The Iron Horse irc-4

by Edward Marston

  Colbeck thought of all the classical texts in the man’s library.

  ‘It was a Roman death,’ he said. ‘He fell on his sword.’

  It took a long time to calm everyone down and to have the two dead bodies removed by policemen. A pall of sadness now hung over the room. Devastated at the death of her lover, Kitty Lavender was also tortured by the realisation that she was indirectly responsible for it. In becoming, in turn, the mistress of two men, she had ensured a violent end for both of them. She was anguished.

  Colbeck had to be extremely patient with her. Having escorted her to a private room, he waited until the immediate shock had passed. It was followed by a wide-eyed bewilderment.

  ‘Why did George do it?’ she wailed. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think he was pushed to the brink of despair,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘He didn’t have to kill Hamilton.’

  ‘He felt that he did, Miss Lavender.’

  ‘It was madness – George has ruined everything.’

  ‘This crime is rooted firmly in another one,’ said Colbeck quietly, ‘and you are the only person who can help me to solve it. A hatbox bought for you by Lord Hendry was stolen from the Wyvern Hotel. Do you remember that?’

  ‘How could I ever forget, Inspector?’

  ‘You were staying there with Mr Fido at the time.’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘My belief is that the theft was deliberate. There were items of far greater value left in your hotel room but the thief only took the hatbox. Can you follow what I’m saying, Miss Lavender?’

  ‘No,’ she said, tears running freely.

  ‘Someone came to that hotel with the express purpose of stealing your property. No other guest was robbed – only you. The thief must therefore have known where you were and that you would have your hatbox with you.’

  ‘Nobody knew, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Hamilton and I wanted to be alone together. That’s not the kind of thing that I’d advertise.’

  ‘A casual word to a female friend, perhaps?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A hint to someone close to you?’

  ‘I talked to nobody.’

  ‘Then we must be looking for a mind-reader,’ concluded Colbeck. ‘Someone who knew you well enough to guess where you would stay with Mr Hamilton because the Wyvern Hotel might have a particular significance for you.’

  Kitty Lavender almost choked and Colbeck had to support her while she coughed violently. When she had recovered, her face was ashen and she was trembling all over.

  ‘Marcus,’ she said in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Marcus Johnson, my half-brother. I believe you met him.’

  ‘Did you tell him where you’d be staying?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she recalled, ‘but he knew that Hamilton and I were going to spend the night together. He’d introduced us. Without him, I’d never have got to know Hamilton.’

  ‘Was he aware of your relationship with Lord Hendry?’

  ‘Yes – Marcus helped me to escape from it.’

  ‘So he might know where that hatbox came from.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector.’

  ‘And might even have followed you to the hotel.’

  A tremor passed through her. ‘I’ve just remembered something else,’ she said, eyes filling with dread. ‘Hamilton and George both urged me to speak to you but my step-brother stopped me from doing so. Marcus said that I should avoid the police at all costs.’

  ‘Why do you think he told you that?’

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder.’

  ‘It was because he was afraid, Miss Lavender,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was afraid that his name would be mentioned and a new line of inquiry would be opened up. He was not thinking of you – he was protecting himself.’

  ‘If Marcus stole the hatbox…’ her voice trailed away.

  ‘Then he also murdered the lad whose head was put in it.’

  ‘He’d never do anything like that!’ she protested.

  ‘An hour ago you’d have sworn that Lord Hendry would never shoot someone in cold blood then commit suicide. Yet that’s exactly what happened, Miss Lavender. In extreme situations, people will do anything. You say that your half-brother introduced you to Mr Fido?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did it ever cross your mind that he did so on purpose?’

  ‘Not until now,’ she said, reeling from the thought. ‘Marcus said that he had my best interests at heart but, all the time, he was just using me. He wanted someone close to Hamilton so that he was aware of his movements. He even stole my hatbox.’

  ‘I need to speak to Mr Johnson immediately.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you must.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘Marcus went off to see a friend. He didn’t give me his name.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Colbeck. ‘I believe that I know it.’

