The Iron Horse irc-4

by Edward Marston

  ‘Hear me out, please, sir. My feeling is this, you see,’ continued Leeming. ‘A third person could be using this young lady to get information about the Derby from the two people who are his closest rivals. In other words, the man we should look at is Brian Dowd.’

  ‘I’ve already done that,’ said Colbeck, ‘and dismissed the notion at once. He has all the information he needs about the other horses and he would never resort to the tactics you suggest, Victor. Well, you’ve met the man. What was your overriding impression?’

  ‘He was blunt and direct.’

  ‘What about Hamilton Fido?’

  ‘I’ve never met anyone so sure of himself.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s supremely confident, clever and well acquainted with the ways of the world. A man as urbane as Fido would never let a woman be planted on him by a rival, however skilful she might be in the arts of deceit. He’s a handsome man who could have his pick of the most attractive young ladies in London. Since he chose this particular one, she must have outstanding appeal.’

  ‘Yes,’ added Tallis, putting his cigar down. ‘And we can all guess the nature of that appeal. Find this person, Inspector,’ he ordered. ‘We must know where she fits into the picture.’

  ‘Before I do that, sir,’ said Colbeck, taking a slip of paper from his pocket, ‘I wonder if I might remind you of the amount you owe me for my travel expenses to Ireland. As you will recall, I met them out of my own pocket.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced your journey was entirely necessary.’

  ‘I brought back the name of the murder victim.’

  ‘What I’m after is the name of the killer,’ said Tallis.

  ‘That will come in time, sir.’

  ‘Then we’ll defer any reimbursement until then, Inspector. If and when we do finally put someone behind bars, I’ll accept that your jaunt to Ireland should be paid out of our budget.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, putting the piece of paper on the desk. ‘This is a record of my expenses. I think you’ll agree that a small investment of time and money yielded a large reward.’

  ‘Make an arrest and secure a conviction.’

  ‘We’re bending all our energies to that end, sir. However,’ Colbeck went on, ‘it might be sensible to take time off to confront the problem we have here at Scotland Yard – namely, a spy.’

  ‘A traitor in our ranks?’ said Tallis. ‘He must be rooted out.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done,’ Leeming commented.

  ‘I don’t think so, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘We can catch him very quickly and you are the person to help us do that.’

  ‘Am I, sir – how?’

  ‘There are four people here who are above suspicion – we three and the commissioner. Somewhere among the rest of our colleagues is Hamilton Fido’s source. The bookmaker operates on the principle of scientia est potentia.’

  ‘What’s that?’ rasped Tallis.

  ‘Knowledge is power. Fido collects intelligence all the time from his network of spies. That’s why he’s so well informed. I suggest that you gather the detectives together, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and give them a piece of information that would be very valuable to Fido. His informer will want to communicate it as soon as possible to him. Victor will be watching from an upstairs room in the Lamb and Flag. When someone leaves surreptitiously, we’ll know who our man is.’

  Leeming liked the idea. ‘Do I arrest him, Inspector?’

  ‘You follow him until he meets up with Fido.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And when the rogue is apprehended,’ said Tallis mercilessly, ‘hand him over to me. I’ll make him wish he was never born.’

  ‘You approve then, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘I do, Inspector. We’ll put the plan into operation at once.’

  ‘Give Victor time to get across to the Lamb and Flag first.’

  ‘Off you go, Leeming,’ instructed Tallis.

  The sergeant went to the door. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And remember that you’re in that tavern to watch out for the criminal in our midst – not to sample the beer.’ Leeming nodded and left the room. ‘What is it that I’m supposed to tell my men, Inspector?’ continued Tallis. ‘You called it a valuable piece of information.’

  ‘Were it true,’ said Colbeck, ‘it would certainly be valuable to Hamilton Fido. When you tell the others about the progress we’ve made in the investigation, go on to say that I intend to arrest Mr Fido this very afternoon.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘That should inject a note of urgency.’

