'No, of course not.'
'But how are you? I've been meaning to call in.'
'I'm fine,' said Winifred. 'Well, as fine as I'll ever be, I suppose.'
'What about Emily?'
'She's still the same, I'm afraid. Emily seems to be lost in a bad dream most of the time. I just can't reach her, Gregory.'
'Things will improve soon.'
'Will they?' she asked with a hint of despair. 'There's been no sign of it so far. Emily can go a whole day without even speaking.'
Newman glanced at his wife to show that he had experienced the same problem many times. Win marvelled at the patience he always showed. She had never known him complain about the fact that he had to care for a woman whose mind was crumbling as fast as her body. His example gave Win the courage to face her own domestic difficulties.
'Did an Inspector Colbeck come to see you, Gregory?'
'Yes,' he said with a grin. 'We had a nice, long chat that kept me out of that madhouse of a boiler room for a while. I took him for a shrewd man though he was far too smartly dressed for a town like Ashford.'
'I talked to him as well. Adam refused.'
'That was silly of him.'
'He hates policemen.'
'I don't admire them either,' confessed Newman, 'but I'm ready to accept their help when it's offered. We know that Nathan didn't commit that murder but we still haven't managed to find out who did. I reckon that this Inspector Colbeck might do the job for us. I'll speak to Adam and tell him to talk to the Inspector.'
'I can't promise it will do any good.'
'How is he?'
'Still hurting like the rest of us,' said Winifred, 'but he wants to hurt someone back. It doesn't matter who it is to him. Adam just wants to strike out.'
'Are you still having trouble at the shop?'
'Our custom is slowly drying up. Mr Hockaday won't supply us with meat any more and Bybrook Farm turned us down as well.'
'Bybrook!' he said, angrily. 'That's unforgivable.'
'No, Gregory. It's only natural.'
'Nathan was not guilty of that murder.'
'He was hanged for it – that's enough for them.'
'Let me go to Bybrook Farm and have a word.'
'There's no point.'
'There's every point, Win. You've been buying their meat and poultry for years. It's high time someone told them about loyalty.'
'It's good of you to offer,' she said, reaching up to squeeze his arm, 'but you can't fight all our battles for us. You've done more than enough as it is and we can never repay you.'
'I don't look for repayment. I simply want to see some justice in this world. Think of all the money that Nathan paid to Bybrook Farm over the years – and to Silas Hockaday. They ought to be ashamed.'
'You'd better go. I don't want to make you late for work.'
'We must talk more another time.'
'I'd like that, Gregory.'
'And so would I.' He turned to his wife. 'Wouldn't I, Meg?' She continued to stare unseeingly in front of her. 'One of her bad days, I'm afraid. Meg will be better next time we meet.'
'I'm sure.' She raised her voice. 'Goodbye, Meg.'
'Goodbye, Win,' he said, clicking his tongue make the horse move off again. 'And I won't forget to speak to Adam. He listens to me.'
'Sometimes.'
'He's the man of the house now. He's got responsibilities.'
'Yes,' she murmured, 'that's the trouble.'
After watching the cart rattle on up the high street, she went back to Middle Row in time to find her stepson trying to chalk up some information on the board outside the shop. He wrote in large, laborious capitals.
'Good morning, Adam,' she said. 'You're up early.'
He smirked. 'I didn't sleep at all last night.'
'When was the body actually discovered?' asked Inspector Colbeck.
'First thing this morning,' replied Lugg.
'Why was there such a delay?'
'It was the last train from Paddock Wood and it stayed here all night. When it was due to leave this morning, someone tried to get into this carriage and found the chaplain.'
'Didn't anyone check that the carriages were empty last night?'
'The guard swears that he walked the length of the train and looked through all the windows but, of course, he couldn't see anyone lying on the floor now, could he?'
Colbeck was pleased to encounter Sergeant Obadiah Lugg again but he wished that it could have been in more propitious circumstances. After taking a train from Ashford, the two detectives had changed at Paddock Wood so that they could travel on the Maidstone line. News of the crime had spread quickly through the town and a crowd had gathered at the station to watch developments. Colbeck was relieved to see that Lugg had deployed his men to keep the inquisitive and the purely ghoulish at bay while the Inspector went about his work.
