‘I suspected something the last time I was home,’ he said, ‘but I was unable to prove anything. Before I sailed, I engaged a private detective to keep an eye on you.’
‘That was an appalling thing to do,’ she said with as much indignation as she could gather. ‘What sort of husband stoops to spying on his wife?’
‘One who fears that he’s being cuckolded, Dorothea. It was, alas, no groundless fear. When I saw the report about you, I refused to accept it at first. Then I read the damning evidence.’
‘What evidence, Alexander? Am I not entitled to defend myself against it? Will you really accept someone else’s word against mine?’
‘The evidence concerned Thursday of every week.’
‘I went up to London to see some friends,’ she explained.
Jamieson sneered. ‘One particular friend,’ he said.
‘I always came back late in the evening – ask the servants.’
‘I did ask them but they were ready to lie on your behalf. That’s why I dismissed them and why there’s nobody in the house to hear your cries for help. They said that you always came back home,’ he continued, ‘but the man following you is certain that you spent the night at a certain address on a number of occasions.’
‘I missed the train, that’s all.’
‘A woman like you never misses a train, Dorothea.’
‘I remember now,’ she said, lunging at the first excuse that came to mind. ‘The weather was inclement. I was forced to stay over.’
‘On every single occasion?’
‘Yes, Alexander.’
‘And always in the same house?’
‘My friend, Sophie, pressed me to stay. Why not ask her?’
‘Because I’m sure that she’d lie on your behalf as readily as the servants,’ he said. ‘Besides, she doesn’t live in that house. It’s owned by the Reverend Ezra Follis.’
‘That’s right,’ she said, changing her tack. ‘He offered me shelter on those nights when the weather turned nasty. Yes, that’s what really happened. Why not speak to Mr Follis himself?’
‘I never want to exchange another word with that philanderer. The man is a disgrace to the cloth,’ he said, contemptuously. ‘I’m sure that he made you feel that you were special to him but the hideous truth is that you were just the next in line, Dorothea. You shared a bed that had already been tainted by other women.’
‘I didn’t share a bed with anybody.’
‘Then you must be the only one of his victims who didn’t. The detective I hired was very thorough. He gave me all their names. He even tracked down Marion Inigo.’
She was stunned. ‘Mrs Inigo, who used to be his housekeeper?’
‘Yes, Dorothea,’ he replied, ‘except that she was never actually married. Marion Inigo used to spend Thursday night at that very same house with the Rector of St Dunstan’s. She lives in London now, bringing up their child in the cottage he bought her.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, abandoning all pretence of innocence. ‘Ezra would never look at a woman like Marion Inigo. He got rid of her because she was becoming too familiar.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘She was nothing but a servant.’
‘That servant is the mother of his son.’
‘It’s impossible.’
‘I have incontrovertible proof.’
She was distraught. ‘Can this be true?’
Jamieson relished her pain. ‘Would you like the names of his other conquests?’ he taunted.
Dorothea reeled as if from a blow. Her romance with Ezra Follis had rescued her from long, lonely months when she was on her own. She had taken immense pains to be discreet. Yet not only had her infidelity been exposed, she now discovered that the man who claimed to love her had seduced a string of women before her. It was crippling.
‘Goodbye, Dorothea,’ said her husband, opening the door. ‘I’m going to London myself today so you’ll have to manage without any food until tomorrow. If,’ he added, ‘I decide to bring you any, that is.’
‘Where are you going, Alexander?’
‘I intend to look at his house for myself. I want to see where my marriage was ruined and make sure that no other trusting husband is cuckolded there.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘You won’t hurt Ezra, will you?’
‘I’ll do exactly that,’ he said, flinging her aside. ‘When I’ve destroyed his house, I’ll destroy him.’
Jamieson went out, slammed the door and locked it. Dorothea lay on the ground where she had fallen and wept. Her situation was hopeless. All that she could think of doing was to pray for forgiveness.
Seated in the hansom cab, Colbeck and Leeming were driven towards the house owned by Captain Alexander Jamieson. They felt that they at last had the evidence they required.
‘When I read out the names on that list,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Follis denied having heard of any of them. He even stuck to his denial when I showed him the telescope. Then you turned up at the hospital with a positive identification from Mrs Ashmore and that forced him to tell the truth. He did know Captain Jamieson.’
‘Why did he lie so stubbornly to you, Inspector?’
‘The rector had something to hide.’
‘If this Captain Jamieson is a suspect,’ said Leeming, ‘you’d have thought that Mr Follis would volunteer his name at the start.’
‘I’m sure he had good reason to deceive us,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ll be interested to discover exactly what it is.’
The cab pulled up outside a big, white, detached Regency house standing on an acre of land. After ordering the driver to wait, Colbeck got out. Leeming followed him up the steps to the front door. They rang the bell several times but to no effect. Telling the sergeant to stay at the front of the property, Colbeck went around to the side. He peered over the fence into the garden.
‘Is anyone there?’ he shouted, cupping his hands. ‘We’re looking for Captain Jamieson. Is he at home?’
There was no response from the house itself but he heard a cry from the outhouse on the other side of the courtyard. The voice was too indistinct for him to hear the exact words but he could tell that a woman was in distress. He called Leeming and the sergeant bent down so that Colbeck could step on to his back and jump over the fence. Running to the outhouse, he tried the door and found it locked.
‘Who’s that inside?’ he asked.
‘I’m Mrs Dorothea Jamieson,’ she answered.
‘My name is Detective Inspector Colbeck and I was hoping to speak to your husband. Is he here?’