  Victor Leeming was delighted with his assignment. He would be helping to unmask an informer, he would be doing so from the vantage point of his favourite establishment and no train journey was required of him. As he took up his position at the window in an upstairs room of the Lamb and Flag, the landlord came in with a tankard of beer for him.

  ‘I’m not allowed to drink on duty,’ said Leeming.

  ‘This is on the house, Sergeant.’

  ‘Then it would be rude to refuse.’

  The landlord handed him the tankard. ‘You’ve been such a good customer for us over the years – so have your colleagues. We always like to keep on the right side of the law.’

  ‘I wish everyone had that attitude.’ Leeming took a long sip of his beer then licked his lips appreciatively. ‘This is good.’

  ‘We aim to please.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly pleased me.’

  ‘Recommend my beer, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘Oh, I always do,’ said Leeming, gazing through the window. ‘I sing your praises to everyone. Though I have some bad news, I fear.’

  ‘Oh dear – what’s that?’

  ‘I may have to deprive you of one of your regular customers.’

  Quaffing some more beer, he remained vigilant.

  White’s was the oldest and most celebrated gentlemen’s club in St.James’s Street. It was renowned for its illustrious history, its elite membership and its penchant for gambling. Prime Ministers, generals, admirals, poets, diarists, Regency bucks and other luminaries had belonged to it in their time and left the place charged with their memory. Some had joined in search of civilised conversation while others had wanted a desirable refuge from their wives and children. Once a member of White’s, they entered a magic circle.

  Lord Hendry had belonged to the club for many years and was a familiar sight at the card tables. That morning, he was enjoying a drink with friends and fending off their enquiries about the Derby. A uniformed steward soon entered with a business card on his silver tray. He offered the card to Lord Hendry.

  ‘The gentleman wishes to speak to you now, sir,’ said the man.

  Lord Hendry read the name on the card. ‘Very well,’ he agreed.

  Excusing himself from his friends, he followed the steward to an anteroom near the vestibule. When he went in, Lord Hendry found Robert Colbeck waiting for him. After an exchange of greetings, they sat down opposite each other. Lord Hendry adopted a patrician tone with his visitor.

  ‘At least you didn’t bother me at home this time,’ he said loftily.

  ‘I recalled your saying how often you came to your club, my lord,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you indicated to Superintendent Tallis that you’d rather be contacted here.’

  ‘How did you know I was a member of White’s?’

  ‘It seemed the most likely place for someone of your eminence.’

  ‘I divide most of my time between here and my stables.’

  ‘I trust that Odysseus is still in fine fettle.’

  ‘He’s fully justified his position as Derby favourite,’ said Lord Hendry, ‘and that’s why our rivals are so worried. I hope you’ve come to tell me that you’ve arrested the man who tried to put my horse out of the race altogether.’

  ‘I wish that I had, Lord Hendry, but it’s not the case.’

  ‘Fido and Dowd are the chief suspects.’

  ‘Both of them have been interv
iewed at length,’ said Colbeck. ‘I spent yesterday afternoon at Mr Hamilton’s stables and he denied all knowledge of the attack on Odysseus.’

  ‘He would,’ snarled the other.

  ‘As it happens, I’ve come here on another errand.’

  ‘And what, pray, is that?’

  ‘To discuss your visit to the Wyvern Hotel,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere near such a place.’

  ‘Then let’s start with the Angel Hotel in Cambridge, shall we? Or perhaps you’ve never heard of that either.’

  ‘You’re being impertinent, Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘I am merely trying to save time.’

  ‘By resorting to insolence?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘by reminding you how thorough we are. I sent my sergeant to the Angel Hotel to confirm that you stayed there. And I’m equally satisfied that you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel. I can tell you the precise date, if you wish.’

  ‘I warned your superintendent about this,’ railed Lord Hendry, cheeks reddening by the second. ‘It’s intolerable! I demand the right to privacy. I’ll not have the police intruding into my life like vultures pecking at a carcass. Damn it all, Inspector! You’re supposed to be tracking a vicious killer, not checking up on where I choose to stay.’