The scene that confronted him was very similar to the one he had found at Twyford, except that the wider gauge of the Great Western Railway had allowed for a carriage with more generous proportions. The prison chaplain was lying on his back, his mouth agape, his eyes wide open as if straining to leave their sockets. Rigor mortis had set in, turning the face into a marble carving of pain. Above his clerical collar was a dark red circle of dried blood. When he knelt to examine the wound, Colbeck saw that something very sharp and unyielding had cut deep into the neck of Reverend Narcissus Jones.
There were signs of a struggle – the victim's clothing was in disarray, his hair was unkempt, the padding on one seat had been badly torn – but it was one that the chaplain had clearly lost. Underneath his head was his Bible, acting as a spiritual pillow. On the floor near his hand was a small button that did not belong to the victim. Colbeck picked it up and saw the strands of cotton hanging from it.
'He managed to tear this from his attacker by getting a hand behind him,' said Colbeck. He indicated the gash in the padding. 'That could well have been caused by the heel of his shoe when he was threshing about.'
'The chaplain wouldn't give up without a fight, Inspector.'
'Unfortunately, he was caught off guard.'
'How?' said Lugg. 'If there are only two of you in a carriage, it's hard for one man to surprise the other.'
'Not if a third person distracts the victim.'
'A third person?'
'A woman, for instance,' explained Colbeck. 'When I spoke to the stationmaster at Paddock Wood, he remembers a woman on the platform though he didn't see her board the train.'
'Very few women travel alone at that time of the evening.'
'Exactly. That's why this one interests me.'
'I've talked to our own stationmaster,' said Lugg, keen to show that he had not been idle, 'and he recalls that the train was two-thirds empty when it reached Maidstone. Albert knew most of them by name because he's been here for years. No stranger got off that train, he swears to that. Only regular travellers on the line.'
'The killer and his accomplice – if there was one, that is – would never have stayed on the train until it reached here. My guess is that the murder took place shortly after they left Paddock Wood because the killer could not take the risk that someone might get into the same carriage when they stopped at Yalding.'
'In that case,' concluded Lugg, 'he must have strangled the chaplain to death then made his escape at the station.'
'No, Sergeant.'
'Why not?'
'Because someone might have seen him getting off the train,' said Colbeck. 'And if, as I believe, there was a woman with him, they would surely have been noticed by the railway staff.'
Lugg was baffled. 'Then where and how did they get off, sir?'
'I can't give you a precise location but it's somewhere the other side of Yalding. The train slows down well short of the station and there's a grassy bank that runs along the side of the line.'
'You think that the killer jumped off?'
'That's what I'd have done in his place, wouldn't you?'
'Wel
l, yes,' said Lugg, wrinkling his brow in concentration. 'I suppose that I would, sir. Except that I'm a bit old for anything as daring as leaping out of a moving train.'
'Approaching the station, it only goes at a snail's pace but it would still take some agility to get off. That tells us something about the killer.'
'What about this woman you mentioned?'
'She, too, must be quite athletic.'
'Younger people, then?'
'We'll see, Sergeant, we'll see.'
'Two people, leaping from the train,' said Lugg, rubbing his chin as he meditated. 'Surely, some of the other passengers would have spotted them doing that.'
'Only if they happened to be looking out of the window at the time. This, as you can see, is near the end of the train. There are only two carriages and a guard's van behind it. Naturally,' he went on, 'we'll speak to all the passengers who were on that train last night but, since there were so few of them, I doubt that we'll find a witness.'
'No, Inspector. If someone had seen people hopping off the train, they'd have reported it by now. The killer obviously chose the point to jump off very carefully.'
'Someone who knows this line well.'
Colbeck continued with his meticulous examination of the body and the carriage while Lugg looked on with fascination. After searching the dead man's pockets, Colbeck lifted the head so that he could slip the Bible out from under it. He opened it at the page with the marker in it and read the text.
