‘And I represent the South Devon Railway. We want this crime solved.’
‘Then let us get on with solving it.’
‘With all due respect,’ said Quinnell with disdain, ‘it’s way beyond the competence of your force.’
‘I dispute that, sir.’
‘I showed initiative and made contact with Scotland Yard.’
‘It was an insult to me and I am bound to say that I resent it bitterly.’
‘We need the best man for the job.’
‘The murder occurred on our territory and it’s our job to investigate it.’
Unaware of Woodford, they continued to bicker. Gervase Quinnell was the managing director of the South Devon Railway, a plump, pompous man in his fifties, with bulging eyes and mutton chop whiskers peppered with grey. Superintendent David Steel, by contrast, tall and square-shouldered, cut a fine figure in his police uniform. His handsome face was puckered by barely concealed rage. Appointed when he was in his late twenties, he’d run the Exeter police force for a decade and felt that his sterling work deserved more recognition.
‘Inspector Colbeck is the person to take on this case,’ said Quinnell, briskly. ‘He comes with the highest credentials.’
‘There’s no need for him to come at all,’ argued Steel. ‘May I remind you that I, too, served in the Metropolitan Police Force before I came to Devon? When I left to take up a post in Barnstaple, I did so with glowing testimonials.’
‘You do not have Colbeck’s expertise with regard to railways.’
‘Murder is murder, regardless of who the victim might be.’
‘Success is success. That’s why he’s on his way here.’
‘You might have had the courtesy to discuss it with me beforehand.’
‘I’m discussing it with you now, Superintendent,’ said Quinnell, airily. ‘You’re not being excluded from the investigation. You’re simply being demoted to a supportive role. Look and learn, man. Inspector Colbeck can teach you a lot.’
‘But he knows nothing at all about Exeter.’
‘In that case, he’ll turn to you for assistance.’
‘What if the dead man is not the stationmaster, after all?’
Quinnell was testy. ‘It has to be him. There’s no question of that. How else do you explain his disappearance?’
‘When we sought his next of kin, Mr Heygate’s brother was unable to identify him with any confidence. He’d only say that the corpse might be him.’
‘The circumstantial evidence points unmistakably to Heygate. Since he was a model employee of ours, I’m taking a personal interest in the case.’ He inflated his chest and put thumbs inside his waistcoat. ‘I care for the men who work on my railway.’
‘Then why don’t you pay them a decent wage?’ retorted Steel. ‘If the porters got enough to live on, they wouldn’t have to work part-time for me on night patrol.’
Quinnell was scandalised. He was just about to issue a sharp rebuke when he became aware of Woodford, standing self-consciously in the open doorway and listening to the heated exchange. Steel also noticed the new stationmaster for the first time. He treated him to a long and hostile glare.
‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘what do you want?’
Woodford cleared his throat. ‘It’s about the canary …’
When they caught the train in London, Colbeck was in his element. Rail journeys were a constant source of pleasure to him because there was so much of interest to see out of the window. Leeming, on the other hand, disliked the noise, the rattle and the sense of imprisonment he always felt on a train. Though they would be travelling first class for most of the way on the broad gauge of the Great Western Railway, the sergeant was not appeased. Uppermost in his mind was the fact that Exeter was the best part of two hundred miles from the wife and children he adored. Murder cases took time. It might be weeks before he saw them again.
Until they reached Chippenham, the compartment was too full to permit a proper conversation. It suddenly emptied at the Wiltshire station, allowing them to set off on the next stage alone. Colbeck tried to cheer his companion up.
‘What did you do yesterday, Victor?’
Leeming was surly. ‘I can’t remember. It seems like an age ago.’
‘Didn’t you celebrate Guy Fawkes Day with the children?’
‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that.’
‘Did you have a bonfire?’
‘Yes,’ said the other, rallying. ‘I’d been building it all week. I made them a guy as well. It looked a bit like Superintendent Tallis, now I come to think of it.’
