Luke Rogan felt sick. He had endured a rough crossing from England and was now being jiggled about by the movement of the train. Any moment, he feared, he would be spilling the contents of his stomach over the floor of the carriage. He tried to concentrate on what lay ahead. When he had visited France before, he felt that he had left everything in order. A deal had been struck and money had changed hands. He had no reason to suppose that he had been double-crossed. The discussion with Sir Marcus Hetherington, however, had robbed him of his certainty. He was no longer quite so confident that his instructions had been carried out.
If the men had betrayed Rogan, it would cost him a lot of money and he would forfeit Sir Marcus’ trust in him. He did not wish to upset his most generous client especially as there was a prospect of further work from that source. Everything had gone smoothly for him in England. Rogan had to ensure the same kind of success in France. Failure was not acceptable. If the people he employed had let him down, he would have to find others to do the work in their stead and pay them out of his own pocket. The very notion was galling.
He had come prepared. Excuses would not be tolerated. Had the men in his pay not taken any action as yet, Rogan would not give them a second chance. In his bag, he carried a pistol and a dagger that had already claimed one victim. Punishment would be meted out swiftly. He had not made such a gruelling journey to be fobbed off.
Thomas Brassey was pleased to see Colbeck return to the site. Inviting him into his office, he poured both of them a glass of wine.
‘One of the advantages of working in France,’ he said, sampling the drink. ‘England has much to recommend it, but the one thing that it does not have is a supply of excellent vineyards.’
Colbeck tasted his wine. ‘Very agreeable.’
‘Did you enjoy your visit to Paris?’
‘One would have to be blind not to do that, Mr Brassey. It’s a positive feast for the eye – though some areas of the city do tend to assault the nasal passages with undue violence.’
‘We have that problem in London.’
‘I’m all too aware of it,’ said Colbeck. ‘Madame Rivet wanted to know how the investigation was progressing. She seemed to have much more faith in us than in the French police. I suppose that I should blame you for that, Mr Brassey.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, sir. You set a bad example.’
‘Did I, Inspector?’
‘Because a British contractor builds railways for the French, they will soon expect British detectives to solve their murders for them as well. But I’m being facetious,’ he said. ‘The visit to Paris was very profitable. It allowed me to see that glorious architecture again and I learned a great deal about Gaston Chabal’s domestic life.’
‘Did you meet his widow?’
‘No, only his mother-in-law. What she told me was that he had a role beyond his duties as an engineer. Apparently, he helped to find investors for this project.’
‘Gaston had great powers of persuasion.’
‘For which he was rewarded, I gather.’
‘A labourer is worthy of his hire, Inspector.’
‘He was rather more than a labourer.’
‘Nobody could dispute that.’
Colbeck went on to describe, in broad outline, his conversation with Hortense Rivet, exercising great discretion as he did so. There was no need for Brassey to know that some of the shares in his railway had been bought as a result of a relationship between his French engineer and the daughter of a Parisian banker.
‘How are things here, sir?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Mysteriously quiet.’
‘The noise was as loud as ever when I arrived.’
‘I was referring to the problems that have been dogging us of late,’ said Brassey. ‘We’ve had almost five days in a row now without any more nasty surprises.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘How long it will last, though, is another matter.’
‘Yes, it would be foolish to imagine that it was over.’
‘I’d never do that, Inspector. What’s made the difference is those guard dogs you suggested we might get. There are only four of them but they seem to have had the desired effect.’
‘Don’t forget the other form of restraint we imposed.’
‘What was that?’
‘Brendan Mulryne.’
‘He’s settled in well, from what I hear.’
‘They’re still not sure of him,’ explained Colbeck. ‘That’s why they’ve been so well-behaved of late. They’re biding their time as they try to work out if Brendan is friend or foe.’
‘He’s a very different animal from Sergeant Leeming.’
