe that a woman would be prepared to take action against the railway companies. It’s something that his wife would never even contemplate.’

  ‘Morag doesn’t have enough spirit to fight for anything.’

  ‘Forget the woman, Flora. The point is that we have a convert.’

  ‘True – as long as he doesn’t get cold feet.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Dalton’s got nerves of steel.’

  ‘Does he realise what he might have to do?’

  ‘He knows that we’ll be acting outside the law.’

  ‘Have you told him how far you and I have already gone?’

  Howie shook his head and put an affectionate hand on her arm.

  ‘It was too soon for that,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t want to shock him and run the risk of frightening him off. Let’s draw him in first. When he’s fully committed, we can spring our surprise on him.’ His smile verged on the triumphant this time. ‘I think he’ll be full of admiration at what we’ve so far achieved.’

  The visit to the quarry entailed a train journey to Wamphray and a bumpy ride in a trap. Colbeck enjoyed the first and used the second to prise information about the locality from the driver. He arrived at the quarry with a clear idea of its extent, its workforce and its operation. He also learnt that it did not cease its output on a Sunday. Because it was so isolated, the quarry felt able to stay in production and gather more rock with the aid of gunpowder. The driver was asked to wait in order to take him back to the railway station. Colbeck, meanwhile, took a look at the vast hole excavated out of the ground. Stone was being quarried and loaded onto carts for transportation. As if to acknowledge his presence, a deafening blast was set off and the noise reverberated around the hillsides. A thickset man with a wispy beard came out of a hut to approach him. Colbeck introduced himself and learnt that he was talking to the supervisor.

  ‘How can I help ye, sir?’ asked the man.

  ‘I believe that you employ a fellow named Lackey Paterson.’

  ‘We employ a large number of people, as you can see. I cannae remember all their names. But I do ken we’ve more than one Paterson here.’

  ‘Is there some way of finding this particular man?’

  ‘Aye, sir. We keep a record of who’s working where on each day. It may look like a mess when ye stand heer but we’ve a proper system.’

  ‘Then I’d be grateful if you could tell me where Paterson might be.’

  ‘I will, sir. Excuse me a moment.’

  The supervisor stepped into the hut to consult a ledger. He was away for a couple of minutes. When he emerged, he was bristling with anger.

  ‘Lackey Paterson is no’ heer,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘The work record doesnae lie. If he was at the quarry, there’d be a tick against his name but there’s only a cross. The wretch hasnae been heer since last Saturday. I’ll no’ put up wi’ that. I’ll no’ let Lackey Paterson or any other mahn under me take time off when it suits him. He’s done for at the quarry,’ he said with venom. ‘If ye find the lazy guid-for-nothing, tell him to stay awa’. He’s no’ got a job heer any longer.’

  Colbeck was not dismayed. Discovering that Paterson had left on the eve of the crash made his journey to the quarry worthwhile. Evidently, the quarry worker had no intention of coming back. Colbeck would have to look elsewhere.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Madeleine Colbeck tried to cope with her husband’s absence by throwing herself into her work but it didn’t always preoccupy her. Her thoughts kept drifting uncontrollably to Colbeck and she felt pangs of loneliness. She kept telling herself how lucky she’d been. Since their marriage, he’d always worked on cases that kept him in or near London. Madeleine had been spoilt. She’d been able to see him every day and take an interest in what he was doing. All that had changed. He was now hundreds of miles away, leading an investigation about which she knew almost nothing. She felt excluded, cut adrift from something she’d taken for granted. Even with the servants there, the house felt empty and the marital bed felt even emptier. It was at night that she missed him most but it was something she had to endure as best she could because the Railway Detective’s work would take him all over the country.

  Unable to paint without natural light, Madeleine put her brush aside as the evening shadows started to lengthen. She was surprised to hear the doorbell ring. Not expecting a visitor, she wondered who it might be and opened the door to listen. The distinctive sound of her father’s voice came up from the hallway. Madeleine wiped her hands on a damp cloth and went swiftly downstairs. Caleb Andrews was standing there with his cap in his hand.