'Amazing how his head came to rest on that, isn't it?' said Lugg with his characteristic chuckle. 'Almost as if God's hand was at work.'
'It was the killer's hand, Sergeant,' announced Colbeck. 'He put the Bible there deliberately so that he could leave us this message.'
'Message?'
'St Paul's Epistle to the Romans – chapter 12. He's Crossed out verse 19 in order to make his point.'
'And what's that?'
'Something that every Christian knows – Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' He closed the Bible and put it aside. 'It seems as if someone is determined to do the Lord's work for Him.'
Victor Leeming had been efficient. having taken statements from the guard and the stationmaster, he had located a handful of passengers who had travelled on the train the previous evening and spoken to them as well. When he saw Colbeck coming down the platform towards him with Sergeant Lugg, he went swiftly forward to meet the Inspector.
'One of the managers of the South Eastern Railway is here, sir,' He said. 'He wants to know when the service can be resumed – so do all the people you see queuing outside the ticket office.'
'As soon as the body is removed,' said Colbeck, 'the train is all theirs, but I'd recommend that they detach that particular carriage. nobody will want to travel in it now, anyway. Can you pass that on, Sergeant Lugg?'
'Yes, Inspector,' replied Lugg, 'and I've got men standing by with a stretcher – and with a blanket. The chaplain deserves to be covered when we carry him past that mob. I'm not having them goggling at Mr Jones. It's indecent.'
'Well, Victor,' said Colbeck as the policeman waddled off, 'have you discovered anything of value?'
'Not really, sir.'
'I thought not.'
'It was getting dark by the time that the train reached Maidstone last night so the guard couldn't see much when he glanced in through the windows. To be honest,' he added, 'I doubt if he even looked. He was too anxious to get home to his supper.'
'What about the stationmaster? Albert someone, I gather.'
'Albert Scranton, crusty old soul. He recognised all the people who got off that train and said that everything looked perfectly normal. He wonders if the murder could have happened during the night.'
'While the train was out of commission?'
'Yes, Inspector – after he'd closed the station.'
'And how did the chaplain come to be in the railway carriage of a train that wasn't going anywhere?'
'That's what I asked him,' said Leeming. 'Mr Scranton reckoned that he could have been tricked into meeting someone here.'
'Impossible,' said Colbeck, dismissing the notion at once. 'There was a ticket in the dead man's pocket showing that he was travelling from Paddock Wood to Maidstone. Since he didn't get off here, he must have been killed during the journey.'
'So where did the murderer get off?'
'Somewhere on the other side of Yalding station.'
Leeming blinked. 'While the train was still moving?'
'Yes, Victor. It's only three miles or so between Paddock Wood and Yalding. The chaplain must have been dispatched shortly after the train left so that the pair of them had time to make their escape.'
'The pair of them?'
'I'm fairly certain that he had an accomplice.'
'You mean that woman?'
'Let's be off,' said Colbeck, using a hand to ease him into a walk. 'I'll give you all the details on the way there.'
'Where are we going, sir?'
'To prison, Victor.'
Henry Ferriday was more apprehensive than ever. Unable to sit still, he paced nervously up and down his office in the vain hope that movement would ease the tension that he felt. A rap on the door startled him and he called for the visitor to identify himself before he allowed him in. It was one of the men on duty at the prison gate, bringing news that two detectives from Scotland Yard were waiting to see him. Minutes later, Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming were escorted to the governor's office. When the Sergeant was introduced to Ferriday, he was given a clammy handshake. All three men sat down.
'This is an appalling business,' said Ferriday, still reeling from the shock. 'Quite appalling.'
'You have my deepest sympathy,' said Colbeck, softly. 'I know how much you relied on the chaplain.'
'Narcissus was vital to the running of this prison, Inspector. He exerted such influence over the inmates. I don't know how we'll manage without him. He's irreplaceable.'
'Is it true that he had a death threat some weeks ago?' Ferriday was taken aback. 'How on earth do you know that?'