‘But he remains suspect, Mr Brassey. Victor joins the camp as a stranger and, within a day, he starts to show too much interest in what’s going on.’
‘He paid dearly for that.’
‘He tried to rush things, sir.’
‘What about Mulryne?’
‘I told him to be more circumspect. He’ll not rush anything. And you must remember that he’s still a new man in the camp, so they’re bound to have some reservations about him.’
‘You mean that they’ve stayed their hand because of Mulryne?’
‘For the time being.’
‘When do you think they will strike again?’
‘Soon,’ said Colbeck. ‘Very soon.’
Brendan Mulryne caroused as usual at the village inn that night and indulged in lively badinage with the others. In a crowd of big, powerful, boisterous, hard-drinking Irishmen, he still managed to stick out. His wild antics and devil-may-care attitude made even the rowdiest of them seem tame by comparison. They had seen him get drunk, watched him fight and heard him sing the most deliciously obscene songs. They had also stood by as he turned his battered charm on the pretty barmaids at the inn. Brendan Mulryne was a vibrant character and they were pleased to have him there.
‘Are you coming back to the camp, Brendan?’ said someone.
‘Hold your hour and have another brandy,’ he replied.
‘I’ve no money left.’
‘Nor me,’ said another man. ‘We’re off, Brendan.’
Mulryne waved a hand. ‘I’ll not be far behind you, lads.’
In fact, he was deliberately lagging behind. Liam Kilfoyle had told him to do so because there might be an opportunity for him to make some money. Mulryne jumped at the invitation. When the place finally emptied, he left with Kilfoyle and began the walk back to the camp. It was not long before someone stepped out of the bushes to join them. Pierce Shannon put an arm on Mulryne’s shoulder.
‘I’m told you’re with us, Brendan,’ he said.
‘I’m with anyone who pays me.’
‘And what are you prepared to do for the money?’
‘Anything at all,’ said Mulryne, expansively, ‘as long as it doesn’t involve going to church or getting involved in any way with the bleeding priesthood.’
‘That goes for me, too,’ said Kilfoyle.
‘So you don’t mind breaking the law, then?’ said Shannon.
Mulryne grinned. ‘I’ll break as many as you like.’
‘We’ll be in trouble if we’re caught.’
‘So what, Pierce? Life’s far too short to worry about things like that. Just pay me the money and tell me what I have to do.’
‘I’ll show you.’
They strode on across the fields until the lights of the camp came into view. Lanterns twinkled and a few of the fires that had been lit to cook food were still burning away. When they got closer to the huddle of shacks and houses, Shannon stopped and waited until the last of the navvies had vanished into their temporary homes.
‘This way,’ he said.
He struck off to the left with Mulryne and Kilfoyle behind him. They reached the railway line and began to walk along the track. When they came to a line of wagons, Shannon called them to a halt. Mulryne gave a knowing chuckle.
‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘It’s an
other bet.’
‘Not this time,’ Shannon told him.
‘I smell a trick when I see one. You’re going to challenge me to lift one of those fucking wagons because you know it’s filled to the brim with ballast. I’m not that strong,’ he said, cheerily, ‘and I’m not that stupid either.’
‘We don’t want you to lift it, Brendan.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘You’ll see.’
Shannon went off to scrabble around in the dark, then he returned with a long, thick, wooden pole and a length of rope that he had hidden there earlier. Mulryne stared at the pole.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘A lever,’ replied Shannon.
‘Yes, but what’s it for?’
‘Making money.’
Aubrey Filton had to hold back tears when he escorted the two of them to the scene. Eight wagons had been uncoupled and tipped off the line, spilling their respective cargoes as they did so. The rolling stock had been badly damaged and the mess would take precious time to clear away. Thomas Brassey gave a philosophical shrug, but Robert Colbeck walked around the wagons to look at them from every angle. He bent down to pull out the long wooden pole. Beside it was a length of rope. He held both of them up.