  The argument took place in an empty stall. Aware that they might be overheard by someone in the yard outside, both men kept their voices down but there was no diminution in their intensity of feeling. Marcus Johnson gesticulated with both hands while Brian Dowd kept his fists bunched as if ready to throw a punch at any moment.

  ‘Give me my money!’ demanded Johnson.

  ‘You’ll not get a penny from me,’ said the other.

  ‘We had an agreement, Brian.’

  ‘The agreement was for you to make sure that Odysseus and Merry Legs didn’t run. I wanted Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido out of the race but not at the cost of killing their horses.’

  ‘I tried to disable them and failed.’

  ‘That didn’t mean you had to cripple one horse and poison another. You went too far, Marcus, and that meant the police were alerted. I don’t hold with harming racehorses. There were easier ways of taking them out of the race. I told you what to do.’

  ‘Your methods didn’t work,’ said Johnson.

  ‘Neither did yours – and that’s why I’m not paying you.’

  ‘I was depending on that money, Brian.’

  ‘Then you should have done as you were told.’

  ‘I used my own initiative. The irony is that you didn’t need to get your rivals out of the race. Limerick Lad beat both of them, as it was. Unfortunately, Aleppo sneaked a win at the post.’

  ‘Years of hard work came to nothing,’ said Dowd sourly. ‘It was the best chance I had to win the Derby and cock a snook at both Fido and Lord Hendry. Instead of which, I get nothing.’

  ‘Limerick Lad was an honourable second.’

  ‘I only settle for first place. I’ve lost thousands on this race.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ said Johnson. ‘After listening to your boasts about how Tim Maguire would ride your horse to victory, I put every penny I had on Limerick Lad winning. In return, I got nothing.’ He took a menacing step forward. ‘So I need the money that was promised to me at the start.’

  ‘I don’t have it,’ said Dowd, ‘and even if I did I wouldn’t give it to you. Get out of here and never let me see your face again.’

  ‘I won’t take orders from you.’

  ‘You’re asking for trouble, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m asking you to remember that we’re in this together,’ said Johnson, voice rising out of control. ‘On your orders, I killed John Feeny. On your orders, I tried to bring his head to you in Ireland. On your orders, I caused mayhem at the stables belonging to Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido. You can’t get rid of me that easily. We’re partners in crime, Brian. We’re accomplices.’

  ‘Not any more!’ said Dowd, flinging himself at Johnson.

  They grappled in the middle of the stall and flailed around in the straw. The fight was short-lived. Before either of them could land a telling blow, the stable door was flung open and Colbeck came in with Leeming at his shoulder. The combatants stood back from each other.

  ‘I’ve never heard such a frank confession before,’ said Colbeck. ‘The sergeant and I are very
grateful to Mr Johnson for clarifying the details. We were standing outside while he did so. There’s one more crime to add to the list,’ he added, waving a letter in the air. ‘I’m talking about the theft of a painting from Lord Hendry’s house.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me,’ protested Dowd.

  ‘I’m not accusing you, sir. Mr Johnson is the culprit. This letter was found in Lord Hendry’s pocket. It gives instructions about where he can leave £3000 to buy the portrait back. That money will never be paid or collected. Lord Hendry is dead.’

  Johnson and Dowd traded a look of utter amazement.

  ‘He committed suicide,’ explained Leeming, ‘immediately after he had shot Hamilton Fido. Both of your rivals have perished, Mr Dowd.’

  ‘Is this true?’ gasped the Irishman.

  ‘We were witnesses to the shooting, sir.’

  ‘When I searched Lord Hendry’s pockets,’ said Colbeck, ‘I found this second demand. I showed it to your half-sister, Mr Johnson, and she was kind enough to identify the handwriting as yours.’

  ‘Kitty must be mistaken,’ said Johnson.

  ‘No, sir – she won’t ever make a mistake about you again. Now that she sees you in your true light, she knows you for what you are.’

  ‘Brian is to blame – he put me up to it.’