Colbeck laughed. ‘Did it have a cigar in its mouth?’
‘Yes, it did — a big one. I carved it out of a piece of wood. The children loved it when the guy caught fire. They danced around it and so did Estelle.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I’m going to miss them, Inspector.’
‘It’s an occupational risk, I’m afraid.’
‘My wife has still never got used to it. What about yours, sir?’
‘I’m not actually married yet,’ corrected Colbeck, ‘but Madeleine has known me long enough to realise that there’ll be sudden absences on my part. Fortunately, it’s a price she’s prepared to pay.’
‘At least she understands what you do. I tell Estelle very little of what we get up to. It would worry her sick if she knew the kinds of dangers we face — best to keep her ignorant.’
‘I can’t do that with Madeleine because she’s actually been involved in some of our assignments. She knows the hazards that confront us.’
‘What if the superintendent finds out that she’s helped us in the past?’
‘I’ll take great care to ensure that he doesn’t find out, Victor. You know his opinion of women. He scorns the whole sex. Mr Tallis would never admit that there are times in an investigation when female assistance is vital. We’ve seen it happen with our own eyes.’
The detectives had first met Madeleine Andrews when her father was badly injured during the robbery of the train that he was driving. What had begun for Colbeck as a chance meeting had developed into a close friendship, then slowly evanesced into a loving partnership. Madeleine had been able to offer crucial help during a number of cases and it had drawn them even closer together.
‘Did you send Miss Andrews a note before we left?’ asked Leeming.
‘It was rather more than a note.’
‘She’ll be upset that you’re going away when the wedding is in sight.’
‘That’s unavoidable,’ said Colbeck, flicking a speck of dirt from the arm of his coat. ‘Madeleine will be too busy to pine, however. She has work of her own to keep her busy and, now that her father has retired, she has company throughout the day. Time will pass quickly.’
‘It seems to be dragging at the moment,’ muttered Leeming.
‘Address your mind to the case in hand.’
Leeming obeyed and sat up. ‘What do you think we’ll find in Exeter?’
‘I daresay we’ll find a lot of commotion. A stationmaster is an important figure in a city like that. His death will have shocked everyone. The other thing we’ll find, of course, is an unwelcoming police force. They’ll object strongly to our barging in on their murder — and rightly so. We’ll have to win them over.’ He winked at Leeming. ‘I’ll leave you to do that, Victor.’
‘My ugly mug will never win friends, sir.’
‘It won the hand of a lovely young woman.’
Leeming smiled nostalgically. ‘That was different.’
‘I think you’re unaware of your charms,’ teased Colbeck.
‘I know what I see when I look in the mirror to shave every morning.’
The sergeant had no illusions about his appearance. He was a sturdy, bull-necked man with the kind of unprepossessing features more suited to a desperate criminal. Though wearing much the same attire as Colbeck, he somehow looked scruffy and disreputable. Beside the inspector, most men would be outshone. He was tall, slim and elegant with exaggerated good looks and a stylishnes
s that marked him out as the dandy of Scotland Yard. He might have been a minor aristocrat sharing a compartment with a bare-knuckle boxer who’d mistaken it for third class.
‘There is something else we can expect,’ predicted Colbeck.
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘We’ll get interference from the Church.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The bonfire was held in the cathedral close, Victor. A cathedral presupposes a bishop. He’ll be mortified that a heinous crime was committed on his doorstep, so to speak. As well as a grudging police force, we’ll be up against an angry bishop who’ll be barking at our heels throughout.’ An image formed in his mind. ‘Try to imagine Superintendent Tallis in a cope and mitre.’
Leeming gurgled.
As soon as the telegraph was received at Torquay railway station, it was sent to the bishop’s palace. Henry Phillpotts was taking tea with his wife and secretary when the telegraph was handed to him. When he read it, he spluttered.
‘What’s wrong, Henry?’ asked his wife.
‘Was there trouble at the bonfire celebrations?’ guessed Barnes.