‘This is how it was done, I fancy,’ he said. ‘Someone levered the wagon over while someone else pulled it from the other side with a rope. Those wagons are heavy enough when they’re empty. Loaded, they must weigh several tons.’
‘It must have taken at least a dozen men.’
Colbeck thought of Mulryne. ‘Not necessarily, Mr Filton.’
‘Look at the mess they’ve made!’
‘What puzzles me,’ said Brassey, staring balefully at the broken wagons, ‘is how they contrived to get past the nightwatchmen – not to mention the dogs.’
‘That’s the other thing I have to report, sir,’ said Filton.
‘What?’
‘It’s those guard dogs. Someone fed them poisoned meat.’
Brassey was stunned. ‘You mean that they’re dead?’
‘Dead as a doornail, sir. All four of them.’
CHAPTER TEN
Victor Leeming was a hopeless patient. It was not in his nature to sit quietly at home while he recovered from the beating he had taken. It was wonderful to spend so much time with his wife, Estelle, and to be able to play with the children, but the enforced idleness soon began to vex him. The visitors did not help. A number of police colleagues had called at the house out of genuine concern for Leeming and it was reassuring to know that he had so many friends. What irked him was that they invariably talked about the cases on which they were working, emphasising the fact that, while they were still doing their duty, he was missing all the excitement of being employed by the Metropolitan Police Force. Leeming burned with envy. He was desperate to go back.
While his facial injuries were starting to fade, however, his ribs remained sore and he could only sleep in certain positions. Returning to work was still out of the question, but that did not mean he had to be shackled all day to the house. He was anxious to know how Inspector Colbeck was getting on in France. He was interested to hear if there had been any developments in the case on this side of the Channel. He was eager to experience the surge of raw pleasure that he always got when he crossed the threshold of Scotland Yard. Victor Leeming wanted to feel like a detective again.
Superintendent Edward Tallis did not give him a warm welcome.
‘Is that you, Leeming?’ he said with blunt disapproval.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You should be in bed, man.’
‘I feel much better now,’ insisted Leeming.
‘Well, you don’t look it. Appearance is everything in our profession,’ said Tallis, adjusting his frock coat. ‘It conveys a sense of confidence and is a mark of self-respect. It’s one of the first things that one learns in the army.’
‘But we’re not in the army, Superintendent.’
‘Of course, we are. We’re part of an elite battalion that is fighting a war against crime. Uniforms must be kept spotless at all times. Hair must not be unkempt. Slovenliness is a deadly sin.’
‘I don’t believe that I am slovenly, sir.’
‘No, you’re far worse than that. Look at you, man – you’re patently disabled. The public should be impressed and reassured by the sight of a policeman. If they see you in that state, they are more likely to take pity.’
They had met in the corridor outside the superintendent’s office. Leeming had long ago discovered the futility of reminding his superior that his men were no longer in police uniform. In the considered judgement of Edward Tallis, members of the Detective Department wore a form of uniform and those who departed from it – Colbeck was the most notable offender – had to be cowed back into line. Tallis himself looked particularly spruce. It was almost as if he were on parade. In one hand, he carried his top hat. In the other, was a large, shiny, leather bag that was packed to capacity. He ran his eye over the wounded man and spoke without a trace of sympathy.
‘Are you still in pain?’ he said.
‘Now and again, sir.’
‘Then why did you drag your aching body here?’
‘I wanted to know what was going on.’
‘The same thing that goes on every day, Leeming. We are doing our best to police the capital and apprehend any malefactors.’
‘I was thinking about Inspector Colbeck,’ said Leeming.
‘That makes two of us.’
‘Have you heard from him, Superintendent?’
‘No,’ replied Tallis. ‘There’s a popular misconception that silence is golden. When it comes to police work, more often than not, it betokens inactivity.’
Leeming was roused. ‘That’s something you could never accuse the inspector of, sir,’ he said, defensively. ‘Nobody in this department is more active than him.’