  ‘Shut your bleeding gob!’ yelled Dowd.

  Johnson laughed. ‘Compliments pass when the quality meet.’

  ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘You are just as guilty, Mr Dowd,’ said Colbeck. ‘This whole business sprang out of your hatred of John Feeny. You never forgave him for standing up to you. When you heard that he was working at the stables owned by Hamilton Fido, you saw a chance to get your revenge on the lad and cause some embarrassment for one of your rivals at the same time. It was a clever ruse.’

  ‘Getting that hatbox delivered to you,’ said Leeming, ‘made it seem as if you were the victim and not the man who instigated the crime in the first place. You fooled us at first. What let you down was that you tried to do it again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘When I discovered that you had forged the letter supposedly sent to your jockey, I became very suspicious. I was convinced that you lied to me about John Feeny.’

  ‘Feeny was a vile little bugger!’ roared Dowd. ‘When I threw him out of my stables, he went round telling everyone that I was a cheat and a bully. If he hadn’t fled to England, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands.’

  ‘So you had no compunction about ordering his murder?’

  ‘None at all, Inspector – it was what he deserved.’

  ‘The severed head was my suggestion,’ said Johnson airily. ‘I thought it would add a suitably macabre touch. When Kitty told me about the hatbox that Lord Hendry had bought her, I couldn’t resist stealing it. At one brilliant stroke, I linked Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido with the death of Brian’s former groom. There was an almost poetic roundness to it all.’

  ‘It’s not one that I appreciate, sir,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Nor me,’ added Colbeck. ‘Let’s take these gentlemen into custody, Victor. I’m sure that Superintendent Tallis will be delighted to meet both of them – on their way to the gallows.’

  Leeming produced a pair of handcuffs to put on Dowd but the Irishman tried to buffet him aside and escape. The sergeant had arrested far too many men to be brushed aside. Sticking out a leg, he tripped Dowd up then sat astride him and pulled his arms behind him so that he could put on the handcuffs. He then got up, grabbed the prisoner by the collar of his frock coat and hoisted him to his feet. Dowd was still swearing violently as he was pushed unceremoniously out of the stall. Colbeck was left alone with Marcus Johnson.

  ‘You seem remarkably unperturbed, sir,’ said Colbeck, taking out a pair of handcuffs.

  ‘I backed the wrong horse in every sense, Inspector.’

  ‘How did you get involved with Brian Dowd?’

  ‘I spent some months in Ireland,’ replied Johnson, ‘sponging off friends. I met Brian at a race meeting there and we hit it off at once. I admired his determination to win the Derby at all costs and he was grateful to meet someone who would do anything for money and, moreover, do it in great style.’

  ‘There’s nothing stylish about murdering an innocent lad.’

  Johnson brayed. ‘You were not there at the time.’

  ‘You won’t laugh quite so loud on the scaffold,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Turn around, please, and put your hands behind your back.’

  ‘Your wish is my command, Inspector.’

  Johnson turned round obligingly but, instead of putting his hands behind his back, he pulled out a small pistol from under his coat and swung round to point the weapon at Colbeck.

  ‘The tables are turned,’ he said, grinning in triumph.

  ‘I dispute that,’ said Colbeck, showing no fear. ‘As well as Sergeant Leeming, there are four uniformed policemen outside. You can’t kill six of us with one bullet, Mr Johnson.’

  ‘I won’t need to kill anybody now that I have a hostage. You are my passport out of here, Inspector. Nobody would dare to stop me when I’m holding a gun to the head of the much-vaunted Railway Detective. And the beauty of it is,’ he went on, ‘that you’ll be wearing your own handcuffs.’ He levelled the pistol at Colbeck’s head and his voice became a snarl. ‘Give them to me and turn round.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘And no tricks.’

  ‘You have the advantage over me, Mr Johnson.’

  ‘I’m glad that you appreciate that.’

