‘It’s the reason I’m so willing to help him now.’
‘But I have nothing else to add.’
‘I believe that you do, Mrs Marklew. You came all the way from Liverpool to see Inspector Colbeck in person. That suggests it was a matter of importance to you. Otherwise,’ Madeleine pointed out, ‘you could simply have informed the local police, or even made contact with Scotland Yard by anonymous letter. The inspector believes that you have a personal reason to see this crime solved.’
Hannah studied her carefully as if weighing her in the balance. It was certainly easier talking to a woman in the confines of a hotel room than discussing the case with a detective inspector in an office. Madeleine, she sensed, was discreet. Also, there was a bond between them. Both had endured great pain as a result of a crime committed on the London and North-West Railway. Hannah wondered if she could ease her pain by talking about it.
‘Inspector Colbeck is very perceptive,’ she said. ‘I did know Gaston Chabal rather better than I indicated, but I did not wish to admit that. It might have caused complications.’
‘With your husband?’
‘Yes, Miss Andrews.’ Hannah sat down. ‘I love him very much and I do not want to hurt him in any way. The simple fact is that Alexander – my husband – is somewhat older than me and is always preoccupied with business affairs.’
‘The inspector thought that he had a connection with railways.’
‘It’s more than a connection. He’s one of the directors of the London and North-West Railway. That’s what seems so cruel. Gaston was murdered on a railway in which my husband is so closely involved.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘I suppose that some might see that as an example of poetic justice.’
‘How did you first meet M. Chabal?’ asked Madeleine.
‘It was at a reception in Paris. A major rail link was planned between Mantes and Caen. Since he already has some investments in French railways, my husband was interested in buying shares.’
‘And you were invited to go with him?’
‘All that I saw was an opportunity to visit Paris,’ said Hannah. ‘To be candid, I expected the reception itself to be very boring – they usually are. When you get a group of men talking business, you can feel very isolated. Fortunately,’ she went on, a wan smile touching her lips, ‘Gaston was there. We began talking. A few months later, there was a meeting in London for investors in the project. My husband had to be there, so I made sure that I was as well.’
‘Did you meet M. Chabal again?’
‘Yes. I suppose that it all sounds a trifle sordid to you. I’m a married woman. I had no right to let a friendship of that nature develop. But the simple fact was that he made me feel unbelievably happy. Gaston reminded me that I was a woman.’
‘How did you keep in touch?’
‘By letter.’
‘So you have an address for him?’
‘Yes, Miss Andrews – it’s in Mantes. His home was in Paris but he took a lodging in Mantes when they began to build the railway. My letters went there.’
‘Inspector Colbeck would like that address, Mrs Marklew.’
‘Of course.’
‘And any details you have of his life in Paris.’ Hannah nodded sadly. ‘It must have come as a terrible blow to you when you realised that he was the murder victim on that train.’
‘It did. I cried for days.’
‘And are you absolutely sure that it was Gaston Chabal?’
‘There’s no possible room for error, Miss Andrews.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘My husband was away from Liverpool on business,’ said Hannah frankly. ‘I was waiting at Lime Street station that day to meet the train. Gaston was coming to see me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘France!’ exclaimed Superintendent Tallis, reaching for a cigar to absorb the shock of what he had just been told. ‘Heavens above! For centuries, they were our mortal enemies until we put paid to them at Waterloo. Why must you go to France?’
‘Because that’s the only place we’ll find out the full truth,’ said Robert Colbeck. ‘The crime may have taken place on British soil but I believe that its roots lie across the Channel.’
‘We have no jurisdiction there, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure that the French police would cooperate with us. The murder victim was a Parisian, after all. They have a stake in this.’
‘But they would insist on being in charge,’ said Tallis, irritably. ‘Before we know it, we’d have their officers crawling about over here.’
‘I dispute that, sir.’
‘I’ve had dealings with them before.’
‘So have I,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I found members of the Police de Surêté very helpful. We are kindred spirits.’
‘If only that were the case! You seem to have forgotten that the man responsible for founding the Surêté was a known villain who had served time in prison.’
‘Vidocq saw the folly of his ways, Superintendent. It was to his credit that he chose to work on the right side of the law. And he achieved some remarkable results.’
‘Yes,’ said Tallis, lighting his cigar and puffing on it until the end glowed. ‘But how did Vidocq get those remarkable results? There was a suspicion that many of the crimes he solved were actually committed by his henchmen. I’d not have allowed anybody under me to resort to that kind of skulduggery. Vidocq was a born criminal. Look what happened to him.’
‘He became a private detective twenty years ago, sir.’
‘And then?’
‘The police eventually closed down his agency because he was using dubious methods.’
‘I rest my case – as you barristers say.’
‘But that does not invalidate all the good work that he did earlier,’ affirmed Colbeck. ‘Besides, the Surêté is a much improved police force now. It’s not full of men like Eugene Vidocq. How could it be? He was inimitable.’
‘He was French,’ said Tallis, darkly. ‘That’s enough for me.’
