Peril on the Royal Train

by Edward Marston

  ‘Who was the first on the scene?’ he asked.

  ‘I was, sir,’ replied the policeman. ‘Neighbours heard a scream and called me. The door was unlocked. I came in here and found a young lady standing in the middle of the room. She was distraught. Her name is Mary Burnell. It took a long time to calm her down.’

  ‘Did she tell you who this unfortunate gentleman is?’

  ‘Yes, sir – he’s Mr Alfred Penn. As soon as help came, I sent word to Scotland Yard. Nothing has been touched in here since I arrived.’

  ‘Good – you did well.’

  The policeman gazed at the corpse. ‘I’ve never seen a murder victim before.’

  ‘I’ve seen far too many,’ said Colbeck, sadly.

  ‘Does it get any easier, Inspector?’

  ‘Easier?’

  ‘My stomach was heaving when I first saw him,’ confessed the other. ‘If I hadn’t had the young lady to think about, I’d have been sick on the spot. As it was, when PC Harrison arrived to take her off my hands, I had to go into the garden to get some fresh air. I was shaking all over.’

  ‘That’s a natural reaction, Constable, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. As for it getting easier to cope with, I can’t really say. The sight of a life snuffed out by a killer always offends me.’ He indicated the body. ‘Nobody deserves to die like this. I suppose that my anger always overcomes any sense of queasiness.’

  ‘I’ll remember that the next time.’

  ‘I hope that there is no next time for you,’ said Colbeck. ‘You behaved as you should in a difficult situation and should be congratulated. Please wait in the next room with PC Harrison.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said the policeman, glad to escape.

  When the door to the next room opened, sounds of weeping could be heard. After the door closed again, Colbeck examined the body more closely. There was nothing in the man’s pockets to identify him and his wallet was missing. What had been left by the killer was an expensive gold watch on a chain. The victim had a good tailor and his shoes were of high quality. While the exterior of the house did not disclose the owner’s prosperity, it was very apparent indoors. The drawing room had been recently decorated and contained some exquisite furniture. Small statues, pots and other objects stood on every available surface. On the mantelpiece was an ivory trio of miniature elephants.

  The room told him a lot about the character of the man who lived there. A comfortable but relatively modest dwelling had been given a touch of luxury. The thing that interested Colbeck most was the large painting on one wall. It was the portrait of a young actress and he recognised the play at once. It was Romeo and Juliet and the eponymous heroine was bending over what she thought was her dead lover. It was a striking study of beauty, anguish and almost unbearable poignance. Colbeck was diverted by the sound of voices outside the front door. A moment later, Leeming came bustling into the room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the corpse and grimaced at the sight of the multiple wounds. He needed some time to compose himself.

  ‘It’s Patrick Scanlan,’ he said at length.

  ‘I was told that his name was Alfred Penn.’

  ‘That was the alias he was using, sir. I’ve just been to the home of a young lady named Mary Burnell. Her parents told me that she was coming here. Scanlan had befriended her.’

  ‘Miss Burnell is in the next room,’ said Colbeck, gesturing at the corpse. ‘This is what she found on arrival.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’

  ‘No, Victor, she needs time to recover first. The policeman who was on guard in here went to join her. When he opened the door, I could hear her sobbing.’

  ‘Scanlan was her sponsor,’ explained Leeming. ‘She’d dreamt of being a famous actress and was taking lessons from an elocution teacher. Scanlan paid for those lessons. He obviously had faith in her.’

  ‘It was more than faith. He was devoted to her. When we meet the young lady, my guess is that she’ll look very much like the actress in that painting.’ He moved towards it. ‘What do you notice about it, Victor?’

  Leeming peered at it. ‘It’s very well done, sir.’

  ‘Is that all that catches your eye?’

  ‘I don’t know much about paintings.’