‘Trouble!’ echoed the bishop. ‘I’ll say there was trouble. Foul murder was committed. The body of the stationmaster was found among the embers.’
‘That’s dreadful!’ said his wife, bringing both hands to her face.
‘It’s an unforgivable stain on the cathedral close, my dear. How dare someone abuse our hospitality in that way! It’s a desecration. And there’s another thing,’ he said, handing the telegraph to his secretary. ‘Why wasn’t I told earlier? Why did Mr Quinnell wait until late afternoon before having the grace to apprise me of these distressing details? He should have been in touch at once. So should the police and so — I regret to say — should someone at the cathedral. Heads need to be knocked together over this outrage.’
‘Calm down, Henry,’ advised his wife.
‘There’ll be dire repercussions. We must return to Exeter immediately.’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘Yes, my dear, it is.’
‘But I do so love having you here.’
Deborah Phillpotts was a gracious lady in her seventies with a poise and refinement that belied the fact that she’d borne eighteen children. She’d married Phillpotts when he was vicar of a parish in County Durham. It was not long before he was appointed chaplain to the bishop and she knew that he was destined for higher things. Married for over half a century, she’d been a devoted wife and mother, supporting her husband at all times and enjoying the fruits of his success. Belonging as they did to the clerical aristocracy, they lived in a style comparable to that of the Devonshire nobility. It gave both of them a patrician air.
Having read it, Ralph Barnes passed the telegraph back to the bishop.
‘Heygate was a decent fellow,’ he said. ‘I liked him. When his wife and child were killed in an accident, he coped with the situation bravely. In some ways, I suppose it’s a relief that they’re not alive to suffer this terrible blow.’
‘I’m more concerned about the terrible blow to us, Ralph,’ said Phillpotts. ‘It’s deliberate. He was killed outside the cathedral for the express purpose of defiling consecrated ground and taunting me.’
‘I’m not sure that you should take this too personally, Bishop.’
‘How else can I take it?’
‘We need to know more details of the case. All that the telegraph gives us are the bare bones, as it were. What have the police discovered and who is this Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard?’
‘I don’t know and I’m not sure that I want someone from London coming to lead the investigation. This is a local matter that must be sorted out promptly by local means. We don’t want news of this horrendous crime to be disseminated throughout the whole country.’ He rose to his feet. ‘If only we had a police superintendent in whom I could place more trust.’
‘I thought that the fellow had been doing quite well,’ remarked his wife.
‘He has,’ agreed Barnes. ‘Superintendent Steel has made the most of limited resources and achieved a degree of success.’
‘Then why is Exeter such an unruly city?’ challenged Phillpotts.
‘It’s no worse than many cities of an equivalent size.’
‘It feels worse, Ralph. We have too many ruffians stalking the streets.’
‘And too ready a supply of beer to stir them up.’
Phillpotts flicked a dismissive hand. ‘That’s a separate issue. What concerns me about Steel is that he’s not a true gentleman.’
‘It’s difficult to remain gentlemanly when dealing with the scum of society.’
‘You know what I mean, Ralph — he doesn’t show me due deference.’
‘That is reprehensible,’ Deborah put in.
‘However,’ said Phillpotts, ‘he’s responsible for law and order. It’s down to him to solve this murder.’ He waved the telegraph in the air. ‘Then we can send this Inspector Colbeck back to London where he belongs.’
The first thing that the detectives saw when they alighted at their destination was an attractive young woman walking along the platform with a birdcage covered by a cloth. From inside the cage, a canary was chirping. Their attention was immediately diverted by the sight of a portly man, bearing down upon them with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. While he was pleased that the men he assumed were Scotland Yard detectives had finally arrived, Gervase Quinnell was not reassured by their appearance. One of them was far too polished and urbane while the other looked as if he should be wearing a collar and chain like a performing bear.
‘You must be Mr Quinnell,’ said Colbeck, offering his hand.