  ‘The murder and the Wyvern Hotel are inextricably linked.’

  ‘I fail to see how.’

  ‘It was from the hotel that the hatbox was stolen.’ He saw the way that Lord Hendry winced. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you? In the interests of solving this crime, you should have come forward with that information instead of letting us find out for ourselves.’ Colbeck waited for a response that never came. ‘I know this must be embarrassing for you,’ he said at length, ‘but there’s a question you refused to answer when Superintendent Tallis put it to you.’

  ‘And I still refuse,’ asserted Lord Hendry.

  ‘The name of that young lady is of great interest to us.’

  ‘And none whatsoever to me.’

  ‘We’ll find her one way or another,’ said Colbeck. ‘If she proves instrumental in helping us to solve this murder, then your refusal to name her will be taken as an act of wilful obstruction. There could be consequences.’

  ‘I don’t give a fig for your consequences!’ yelled Lord Hendry, snapping his fingers. ‘And I don’t accept that this person can be of any value to you. She neither beheaded the murder victim nor planned the attack on Odysseus. Look elsewhere, Inspector. I’ve told you who the likely villains are.’

  ‘They appear to be injured parties, my lord.’

  ‘Dowd and Fido are the two biggest rogues in horseracing.’

  ‘That doesn’t stop them from being a target for their rivals,’ said Colbeck. ‘Did you know that someone has been trying to entice Tim Maguire away from Mr Dowd with an offer of five hundred pounds?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Lord Hendry. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘And did it never occur to you that the reason John Feeny was killed was to throw suspicion onto Hamilton Fido? He resents that.’

  ‘Don’t believe his protestations of innocence. Fido is a two-faced villain of the first water. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s behind the murder and the assault on Odysseus. He’s an appalling fellow. How anyone can have any dealings with him is beyond me.’

  Colbeck was about to tell him that his former mistress did not share his low opinion of Fido but he changed his mind. He felt that it would be too cruel and that the information should not come from him. It would certainly not encourage Lord Hendry to divulge the name that he was after. His only hope was that the young lady would come forward at the prompting of Hamilton Fido. He shifted his interest to another racehorse owner.

  ‘Why do you dislike Brian Dowd so much, Lord Hendry?’

  ‘I don’t dislike him – I hate, detest and revile the man!’

  ‘On what grounds?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘He’s beneath contempt.’

  ‘Yet every racing correspondent describes him as a brilliant trainer. How did he achieve that reputation?’

  ‘By dint of cheating and connivance,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘Dowd can pick out a good horse, I’ll grant him that. But he can also make sure that lesser horses somehow contrive to win races. Exactly how he does it is a mystery to me – but it’s criminal.’

  ‘Has he ever been charged with any offence?’

  ‘I’ve made frequent allegations against him, Inspector, but I’ve been unable to back them up with firm evidence.’

  ‘Evidence should come before any allegation, Lord Hendry.’

  ‘He must be cheating – his horses win too many races.’

  ‘What about the Derby?’

  Lord Hendry was unequivocal. ‘That’s one race he won’t win.’

  ‘Limerick Lad is a fine colt – my sergeant has seen him.’

  ‘But did he time him over the Derby distance, Inspector? I think not. I know exactly how fast the Irish horse can run on that course and it puts him seconds behind Odysseus.’

  ‘I can’t believe that Mr Dowd was kind enough to tell you about Limerick Lad,’ said Colbeck. ‘You must have obtained details about the horse’s speed by underhand means.’

  ‘My trainer likes to weigh up the competition.’

  ‘I’d be interested to hear how he goes about it, Lord Hendry. But I’ve detained you far too long,’ he continued, getting up and reaching for his top hat. ‘I’m sorry that you feel unable to assist us in our enquiries.’

  ‘I have assisted you, Inspector,’ said the older man. ‘I pointed out the two obvious culprits – Brian Dowd and Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘Having met Mr Dowd, I’m inclined to absolve him of the charges you make against him. Mr Fido, however is a different matter. He sails very close to the wind. In fact,’ said Colbeck, ‘I expect to be speaking to him on that very subject in the near future.’

