The Iron Horse irc-4 Read online

  ‘I never regretted being near to you, Kitty.’

  ‘That’s not what you said the last time we met.’

  ‘I was provoked, as you well know.’

  ‘So was I, George.’

  She held his gaze a little longer then stood up to walk past him. Whatever lingering fondness he felt for her, it was not requited. All that Kitty could think about was the hatbox.

  ‘You were not so far from the truth,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As it happens, the hatbox was stolen from a hotel but it was not the one where we stayed in Cambridge.’

  ‘Which hotel was it?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s of no concern to you.’

  ‘It’s of every concern, Kitty. A hatbox that I bought as a present is at the centre of a murder investigation. I want to know exactly what happened to it.’

  ‘So do I, George.’

  ‘What was the name of the hotel?’

  ‘I’m not telling you.’

  ‘And I suppose you won’t tell me the name of the man who took you there either, will you?’ he said nastily. ‘What did he have to buy you to win your favours?’

  She struck a pose. ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘Was the hotel in London?’

  ‘Nothing whatsoever.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he gasped as realisation hit him with the force of a blow. ‘Please don’t tell me that it was here – in our hotel. Even you would never sink that low, Kitty.’

  ‘I must be on my way.’

  ‘Then it was here.’

  ‘It was a mistake to meet you again. I should have had the sense to foresee that.’ She moved away. ‘Goodbye, George.’

  ‘But the conversation is not over yet.’

  ‘Yes, it is – for good.’

  ‘There are still things to discuss.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘You haven’t explained why you were so late.’

  ‘No,’ she said with utter disdain. ‘I haven’t, have I?’

  With a tinkle of laughter, Kitty Lavender went out of the room and left the door wide open. Lord Hendry was mortified.

  Madeleine Andrews had had a full day. After doing her domestic chores, she had visited the market to buy food then spent several hours on her painting of a Crampton locomotive. It was only when light began to fade in the early evening that she put her easel aside. After cooking herself a meal, she gave herself the pleasure of starting a new book. Borrowed from Robert Colbeck, it had been warmly recommended by him. As she settled down beside the lamp, it occurred to her that she was probably the only woman in London who was reading John Francis’s History of the English Railway; Its Social Relations and Revelations (1820–45).

  The writing was lively and the material absorbing to someone with her abiding interest in the subject. Madeleine became so immersed in the book that she did not hear a cab approaching in the street outside or even the sound of the front door opening. Caleb Andrews came into the house with a knowing grin on his face.

  ‘Hello, Maddy,’ he said.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, looking up in surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you for hours yet, Father.’

  ‘Does that mean there’s no supper yet?’

  ‘I can soon make some.’

  ‘Stay here and entertain our visitor.’

  ‘What visitor?’

  ‘This stray gentlemen I picked up in Crewe.’

  He stood aside so that Robert Colbeck could come into the house. Doffing his top hat, the detective gave Madeleine a polite bow.

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ he said.

  ‘No, no,’ she told him, leaping to her feet and putting the book aside. She straightened her dress. ‘I was reading.’

  ‘That book on railways, is it?’ asked Andrews scornfully. ‘Why bother with that when you only have to ask me? I can tell you more about railways than John Francis will ever know.’

  ‘Your father’s train brought me back to London,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I wish I’d known that you were coming,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘I did promise to call in when I returned from Ireland.’

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘Invite him to sit down,’ said Andrews, nudging her, ‘and make him feel welcome. I need to have a wash. That’s one thing your book won’t say about work on the railway – how dirty you get.’

  Whisking off his cap, he went out to the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind him. Colbeck stepped forward to give Madeleine a proper greeting, taking both hands and kissing her on the lips.

  ‘I missed you,’ she said.

  ‘I wish I could have taken you with me.’

  ‘Was the journey worthwhile?’

  ‘Extremely worthwhile,’ he replied. ‘I know the identity of the murder victim now and I got some more insights into the ramifications of the racing world.’

  ‘Do you have a suspect?’

  ‘A possible one.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  He was cautious. ‘Let me speak to the gentleman first. He may well turn out to be wrongly accused. In my experience, we rarely find our perpetrators this easily. I fancy that I have a long way to go in the investigation yet.’

  ‘But you still think the murder may be linked to the Derby?’

  ‘There’s no doubt about it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The victim was a groom. He worked at the stables where one of the fancied runners in the race is kept.’

  Madeleine smiled. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to the Derby,’ she said wistfully. ‘Father keeps telling me that it’s no place for a young lady to go on her own but it sounds so exciting.’

  ‘Highly exciting and unique.’

  ‘You’ve been?’

  ‘A number of times,’ he told her. ‘But don’t give up hope, Madeleine. You may get to see the race one day.’ He squeezed her shoulders tenderly. ‘There’s something I wanted to say before your father comes back in.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll stay in the kitchen for a while. Father can be tactful when he wants to be. Has he told you about his theory yet?’