  ‘Look around the rest of the room.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ll see that everything else in here fits perfectly,’ said Colbeck. ‘The one exception is that painting. It’s out of proportion. It’s far too big for that wall. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Scanlan should have hung it somewhere else.’

  ‘He needed it in here so that he could feast his eyes on it. He believed he was looking at Mary Burnell. And there’s a second reason why it had to be on that wall.’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘It’s hiding something,’ surmised Colbeck.

  Taking hold of the painting, he lifted it off to expose a safe set into the wall.

  ‘I’d never have known that was there,’ admitted Leeming.

  ‘You must learn to think like a burglar.’

  ‘Is that what happened? Somebody came to burgle the house of a burglar and was disturbed? He killed Scanlan in order to escape?’

  ‘Had that been the case,’ said Colbeck, ‘it would indeed have been a crowning irony. Apart from the theft of a wallet, there was no burglary here. As you can see, the safe is still locked. A more likely explanation is that Scanlan had a visit from his paymaster. Whoever hired him to break into Mr Renwick’s house wanted to make sure that he couldn’t tell anyone about it. We’re dealing with vicious men, Victor. They take no chances.’

  ‘If only I’d got here earlier,’ said Leeming in frustration.

  ‘I’m impressed that you got here at all. We’ve been on the lookout for Scanlan for a long time. You managed to find him in less than a day.’

  ‘That was only thanks to you, Inspector.’

  ‘I wish I’d thought of it before but Scanlan has never been a priority of mine. He only became important to me when I sensed that he might be linked to the train crash. Finding him suddenly took on more urgency.’

  ‘What use is he to us like this?’ moaned Leeming as he viewed the dead body. ‘Scanlan won’t be able to help us now.’

  ‘Miss Burnell might. It depends how close the two of them were.’

  ‘My impression is that they were very close, sir.’

  ‘Then the young lady might furnish some valuable clues.’

  ‘Are you going to take her to Scotland Yard for questioning?’

  ‘No,’ replied Colbeck, ‘that would be far too intimidating for her. To add to her woes, Superintendent Tallis would insist on being present.’

  ‘We must spare her that, sir. If she saw Scanlan in this state, she’s been frightened enough already. We are used to scenes like this – Miss Burnell is not.’

  Colbeck was about to hang the painting back on the wall when he spotted something he’d missed earlier. It made him laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny, Inspector?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘It’s this safe,’ said Colbeck, amused by the coincidence. ‘It’s virtually identical to the one in Mr Renwick’s study. No wonder Scanlan had so little trouble picking the lock.’ After replacing the painting, he was struck by a thought. ‘Perhaps I should write to the manufacturer. What better recommendation is there for a Chubb safe than the fact that it was the choice of the ablest burglar in London?’

  Tam and Flora Howie were pleased with their excursion. They invited Ian Dalton back to their home for a celebratory drink. Since they were all staunch believers in temperance, only tea was served but it was of the highest quality, part of a consignment imported by Howie from China. Dalton found the taste delicious. Any reservations that Flora had had about him had now been obliterated. She’d seen the strength of his commitment and reproached herself for her earlier doubts. Instead of being shocked by their declared intentions, he’d urged that they took even more extreme steps and they had t
o point out that there were limits to what three of them could do, especially as one of them was a woman.

  ‘Your presence is the best protection we have, Flora,’ observed Dalton. ‘Anybody who sees us will imagine that we’re out on a picnic.’

  ‘That’s exactly what we will be doing, Ian,’ she said. ‘It will be a long day. We’ll need food and drink to sustain us.’

  ‘Is the banner finished?’

  ‘Yes, I painted it yesterday.’

  ‘You’ve been tireless.’

  ‘We never tire when we’re doing God’s work,’ said Howie, piously. ‘It only serves to exhilarate us.’

  ‘It makes my blood race,’ said Dalton. ‘I love the feeling.’

  They chatted about their plan for the following weekend and made a list of things they’d need for the expedition. Howie was supremely confident but there was still a nagging worry at the back of his wife’s mind. It was time to address it.