  Sergeant Leeming’s vigil did not last long. Twenty minutes after he had taken up his post in the Lamb and Flag, he saw someone coming out of Scotland Yard and glancing around furtively. When he recognised the man, the shock momentarily took his breath away. It was Detective Constable Peter Cheggin, a friend of the sergeant’s. They had served in uniform together and, since their move to the Detective Department, they had often chatted over a drink in the very public house where Leeming was concealed. As a policeman, Cheggin had always been fearless and reliable. Leeming was distressed to learn that his friend had been corrupted.

  He left the room at speed and raced down the stairs. Opening the front door, he slipped through it and hid in the porch of the neighbouring building. There was no danger of his being seen. Peter Cheggin was too preoccupied with trying to find a cab. When one finally came along Whitehall, he stepped out to flag it down. Leeming was afraid that a second cab would not come in time for him to follow the first but his fears were groundless.

  Cheggin did not climb into the cab. He merely gave something to the driver and issued some instructions. When the driver was paid, he nodded his thanks. Cheggin hastened back to his office. A message was being sent. Leeming knew that he had to intercept it. As the cab set off, therefore, he dashed out into the middle of the road and held up both arms. The driver pulled the horse to a halt and rid himself of a torrent of expletives. His rage turned to meek apology when Leeming identified himself as a detective.

  ‘I want that letter you were just given,’ said Leeming.

  ‘But the gentleman paid me, sir,’ wailed the driver.

  ‘That was Constable Cheggin and he was breaking the law in sending that message. If you deliver it, you’ll be arrested and charged as an accomplice.’

  ‘I did nothing wrong, sir!’

  ‘Then give me the letter and be on your own way.’

  ‘The driver was downcast. ‘Do I have to give the money back as well?’ he asked morosely.

  ‘What money?’ said Leeming, feeling that the driver deserved to keep it. ‘I didn’t see any money being exchange
d between you. All I need is that letter.’

  ‘Then it’s yours.’

  The driver handed over the missive and flicked the reins to set the horse off again. Leeming, meanwhile, glanced at the name and address on the letter. It was being dispatched to Hamilton Fido. The ruse had worked. Anger bubbled inside Leeming. He knew that he should report what he had seen to the superintendent but this was no time to follow instructions. Putting the letter in his pocket, he went after the man who had written it.

  Peter Cheggin was a tall stringy man in his thirties. He was in the office belonging to Robert Colbeck, leafing through the case file that related to the murder investigation. When Leeming walked in, the other man immediately put the file back on the desk and pretended to move a few other items around.

  ‘Hello, Victor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I was told to tidy up in here.’

  ‘Not by Inspector Colbeck – he keeps the place spotless.’

  ‘That’s why there was so little to do.’

  ‘I’m glad I bumped into you, Peter,’ said Leeming. ‘Some mail arrived for you.’ He took out the letter and held it out. ‘A cabman delivered it just this minute.’

  Cheggin turned white. Seeing the letter, he knew at once that he had been caught. He shrugged, gave a strained smile then, without warning, hurled himself at Leeming, intending to push him aside so that he could make his escape. The sergeant was ready for him. Moving swiftly to one side, he grabbed Cheggin by both arms and swung him hard against the wall before using both fists to pummel him. Cheggin fought back and they grappled wildly in the middle of the room. A chair was knocked over, a potted plant was toppled from its perch and all the papers on Colbeck’s desk went flying as the two men flailed about.

  Cheggin had the strength of desperation but Victor Leeming slowly got the upper hand. Subduing an offender was the part of police work that he liked best. Fuelled by resentment and by a sense of betrayal, he shoved, shook, punched, pulled and squeezed hard before using his knee to explore Cheggin’s groin. When the constable doubled up in agony, Leeming took his opportunity to fell him with a swift uppercut. Cheggin collapsed in a heap on the floor and groaned. Breathing hard, Leeming stood over him.