  ‘Father,’ she said, brow wrinkled in curiosity, ‘what are you doing here?’

  ‘I was hoping for a better welcome than that, Maddy,’ he replied with mock irritation. ‘Have I caught you at a bad moment?’

  ‘Not at all – you’ve come in time to dine with me.’

  ‘But that’s not why I’m here.’

  She smiled fondly. ‘It is now.’

  She nodded to the maid who went off to pass on the information to the cook. Madeleine took her father into the drawing room. When she sat down, he remained on his feet. She could tell that he was excited.

  ‘Has something happened?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no,’ he replied, airily. ‘Nothing ever happens in my life.’

  ‘You can’t fool me, Father.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You came here with a purpose. I recognise that look in your eye.’

  ‘There’s no deceiving you, Maddy, is there?’ he said with a cackle. ‘You can read your old father like a book. I could never keep a secret from you.’

  ‘So what is it that cheered you up so much?’

  ‘See for yourself.’

  Reaching inside his coat, Andrews took out a letter and handed it over to his daughter. Madeleine read it with a mixture of interest and delight. It was from Archibald Renwick, general manager of the London and North Western Railway, the company for which her father had worked throughout his life. In recognition of his long service, Andrews – along with other retired drivers – was invited to a celebratory dinner. Madeleine could understand why her father was so elated. He would be part of an exclusive group. Only one thing puzzled her.

  ‘The invitation is for this week,’ she said. ‘Why not give you more notice?’

  ‘Who cares? If it was tomorrow, that would be notice enough for me.’

  ‘This is a real honour, Father.’

  He thrust out his chest. ‘It’s no more than I deserve.’

  ‘You’ve always admired Mr Renwick.’

  ‘He’s a man who knows his job,’ said Andrews with approval. ‘He also has an eye for something that’s rather special – and I’m not only talking about me.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘A talented young artist named Madeleine Colbeck – except that you were Madeleine Andrews at the time when you painted a picture of an engine named “Cornwall”. It was one of the first I drove for the LNWR. I can still tell you the exact diameter of its driving wheel, its boiler pressure, its coal and water capacity and its traction power.’ He beamed nostalgically. ‘Oh, I
had some good times on the footplate of Cornwall.’

  ‘Why do you pick out that painting?’

  ‘Because it’s the one that Mr Renwick owns,’ he replied. ‘Yes, my daughter’s work is hanging in his house. Isn’t that wonderful? I only learnt about it today. It was quite by chance. When I showed that letter to some friends earlier on, one of them said he’d actually been to Mr Renwick’s house for some function or other. He told me that our general manager had bought Cornwall – that’s the painting, of course, not the county.’ He glowed with pride. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘I think that I ought to be very cross with you,’ she said, sternly.

  Andrews was aghast. ‘When I’ve brought you such good news?’

  ‘I’d like to have been the first to hear about your invitation but you had to boast about it to your friends over a pint of beer, didn’t you? In other words, they were more important than me. However,’ she added, reproach fading from her voice, ‘you did find out something very gratifying. I’m so flattered that Mr Renwick thinks my work is good enough to buy. I loved putting Cornwall on canvas.’

  ‘It’s one of your best paintings, Maddy.’

  ‘When you meet him, do thank Mr Renwick on my behalf.’

  ‘There’s no need. You can do that yourself.’

  She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Read that letter again,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll see that drivers and their wives have been invited. Since I don’t have a wife, I’ll take my daughter along instead. Oh, it will be such a night for you, Maddy,’ he went on, rubbing his hands together with glee. ‘You’re not only an artist whose work Mr Renwick loves. When he realises that you’re married to the Railway Detective as well, he’ll insist that you sit right next to him.’

  Glasgow was a city of contrasts. Victor Leeming now understood that. Having seen the horror of the Gorbals, he was enjoying accommodation at the other end of the social scale. Standing in an avenue of palatial houses, The Angel Hotel offered a luxury he’d never known before. It made him feel as if he were trespassing, especially as some of the staff kept looking at him with suspicion. Leeming was completely out of his depth. Robert Colbeck, on the other hand, adapted easily to the new surroundings and settled gratefully into them.