  ‘What does Morag feel about all this, Ian?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve not breathed a word of it to her,’ he said.

  ‘Hasn’t she become suspicious?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘If I went out at strange hours,’ said Howie, ‘Flora would become suspicious. She’d want to know exactly what was going on.’

  ‘Morag is not like that, Tam. She accepts what I tell her without complaint.’

  Howie chuckled. ‘If only all wives were like that!’

  ‘Tam!’ scolded his wife, playfully. ‘You can’t believe that.’

  ‘I don’t my love. You know full well that I wouldn’t change you for the world. What other woman would have your courage to take risks?’

  ‘Morag wouldn’t,’ said Dalton. ‘I love her dearly but I’d be the first to concede that she lacks courage. She’s too submissive.’

  ‘As long as we’re not putting you in an awkward position,’ said Flora. ‘In the short time you’ve been with us, we’ve made a lot of demands on you. I’d hate to think that they’re causing any discord at home.’

  ‘My wife is used to my being away for long periods, Flora. It’s in the nature of my business that I have to work long hours and travel away from home from time to time. She knew that when she married me. Well, it must have been the same for you. Tam must have made it clear before the two of you wed that running one’s own business is a time-consuming affair.’

  ‘I gave Flora fair warning,’ said Howie. ‘She knew what to expect.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘I have no regrets.’

  ‘What if we’re caught next week?’

  ‘There’s little danger of that. We’ve been too careful.’

  ‘Nothing can go wrong,’ said Dalton.

  ‘Supposing – just for the sake of argument – that it does?’ asked Howie. ‘What if there’s some unexpected hazard that leads to our being arrested. How would you feel then?’

  ‘I’d have no regrets, Tam. I’d be proud of what I did.’

  ‘So would I,’ added Flora, raising her teacup. ‘Ours is a noble cause. Whatever happens, I’ll feel privileged to be involved in it. Let’s drink to success.’

  They clinked cups. ‘To success!’ they said in unison.

  When Colbeck introduced himself to Mary Burnell, he could see how distressed she was. It was important to get her away from the scene of the crime to a more neutral and comforting environment. Leeming was left at the house to conduct a thorough search for clues that might lead them to identify Patrick Scanlan’s killer. The policemen were charged with removing the body of the deceased. During the cab ride to his house, Colbeck said very little. It was Mary who did all the talking, endlessly repeating the same few sentences about what a wonderful man her friend had been and how he’d encouraged her hopes of a career in the theatre. When the name of Nigel Buckmaster was mentioned, Colbeck tactfully omitted to tell her that he’d met the actor in the course of another murder investigation. What he did promise her was that Alfred Penn’s killer – there was no need to sharpen her grief at this stage by telling her Scanlan’s real name – would be brought to justice.

  As Colbeck ushered her gently into the house, Madeleine came out to meet them. At a glance, she took in the situation and conducted their guest into the drawing room, sitting beside Mary on the sofa with a consoling arm around her. Colbeck introduced the two women then explained to his wife, in an undertone, that Mary had discovered the dead body of her close friend. Reminded of what she’d seen, Mary unleashed a flood of tears and rocked to and fro. Colbeck signalled to Madeleine that he wanted her to take over. A sympathetic woman was likely to get far more out of Mary Burnell than a detective inspector, however skilled in questioning he might be. Leaving them alone, Colbeck slipped quietly out of the room.

  Madeleine was patient. She offered Mary a handkerchief to stem her tears but made no attempt to draw anything out of her. It was a long time before their visitor was ready to speak. When she did so, it was with great surprise. She looked around as if realising for the first time that she was in a strange house.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked, apprehensively.

  ‘You’re at the home of Inspector Robert Colbeck,’ said Madeleine. ‘I’m his wife. He did introduce us earlier.’

  ‘Did he? I only half-heard what he said.’