He pulled on his cigar then exhaled a cloud of thick smoke. It was one more problem with which Colbeck had to contend as he stood before the superintendent’s desk. He was not merely hampered by the other man’s prejudices against the French, he was forced to conceal both the source and extent of the information that he had received. In using Madeleine Andrews as his unauthorised assistant, Colbeck had risked dismissal but he felt that it had been worth it. What she had discovered from Hannah Marklew had been extraordinary. Once the older woman had started talking about her relationship with Gaston Chabal, she had not stopped. When she reported back to him, Madeleine was able to tell Colbeck a great deal about the character and career of the Frenchman.
‘In the first instance, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘we do not have to deal with the French police at all. It would be a preliminary inquiry.’
‘To what end?’
‘Establishing if there were any clear motives why someone would seek the life of the victim.’
‘How could you hope to do that in a country full of foreigners?’
‘I have a fair command of the language, Superintendent, so I would not be at a disadvantage. In any case, most of the people to whom I intend to speak are English.’
‘Really?’ said Tallis in surprise.
‘You are obviously not familiar with French railways.’
‘I regard that as a virtue, Inspector.’
‘Their system is far less developed than ours,’ said Colbeck, ‘so it was natural that they looked to us for expertise. Many of the locomotives they use over there were designed by Thomas Crampton and three-quarters of the mileage of all French railways so far constructed was the work of Thomas Brassey and his partners.’
‘What relevance does this have to the case in hand?’
‘Gaston Chabal worked for Mr Brassey.’
‘Then you do not have to go haring off to France,’ said Tallis, flicking cigar ash into a metal tray. ‘If this contractor is English, you can call on
him at his office.’
‘He is not in this country at the moment.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he always supervises major projects in person. This line will run for well over a hundred miles, sir, so it will take a long time to build. Until it’s finished, Mr Brassey has moved to France.’
‘What about his family?’
‘They’ve gone with him, sir. His wife, Maria, I believe, speaks tolerable French and acts as his interpreter. It’s a language that her husband cannot bring himself to learn.’
‘Then he’s a man after my own heart. Dreadful lingo!’
‘Perhaps you can understand now why I need to go there,’ said Colbeck. ‘Mr Brassey will be wondering what’s happened to one of his senior engineers and Chabal’s family need to be informed of his death so that they can reclaim the body.’
Edward Tallis thrust the cigar between his teeth. He was loath to send Colbeck abroad on what he believed might be an expensive and unproductive visit. At the same time, he could appreciate the logic of the inspector’s argument. Unless the crime was solved, the railway company would keep hounding him. Worse, in his view, was the intensive scrutiny of the press. Newspapers were very willing to trumpet any success the Detective Department achieved but they were equally ready to condemn any failures. Having christened Colbeck as the Railway Detective, they would have no qualms about finding a more derisive nickname for him.
‘How long would you be away?’ growled Tallis.
‘Impossible to say, sir, but we’d be as quick as possible.’
‘Would you take Sergeant Leeming with you?’
‘With your permission.’
‘It’s his wife’s permission you need to seek, by the sound of it.’
‘Victor will do what he’s told,’ said Colbeck. ‘While I’m talking to Mr Brassey, he can question some of the men who work for him.’
Tallis was astounded. ‘Are you telling me that the sergeant speaks French?’
‘No, sir, and nor will he need to. For a number of reasons, Mr Brassey prefers to employ men from this country. When he built the Paris to Rouen railway, he took five thousand navvies, miners, carpenters, smiths, brick-makers, bricklayers and other tradesmen with him. He had his own private army.’
‘That’s what you need over there – for protection.’
‘Hostilities with France ceased many years ago, sir.’
‘Some of us have long memories.’ Tallis chewed on his cigar and regarded Colbeck from under bushy eyebrows. ‘How do you come to know so much about Thomas Brassey?’
‘I read a number of railway periodicals, sir.’
‘What manner of man is he?’
‘A very successful one,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s a good businessman and a caring employer. That’s why his men are so loyal to him. He also has the courage to admit his mistakes.’
‘Mistakes?’
‘Even the best contractors go astray at times, Superintendent. Six years ago, Mr Brassey built the Barentin Viaduct about twelve miles from Rouen.’
‘Don’t mention viaducts to me, Inspector.’
‘This was a massive construction, much higher and longer than the one over the Sankey Valley. There was only one problem with it.’
‘And what was that?’
‘After a period of heavy rain, it collapsed in ruins. Some people would have invented all manner of spurious excuses, but not Thomas Brassey. His reputation as a contractor was in serious danger. So he admitted liability and at his own cost – some £30,000 – he had the viaduct rebuilt.’
‘Did it stay up this time?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’ve been over it. I think it’s one of the most inspiring sights on the French railways. And because it was rebuilt in a mere six months, it meant that he completed the whole project well ahead of schedule, earning himself a bonus of £10,000.’
‘The only viaduct that concerns me at the moment is the one from which that fellow was thrown. Why couldn’t he have the decency to get himself killed in his native country?’
‘I doubt if he was given any choice, Superintendent.’
‘I agree,’ said Tallis, becoming serious. ‘A murder victim is a murder victim, whatever nationality he holds. We must bring his killer to book and do so with all speed.’