‘I am indeed,’ replied the other, receiving a firm handshake. ‘Your telegraph warned me that you’d arrive on this train.’
Colbeck introduced Leeming, who was busy stretching his limbs after the long journey. The sergeant looked around and blinked.
‘There’s only one platform.’
‘It’s long enough to cope with the demands put upon it, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘Careful timetabling is the answer, as Mr Quinnell will attest.’
‘Exeter St David’s is one of our most well-organised stations,’ boasted Quinnell, taking his cue. ‘Until yesterday, it was blessed in having a stationmaster of outstanding ability. However,’ he added, ‘this is not the place to discuss the matter. Since you may be here for some time, I’d like to offer you hospitality in my own home in Starcross. It’s only six miles or so away. I can supply you with all of the relevant details on our way there.’
‘Thank you for your kind invitation,’ said Colbeck, ‘but we have to decline it. Much as I’d like to see Starcross because of its association with the atmospheric railway, I think it would be more sensible for us to stay in the city near the scene of the crime.’
It was not the only reason that Colbeck had rejected the offer. One minute in Quinnell’s company told him that they were dealing with a conceited and overbearing man who’d be forever looking over their shoulder. Freedom of action was imperative. They would not get that if they were under Quinnell’s roof, and the journey to and from Starcross every day would be tiresome.
‘Very well,’ said Quinnell, clearly offended, ‘you must do as you think fit.’
‘The first thing we need to do is to make contact with the superintendent of your police force,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s a basic courtesy. Also, of course, we need his cooperation. Local knowledge is indispensable and it’s something we lack at the moment. Might we know his name?’
‘It’s Steel,’ replied the other through gritted teeth, ‘Superintendent Steel.’
‘That’s a good name for a policeman,’ noted Leeming.
‘He can be awkward at times and very stubborn. For instance, he’s still claiming that the victim may not be Joel Heygate when everyone else knows that it must be.’
‘He’s simply keeping an open mind,’ said Colbeck, evenly. ‘I applaud that.’ He picked up his vali
se. ‘The sergeant and I will take a cab to the police station and introduce ourselves.’
‘Perhaps I should come with you.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Quinnell.’
‘But you’re here at my behest.’
‘We’ll keep you fully informed of any developments, sir,’ said Colbeck, anxious to shake him off. ‘Come on, Victor. We have important work to do.’
After bidding farewell to Quinnell, they left him fuming quietly on the platform and headed for the exit. It was only when they were being driven into the city that Leeming asked the question that had been perplexing him.
‘What exactly is the atmospheric railway?’
CHAPTER THREE
Maud Hope was a thin angular woman in her late forties with a ravaged prettiness. Plagued by arthritis in her knees and hip, she was often in pain and unable to do anything but the most simple domestic chores. When she heard the front door of their little house being unlocked, she was in the kitchen struggling to chop some onions. She thought at first that it might be the neighbour who popped in regularly to keep an eye on her. In fact, it was Dorcas. Maud was surprised to see her daughter and even more surprised that she was carrying a birdcage.
‘What on earth have you got there, Dorcas?’
‘It’s Peter — Mr Heygate’s canary. They said I could look after him.’
‘Who did?’
‘Well, it was Mr Woodford who asked,’ gabbled Dorcas. ‘He talked to a man who’s something to do with the railway company. According to Mr Woodford, the man didn’t want me to have Peter. He said the bird was railway property because the house belongs to them. But Mr Woodford spoke up for me and said how I’d fed him in the past, then the superintendent agreed that I should have him. They argued over it and I won in the end.’
‘I’m not sure that I follow this,’ said Maud, using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that always streamed when she chopped onions. ‘Are you talking about Mr Woodford the clerk?’
‘Yes, Mother — he was kind to me.’
‘I thought you didn’t like him.’
‘I don’t. He looks at me in a funny way. But he was different today. He was friendly for once. Mr Woodford has taken over as stationmaster.’
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