  ‘My name is Madeleine and you’re most welcome here. Is there anything you’d like? I could ring for tea, if you wish.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your friend.’

  ‘Oh, he was much more than a friend,’ said Mary with passion. ‘He was my guardian angel. Alfred was the kindest man in the world.’

  ‘So it appears.’

  ‘Who could have done such a thing to him?’

  ‘Did he ever speak of enemies?’

  ‘He had none,’ said Mary with conviction. ‘Everyone liked him. How could they not? He devoted his life to helping others.’

  ‘Tell me more about him.’

  Out it all came. From the moment she was taken to the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane for the first time, Mary had yearned to be an actress. It had soon become an obsession. Troubled by the rumours that it was a profession with scant moral compass to it, her parents resisted the notion fiercely at first and sought to direct her ambitions elsewhere. But Mary’s mind was set on the theatre and they eventually accepted that nothing would stop her. They had therefore secured an introduction for her to Nigel Buckmaster. While he discerned obvious talent, he felt that she needed help with her speech and deportment before she’d be ready to join his company. On the actor-manager’s recommendation, she turned to an elocution teacher.

  ‘My father was worried at the outset,’ said Mary, ‘and insisted on coming with me. When he realised that Mr Goodfellow was utterly trustworthy and that my virtue was not, after all, in danger, I was allowed to attend lessons without a chaperone. It was at The White Lion that I met Alfred and my life changed completely.’

  Madeleine was a good listener, allowing Mary the freedom to talk at will without interruption. It was a touching story and not without a parallel in her own life. Like Madeleine, Mary Burnell had met a somewhat older man and moved gently through the stages of acquaintance, companionship and close friendship until she surrendered to unconditional love. Alfred Penn had financed Mary’s ambition to become an actress. Colbeck had identified and developed Madeleine’s talent as an artist. Beyond that point, there were profound differences. While Madeleine had found marriage and fulfilment, Mary’s dreams had been irreparably shattered.

  ‘Alfred bought a painting because it reminded him of me,’ said Mary. ‘It was the scene at the end of Romeo and Juliet when Juliet finds Romeo and thinks that he’s dead. Alfred told me that I’d take the role onstage one day and that it would make me famous. I never realised that I’d play the part in real life as I did earlier this evening. I know just how Juliet must have felt,’ she wailed. ‘I want to kill myself.’

  ‘Don’
t say that, Mary.’

  ‘It’s true – I’ve nothing left to live for!’

  Dissolving into tears, she flung herself into Madeleine’s arms.

  The search was fruitless. Though he went systematically from room to room, Leeming could find nothing that confirmed Patrick Scanlan’s real name or that gave any hint as to who might have killed him. In fact, there were no telltale documents of any kind and he decided that they must be in the safe. Since he had no key – and lacked Scanlan’s skill as a cracksman – he was unable to open it. He felt that the one place where something might be hidden was in the main bedroom and he subjected that to the most thorough search, opening every drawer, crawling under the bed and even lifting the carpet to see if anything was concealed beneath the floorboards. Leeming was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t hear the front door opening or pick up the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase. He was kneeling on the floor when he felt someone dive on top of him with force and get an arm around his throat. After believing that he was alone in the house, he was now engaged in a frantic fight.

  His attacker was strong. The thick forearm was squeezing the breath out of Leeming. He reacted at once, bucking and twisting like an unbroken horse with a rider on his back. When he managed to loosen the hold a little, he suddenly rolled over sharply and dug his elbow hard into the man’s ribs. With a cry of pain, the attacker released him for a moment. It was all the time needed for Leeming to sit up and start to pound away with both fists. He could see that he was fighting a sturdy man of his own age with a misshapen nose. Taking punches to face and body, his adversary was also inflicting punishment of his own, flailing away with both fists and landing some stinging blows. It was minutes before the man’s resistance slowly faded under Leeming’s sustained attack. Both men were bruised, in pain and out of breath.