‘Does that mean you sanction our visit to France?’
‘I’ll give it my consideration.’
‘You just said that speed was essential, sir.’
‘I’m treating it as a matter of urgency.’
‘Shall I warn Victor that he may be going abroad?’
‘Do not run ahead of yourself, Inspector. There are many things to take into account. Leave me alone while I mull them over.’
‘Of course, Superintendent.’
The decision had been made. When Tallis stopped making protests about a course of action, it invariably meant that he would in time approve of it. Colbeck left the room with a feeling of triumph. After a period of inertia, the murder investigation had been given a new lease of life. He and Victor Leeming were going to France.
Thomas Brassey came out of the wooden hut that he used as an office and went off to see the damage for himself. He wore his habitual frock coat, waistcoat and check trousers and, although in his late forties, moved briskly across the ground. When he passed a group of navvies, he was given warm smiles or cheerful greetings, and coarser language was immediately suppressed within his earshot. Brassey was a true gentleman with an innate dignity. He lacked the rough and ready appearance of some self-made men and had none of their arrogance or assertive manner.
‘When did you discover it?’ he asked.
‘This afternoon,’ replied Aubrey Filton. ‘We’d suspended work on the tunnel until fresh materials arrived, but, in view of what’s happened, I thought that I’d carry out an inspection.’
‘Very sensible of you.’
‘This is what I found, sir.’
Filton led the way down the embankment to the mouth of the tunnel. As it was dark inside, he picked up a lantern that was already burning. Brassey followed him into the long cavern. Halfway along it, the contractor expected to see two sets of parallel rails, laid across timber sleepers and bolted tight, the whole track resting on ballast. Instead, he was looking at a confused mass of wood, iron and rock chippings. Rails and sleepers had been levered out of position. The fishplates and bolts that held one length of rail against the end of another had been either broken or twisted out of shape.
‘This was done on purpose, Mr Brassey,’ said Filton.
‘I can see that. Was nobody guarding the tunnel last night?’
‘They claim that they were but my guess is that they either fell asleep or were paid to look the other way. This is the fourth incident in a row. Someone is trying to stop us building this railway.’
‘Then they’ll have to do a lot better than this,’ said Brassey, assessing the cost of the damage. ‘It’s annoying but it won’t hold us up for long. As soon as a fresh supply of rail arrives on site, we’ll start work in the tunnel again. Meanwhile, we’ll post more guards.’
‘Yes, Mr Brassey.’
‘Armed guards.’
‘What are their orders?’
‘I’ll issue those directly.’
They walked back towards the mouth of the tunnel, stepping over the accumulated debris as they did so. Filton, one of the engineers working on the Mantes-Caen railway, was a tall, thin, nervous man in his thirties with a tendency to fear the worst. Brassey had a much more robust attitude to life. What his companion saw as a disaster, he dismissed as a minor setback. Sensing the other man’s anxiety, he put a consoling arm around Filton’s shoulders.
‘Do not worry about it, Aubrey,’ he said. ‘If someone is trying to hinder us, we’ll catch them sooner or later. The important thing is that these delays do not interfere with our overall schedule.’
‘I hate the thought that we have enemies in our midst.’
‘For every ba
d apple, we have a thousand good ones.’
‘I wonder that you can shrug it off like this, sir,’ said Filton.
‘Oh, I’m not shrugging it off, I assure you. I take this very seriously – but I’ll not let my anger show. I prefer to carry on as if nothing had occurred to halt our progress. I’ve signed a contract that has time limits on it. I intend to meet them.’
They walked on until they emerged into broad daylight. All around them, men of various trades were working hard. Brassey stopped to watch them. It was very hot and the navvies were dripping with sweat as they toiled away. Many of them were bare-chested in the baking sun. The ceaseless pandemonium of industry rang out across the French countryside as picks, shovels, axes, sledgehammers and other implements pounded away. Birds flew overhead but their songs went unheard beneath the cacophony.
‘Is there any finer sight on earth than men building a railway?’ said Brassey, removing his top hat. ‘It lifts my spirit, Aubrey.’
‘It would lift mine as well if we were not plagued by problems.’
‘Four incidents can hardly be called a plague.’
‘I think the number might be five, sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ said Filton, brow corrugated with disquiet, ‘I can’t help remembering what happened to Mr Ruddles the other week.’
‘That was an accident, man.’
‘Was it?’
‘Of course,’ said Brassey, airily. ‘It’s a law of averages that a scaffold will collapse from time to time. Bernard Ruddles and I had the misfortune to be standing on it when it gave way.’
‘You could have been badly injured, sir.’
‘I was lucky. I had a nasty fall and was shaken up but I lived to tell the tale. Bernard, alas, was not so fortunate.’
‘He broke his leg in two places.’
‘I know,’ said Brassey. ‘I was right beside him at the time. Had we listened to the advice of the French doctors, he would have lost the leg altogether. They were queuing up to amputate. Bernard had the good sense to wait for an English doctor to give an opinion. As a consequence, the leg can be saved.’
‘That’s not the point, Mr Brassey.’
The Railway Viaduct Page 6