  ‘He did nothing else on the cab ride from Euston. According to Mr Andrews, instead of rushing off to Ireland, I should be searching for a wayward lady in Crewe who had a dalliance with the murder victim. It seems that the killer was a jealous husband. Your father has obviously devoted time to thinking about the case,’ said Colbeck tolerantly, ‘even though he’s not in possession of the salient facts.’

  ‘What did you want to say to me?’

  ‘Only that you look as lovely as ever.’

  She laughed. ‘In this old dress – stop lying to me.’

  ‘It’s not the dress that matters, it’s the young lady inside it.’

  ‘You pay me the sweetest compliments.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He became serious. ‘I need to ask you a favour, Madeleine. Unbeknown to the superintendent, you’ve been able to help me a couple of times in the past. If Mr Tallis ever found out, he’d probably have me boiled in oil but I’ll take that risk. Could I impose on you to assist me again, please?’

  ‘Of course, Robert – it’s no imposition.’

  ‘It may not be necessary but I’d like to have you in reserve.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why else? There’s a lady in the case.’

  ‘Ah, I see. You want to set a thief to catch a thief.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘This particular lady may turn out to be a hapless victim but she does hold critical information. I need to get it from her and that may involve you.’

  ‘I’ll do anything you ask me, Robert.’

  He smiled roguishly. ‘You might care to rephrase that,’ he said. ‘It puts you in a position of great vulnerability.’

  ‘I trust you completely.’

  ‘Then I’ll do nothing to break that trust.’

  ‘Who is this lady?’

  ‘That’s the problem – I don’t have her name yet.’

  �
��But you think she’s involved in some way?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I need to ask her about a missing hatbox.’

  If he had not become a bookmaker, Hamilton Fido could easily have pursued a career on the stage. Tall, slim and lithe, he had an actor’s good looks, mellifluous voice and sheer presence. In his black frock coat and fawn trousers, he was an arresting figure with his mane of black wavy hair almost brushing his shoulders. Still in his thirties, Fido was so astute, well informed and ruthless that he had become one of the most successful bookmakers in London. His office was in an upstairs room in the tavern where he sometimes staged exhibition bouts with promising young boxers. In the courtyard at the rear of the building, illegal cock fights and dogfights were also arranged for those who liked to mix blood with their betting.

  Hamilton Fido was seated at his desk, poring over a copy of the Sporting Times, when the door suddenly opened. Panting slightly, Kitty Lavender stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Fido did not even bother to look up.

  ‘Go away, whoever you are,’ he ordered. ‘I’m too busy.’

  ‘You’re not too busy to see me, Hamilton.’ She slammed the door for effect. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Kitty!’ he exclaimed, going across to embrace her. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Let go of me,’ she said, turning her face away when he tried to kiss her. ‘It’s not that sort of visit.’

  He released her and stepped back. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you.’

  ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

  ‘No, I just want you to listen to me.’

  ‘I’ll do that all day and all night,’ said Fido, leering politely at her. ‘Especially all night.’ He conducted her to a chair and sat beside her. ‘You look distressed, my darling. Has anything happened?’

  ‘Do you remember that stolen hatbox?’

  ‘The one that was taken from that hotel?’

  ‘Yes, Hamilton.’

  ‘Forget all about it,’ he advised. ‘I know it was a shock at the time but I forced the management to pay for a new one. When a theft occurs on their premises, they must take responsibility.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘If you’re still upset, I’ll buy you another one – two, if you wish.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me,’ she complained.

  He took her hand. ‘I won’t let anything trouble you,’ he said, placing a gentle kiss on it. ‘You’re mine now and I’ll look after you.’

  ‘My hatbox has been found, Hamilton.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘By the police.’

  His smile vanished instantly and he let go of her hand. Recovering quickly, he gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ he said. ‘Where was it found?’

  ‘At the railway station in Crewe.’

  ‘Crewe – now that rings a bell.’

  ‘Apparently, it had a man’s head in it.’

  Kitty’s face crumpled at the memory. When he reached out to embrace her, she went willingly into his arms. He held her tight for a few moments then drew back so that he could look her in the face.

  ‘You obviously don’t read the newspapers, my darling. There was an item days ago about a severed head being discovered in Crewe. It never crossed my mind that it was found in your hatbox.’

  ‘Well, it was.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I was reliably informed.’

  ‘Have the police been in touch with you?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘and there’s no reason why they should. They won’t be able to connect me with the hatbox.’

  ‘Then what are you worrying about?’

  ‘You, Hamilton – don’t you see the implications?’

  ‘All I can see is that my little darling has been badly shaken and that my job is to soothe her. You must have had a terrible jolt when you heard the news.’

  ‘It made me feel sick, Hamilton.’

  ‘Try to put the whole thing behind you. It’s the best way.’

  ‘How can I?’ she asked in despair. ‘This affects both of us. It was quite deliberate.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘The theft of that hatbox – somebody stole it on purpose. That means somebody knew we were staying at that hotel. We must have been watched, Hamilton. That terrifies me.’

  ‘I told nobody where we were going – neither did you.’

  ‘One of us must have been followed.’

  ‘In that case,’ he said with a flash of anger, ‘you’re right to be alarmed. I won’t stand for it, Kitty. I’m bound to make enemies in my profession but I didn’t think any of them would go this far. The murder victim must be linked to me in some way. This is an attack on me and the worst of it is that you were involved.’