'That's immaterial. It was in connection with the execution of Nathan Hawkshaw, wasn't it?'
'Yes, it was.'
'Did you happen to see the note?'
'Of course. Narcissus and I had no secrets between us.'
'Can you recall what it said?'
'Very little, Inspector. Something to the effect of "We'll kill you for this, you Welsh bastard" – only the spelling was dreadful. It was clearly written by an ignorant man.'
'Ignorant men can still nurture a passion for revenge.'
'Did you take the threat seriously?' asked Leeming.
'Yes, Sergeant.'
'And what about the chaplain?'
'Narcissus shrugged it off,' said Ferriday, 'and threw the note away. He refused to be frightened by anything. That was his downfall.'
'Did he take no precautions outside the prison?' said Colbeck.
'He didn't need to, Inspector. Well, you've met him. He was a big man, strong enough to look after himself. And having worked with villains for so long, he had a second sense where danger was concerned.'
'Not in this case,' observed Leeming.
'Do we have any idea what actually happened?' said Ferriday, looking from one to the other. 'All I know is that his body was discovered in a railway carriage this morning. How was he murdered?'
Colbeck gave him a brief account of his examination of the murder scene and told him that the body had now been removed from the train. The governor flinched when he heard about the Bible being placed under the head of the dead man and the verse that had been picked out.
'What kind of vile heathen are we dealing with here?' he shouted.
'A very clever one,' admitted Colbeck. 'This is the second murder that he's committed on a train and he's escaped on both occasions.'
'He must be caught, Inspector!'
'He will be.'
'This is one execution in which I'll take some pleasure,' said the governor, bunc
hing his fists. 'He deserves to hang until every last breath is squeezed out of his miserable body.' He collected himself. 'Narcissus Jones was a great man. The whole prison will mourn him. It's not given to many chaplains to possess such extraordinary gifts.'
'He was a striking individual,' agreed Colbeck.
The governor looked over his shoulder. 'This prison is a sewer,' he said, contemptuously. 'We have the scum of the earth in here.'
'There's no need to tell us that,' said Leeming with a dry laugh. 'Our job is to catch the devils and send them on to places like this.'
'Most of them sneer at authority and go straight back to a life of crime as soon as we let them out. At least,' Ferriday went on, 'that's what used to happen until Narcissus Jones was appointed here. He gave the men a sense of hope and self-respect. He improved them as human beings. That's what made him so popular among the men.'
Colbeck had doubts on that score. 'I take it that the chaplain had a room at the prison?' he said.
'Yes, Inspector. He more or less lived within these walls.'
'But he did venture out?'
'From time to time.'
'What we need to establish is how the killer knew that he would be travelling on that train from Paddock Wood.'
'I can tell you that,' said Ferriday. 'The chaplain was much in demand as a speaker at churches and Christian gatherings. Most of the invitations he received had, of necessity, to be turned down because of his commitments here but he did like to give a talk or take a service somewhere once or twice a month.'
'Events that would have been advertised in a parish magazine.'
'And in the local newspapers, Inspector Colbeck. Our chaplain was a man of some renown. If you go to the church in Paddock Wood where he spoke yesterday, I daresay you'll find that they had a board outside for weeks in advance with details of his talk. It was St Peter's, by the way,' he added. 'They'll be horrified to hear the news.'
'So will everyone else,' said Leeming. 'Killing a man of the cloth is about as low as you can sink. I mean, it's sacrosanct.'
'Sacrilege,' corrected Colbeck, gently.
'I call it diabolical,' said Ferriday.
While they were talking a distant noise had begun inside the prison, slowly building until it became audible enough for them to become aware of it. All three of them looked at the window. The sound got progressively louder, spreading swiftly from wing to wing of the establishment with gathering force. Raised voices could be heard but the dominating note had a metallic quality to it as if a large number of inmates were using implements to beat on the bars of their cells in celebration. In its menacing rhythm, a concerted message was being sent to the governor by the only means at the prisoners' disposal. As the noise rose to a climax, Leeming looked across at the governor.
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