‘I agree. My complaint is that his activity is not always fruitful.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘I need evidence. I require signs of life. I want progress.’
‘Inspector Colbeck will solve this crime in the end, sir,’ said Leeming, putting a hand to his ribs as he felt a twinge of agony. ‘He’s very thorough. Nothing escapes him.’
‘Something did,’ observed Tallis. ‘He obviously didn’t notice that trying to pass you off as a navvy was the same as opening the door of a lion cage and inviting you to go in.’
‘It was not like that at all, Superintendent.’
‘Then why are you hobbling around like that with a face that would frighten the horses and give small children bad dreams?’
‘What happened to me was all my own fault,’ asserted Leeming.
‘The duty of a senior officer is to safeguard his men.’
‘I was given the chance to refuse to do what I did, sir, but I knew how important the task was. That’s why I undertook it. I was warned of the dangers beforehand. I accepted the risk.’
‘That’s in your favour,’ conceded Tallis, magnanimously, ‘and so is the fact that you have not voiced any grievances since you returned from France.’
‘My only grievance is that I’m not able to return to work.’
‘That, too, is creditable.’
‘I feel that I should be at Inspector Colbeck’s side. We work so well together even if I do have to go everywhere by train. Railways upset me. Though, if you want to know the honest truth, sir,’ he went on, lugubriously, ‘the boat was far worse. I never want to cross the Channel again.’
‘It’s an experience that I am about to undergo.’
‘You, sir?’ Leeming was astonished.
‘Yes,’ said Tallis, clapping his hat on. ‘I’m tired of sitting behind my desk and waiting for something to happen. And I’m fed up with being hounded from all sides by people demanding arrests. As I’ve had no word from Inspector Colbeck since he left, I’ve decided to go to France to see for myself what – if anything – he is actually doing there
.’ He marched past Leeming and tossed a tart remark over his shoulder. ‘It had better be something worthwhile, that’s all I can say!’
‘Why did you give up being a barrister?’ asked Aubrey Filton.
‘I discovered that it was not what I wanted to do.’
‘But you seem to have all the attributes, Inspector. You’ve a quick brain, a fine voice and a commanding presence. I could imagine that you would excel in court.’
‘To some degree, I did,’ said Colbeck, modestly, ‘but there was an artificiality about the whole process that worried me. I felt that I were acting in a play at times and I was not always happy with the lines that were assigned to me.’
‘All the same, joining the police was a huge step to take. You were giving up what must have been a very comfortable life for a profession that, by its very nature, is full of danger.’
‘Comforts of the body do not bring comforts of the mind.’
‘I do not follow,’ said Filton.
‘Something happened that showed me the limitations of working in a court,’ explained Colbeck, calling up a painful memory. ‘It involved a young lady who was very close to me and who, alas, died a violent death. I was unable to save her. What that misfortune taught me was that prevention is always better than the cure. Stopping a crime from being committed is infinitely preferable to convicting the culprit once the damage is done. A barrister can win plaudits by sending a killer to the gallows but he’s not able to raise a murder victim from the dead.’
‘That’s true.’
‘As a detective,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’ve been fortunate enough to prevent murders from taking place. It’s given me far more satisfaction than I ever had in court. It’s also given me a peace of mind that I never enjoyed before.’
Filton was perplexed. ‘Peace of mind from a job that pits you against murderous thugs?’ he said. ‘That’s a paradox, surely.’
‘You may well be right, Mr Filton.’
It was the first time that Colbeck had spent any length of time alone with the engineer and he was learning a great deal about the man. Away from the site, Filton managed to lose the harassed look in his eyes and the faint note of hysteria in his voice. He emerged as a polite, well-educated, assiduous man with an unshakable belief in the potential of railways to change the world for the better. The two men had taken a trap and driven to a tavern in the nearest village. Over a meal, they were able to talk at leisure.
The Railway Viaduct Page 16