  ‘I’m frightened,’ she confessed. ‘I keep looking over my shoulder in case someone is following me.’

  ‘We can soon solve that problem, Kitty. I’ll have one of my men act as your bodyguard. Nobody will dare to come anywhere near you.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ he said, flicking his coat open to show her the pearl-handled pistol he kept in a leather holster. ‘There are too many bad losers about these days. I have to protect myself.’

  ‘I keep thinking about that severed head.’

  ‘Somebody will pay for that, mark my words!’

  ‘I didn’t believe that anyone could do such a thing,’ she said. ‘Who do you think the victim could be, Hamilton?’

  ‘I intend to find out straight away. I didn’t get where I am today without knowing who and when to bribe. I have two or three policemen in my pocket, Kitty. It’s time they earned their money,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll have that name before the day is out.’

  ‘John Feeny?’ said Victor Leeming. ‘Who was he, Inspector?’

  ‘An Irish lad with ambitions to be a jockey.’

  ‘Poor devil!’

  ‘He came to England to better himself,’ said Colbeck sadly, ‘and fell foul of someone. Brian Dowd spoke well of him. Feeny had a real love of horses and he worked hard for low pay.’

  ‘I can sympathise with that,’ muttered the sergeant.

  ‘What have you been doing while I was gone, Victor?’

  ‘Trying to keep out of the superintendent’s way.’

  Colbeck grinned. ‘I enjoy playing that game as well,’ he said. ‘Did you learn anything useful in Cambridge?’

  ‘I think so, sir.’

  It was early morning and they were in an office at Scotland Yard. Leeming gave him a brief account of his visit to the Angel Hotel and passed on the description of Lady Hendry that he had drawn out of the manager. Colbeck was interested to hear that the hatbox had not been stolen on the occasion of the couple’s visit to Cambridge.

  ‘I’ve proved that it was not Lord Hendry’s wife,’ said Leeming.

  ‘That was my feeling from the outset.’

  ‘I mean, I’ve got evidence right here, Inspector.’ He pointed to a pile of newspapers on the desk. ‘Lord Hendry has a busy social life. I wondered if he’d ever been featured in London Illustrated News. So I went through all these back copies.’

  ‘Very commendable, Victor.’

  ‘I found two drawings of him, both quite accurate. I recognised him immediately.’ He sifted through the papers. ‘One showed him at the races in Newmarket but this one,’ he went on, picking up a copy, ‘was more interesting. It shows his wife as well.’

  Robert Colbeck took the newspaper from him and studied the illustration. The caption told him that he was looking at the wedding of Lord Hendry’s daughter but it was not the bride who caught his eye. It was Lady Caroline Hendry, standing beside her husband, who held his attention. In age, height and in every other way, she differed sharply from the description of the woman who had accompanied Lord Hendry to the Angel Hotel in Cambridge.

  ‘It s
ays in the article,’ Leeming pointed out, ‘that Lady Hendry devotes all her time to charity.’

  ‘I don’t think even she would be charitable enough to lend her husband to another woman.’ Colbeck put the newspaper down. ‘If the artist is to be trusted, they have a beautiful daughter.’

  ‘What would she think if she knew the truth about her father?’

  ‘I hope that she never does, Victor.’

  ‘Will we have to speak to Lord Hendry again?’

  ‘I’m sure that we will, said Colbeck. ‘Before that, however, I’ll have to give my report to the superintendent. Did he say anything about my visit to Ireland?’

  ‘He felt it was a complete waste of time.’

  Colbeck laughed. He went out, walked along the corridor and knocked on a door. The booming voice of Edward Tallis invited him in.

  ‘The prodigal returns,’ said the superintendent sardonically as his visitor entered. ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Last evening, sir.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come here? You know how late I work.’

  ‘I had some calls to make.’

  ‘Nothing should have taken precedence over me, Inspector.’

  ‘I felt that it did,’ Colbeck took the drawing from his pocket and unfolded it before putting it in front of Tallis. ‘His name is John Feeny,’ he explained. ‘His parents died years ago. His only living relative was the uncle with whom he’d been staying while he was in England. As next of kin, the uncle deserved to be told of his nephew’s death at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘How did you get this uncle’s address?’

  ‘From a young man called Jerry Doyle, sir – Feeny was a good friend of his. They kept in touch.’

  Tallis indicated the drawing. ‘Who identified this?’

  ‘Brian Dowd, sir – John Feeny used to work for him as a groom.’

  ‘What was Feeny doing in England?’

  ‘Trying to become a jockey,’ said Colbeck. ‘But I couldn’t rely wholly on Mr Dowd’s identification. It was, after all, only based on a rough drawing of the deceased. When I got back to London, therefore, I took John Feeny’s uncle to the morgue where he was shown his nephew’s head. It shook him badly but we have what we needed – a positive identification from a family member.’

  ‘Good,’ said Tallis grudgingly. ‘We now have a head, a body and a name – a degree of progress at last. What else did you learn in Ireland?’