  Colbeck held out the handcuffs but, when Johnson tried to take them, they were suddenly thrown into his face. In the momentary distraction, Colbeck grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the weapon and forced it upwards. The pistol went off with a loud bang and the bullet embedded itself harmlessly in a wooden beam. Colbeck, meanwhile, was hurling Johnson against the wall to make him drop the weapon. He then hit him with a succession of punches to the face and body. Johnson put his arms up to defend himself but the attack was far too strong. A vicious right hook finally sent him to the floor. Blood streaming from his nose, Johnson lay huddled in the straw.

  Having heard the shot, Leeming came running back to the stall.

  ‘What happened, Inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘he decided to resist arrest.’

  It was dark by the time their train steamed into the station. Robert Colbeck first supervised the transfer of the two prisoners into custody before taking Madeleine Andrews home in a cab. An eventful day was finally drawing to an end.

  ‘Thank you, Robert,’ she said. ‘It was a marvellous experience!’

  ‘That’s what I felt when I arrested Marcus Johnson.’

  ‘I’m sorry that you weren’t able to enjoy the Derby itself.’

  ‘But I was,’ said Colbeck. ‘Once I knew that I’d be speaking to Kitty Lavender after the race, I could watch it without any distraction. I was as enthralled as you, Madeleine – enthralled but disappointed.’

  ‘How could you be disappointed with such an exciting race?’

  ‘I bet on Merry Legs,’ he confessed.

  She giggled. ‘You should have followed Father’s advice.’

  ‘I’m sure that Mr Andrews will point that out to me.’

  ‘Time and time again.’

  They snuggled against each other in the cab and watched the gas lamps shoot past on both sides of the street. It had been a most satisfying Derby Day. Madeleine had been able to wallow in the multiple pleasures of the occasion and Colbeck had solved a whole series of related crimes. Though it had given intense delight to untold thousands, the Derby had also claimed its victims. Hamilton Fido had been shot dead and his killer had taken his own life. Colbeck had little sympathy for the bookmaker but he felt sorry for Lord Hendry.

  ‘He could simply not face it,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lord Hendry,’ he explained. ‘He gambled and lost. He co
uld simply not face turning up at Tattersalls on Monday and admitting that he was unable to settle his debts. The ignominy was too much for him. At least, that’s what I assumed at first.’

  ‘What other explanation is there?’

  ‘He’d been challenged to a duel by Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘A duel?’

  ‘It was another instance of Marcus Johnson’s cunning,’ said Colbeck. ‘It seems that Lord Hendry struck out at Kitty Lavender with his cane. She confided in her half-brother but asked him to say nothing about it. What do you imagine he did?’

  ‘He went straight to Mr Fido.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘He knew that he could provoke a duel between the two men he was being paid to incommode by Brian Dowd. Had the duel taken place before the Derby, the likelihood is that one of the horses would have been withdrawn from the race out of respect to its dead owner – Lord Hendry, most probably.’

  ‘Marcus Johnson was malevolent.’

  ‘His half-sister realises that now. Miss Lavender thought him a lovable rogue but he was far more sinister than that. He also had a weird sense of humour. Do you remember the name on that hatbox?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Madeleine. ‘It was Mr D Key, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Kitty Lavender told me why he chose it. In his younger days, her half-brother had a nickname. Because of his long face, prominent teeth and braying laugh, he was known as Donkey Johnson.’

  ‘So D Key stood for Donkey.’

  ‘When he put that severed head in the hatbox,’ said Colbeck, ‘he thought he was starting a process that would help Limerick Lad to win the Derby. It would turn Brian Dowd into an apparent victim and send us after his two deadly rivals. In short, an Irish horse would owe its success in the most famous race in the world to a donkey. That was Johnson’s idea of a joke. When I pointed that out to Mr Tallis,’ he went on, ‘he was far from amused.’

  ‘Is he going to pay your expenses now?’

  ‘Yes – he finally agreed that my visit to Dublin was necessary.’

  ‘He must be thrilled with what happened today,’ she said. ‘You solved the murder and made two arrests. Superintendent Tallis ought to be eternally grateful to you and Sergeant Leeming.’