‘No, Inspector – can you get me out?’ she begged.
‘Stand back from the door.’
After trying to kick it open, he put his shoulder to the timber but it still would not budge. Colbeck looked around and saw a plank of wood nearby. Picking it up, he used it like a battering ram to pound away at the door. After resisting for a short while, the lock suddenly snapped and the door was flung back on its hinges.
Crouching in the corner by the mattress was the pathetic figure of Dorothea Jamieson. She looked up with a fear that was tempered with relief. Someone had rescued her at last. Bursting into tears, she got up and hurled herself into Colbeck’s arms.
He caught the first available train to London even though it stopped at various stations on the way. Finding an empty carriage near the front, Captain Jamieson sat down and opened the newspaper he had just bought. It was not merely something to divert him on the journey. It would act as kindling when he burnt down Ezra Follis’s house and destroyed the scene of his wife’s betrayal. Once that was done, he could seal the clergyman’s fate by hiring a more reliable killer. Only when his wife wept over Follis’s dead body would his vengeful feelings be appeased.
The signal was given, the locomotive started up and the train moved slowly along in a series of jangling harmonies. Jamieson was happy to be on his way to exact retribution. What he did not realise was that two men had just run along the platform beside the moving train and leapt into the last carriage.<
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‘That was dangerous,’ said Victor Leeming, breathlessly, as he sat down. ‘If I’m forced to travel by train, I at least expect it to be standing still when I get on it.’
‘We had to catch this one,’ said Colbeck, ‘whatever the risk.’
‘How can you be sure that he’s on it?’
‘You heard what his wife told us. Captain Jamieson left only minutes before we arrived. He’d have got to the station not long ahead of us. Since I’ve been travelling up and down to Brighton so much, I learnt the timetable by heart. This was the first possible train he could have caught.’
‘I bet he didn’t wait until it was moving,’ said Leeming.
The carriage was largely empty. Their only companion was an elderly man trying to read a book through his monocle. He ignored them studiously. Leeming leant in close to whisper to Colbeck.
‘Why do you think he locked his wife up, sir?’
‘I don’t know, Victor,’ replied the other, ‘but I wouldn’t advise you to do it to Estelle by way of a birthday present. It could never compete with a pretty new bonnet and shawl.’
The train chugged on until Hassocks Gate station came into sight. It gradually slowed down and ran beside the platform until stopping with a jerk. Colbeck got out alone, leaving the sergeant at the rear of the train to cut off any escape attempt by their quarry. Walking along the platform, Colbeck glanced into each carriage, searching for the bearded man whose description he now had. Since additional passengers had just joined it, the train was half-full. There were lots of faces to check. Colbeck saw a couple of men with beards but they were the wrong age and the wrong shape to be Alexander Jamieson.
It was a long train at a short stop. Before the inspector had checked every carriage, it began to move again. He trotted alongside it, peering into the few remaining carriages. When he spotted the man with the black beard, he knew that he had found his suspect. Pulling open the door, Colbeck dived in and closed it behind him.
‘Captain Jamieson?’ he asked.
‘Who the devil are you?’ demanded the other.
‘My name is Inspector Colbeck and I’ve come to arrest you.’
Jamieson’s reaction was immediate. He threw a punch that caught Colbeck on the chin and dazed him for a moment. Trying to get away, Jamieson opened the door to jump down on to the line, only to find that another train was coming towards them. In desperation, he instead climbed upwards on to the roof of the carriage, hoping to work his way back along the train so that he could leap off at the next station while Colbeck was still in the carriage near the front.
Having spent most of his life at sea, Jamieson had a sailor’s nimbleness and sense of balance. He felt secure on the roof of a moving train and safe from any pursuit. He had not taken account of the detective’s resolve and agility. Removing his hat, Colbeck followed him through the door and got a firm grip before pulling himself up on to the roof. Jamieson was already two carriages away from him but his movement was hampered by the luggage that had been stored on top of the train. Colbeck, too, had to clamber over trunks, valises and hatboxes while maintaining his balance on the swaying roof. Jamieson was amazed to see that he was being followed.
‘Give yourself up, Captain Jamieson,’ advised Colbeck, getting closer all the time. ‘There’s no escape. I have another man on the train to help me. You can’t elude the both of us.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ snarled the other.
‘We’re trained detectives, sir, well used to arresting violent suspects. We’re not a defenceless woman like your wife whom you can lock up in your outhouse.’
Jamieson was startled. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘We know everything about you. We know what you paid Dick Chiffney to do and why you hate the Reverend Follis. You can either surrender while it’s safe to do so,’ said Colbeck, ‘or risk being thrown off onto the rails. Which is it to be?’
‘Neither,’ said Jamieson, walking towards him and snatching up a leather trunk. ‘Goodbye, Inspector.’
He hurled the trunk with all his strength. Had it struck him, Colbeck would have been knocked off the train altogether. As it was, he ducked beneath the missile and let it go past his head. Before Jamieson could pick up another piece of luggage, Colbeck leapt on to the next carriage and tackled him around the legs. As he fell backwards, Jamieson’s head struck the edge of another trunk and he was momentarily stunned. Colbeck seized his advantage, getting on top of him and pummelling away with both fists. The black beard was soon stained with blood.
Jamieson fought back, writhing and bucking until he managed to dislodge Colbeck. The two of them were now perilously close to the edge of the roof, grappling wildly as they tried to get the upper hand. Jamieson was strong, doing all he could to force Colbeck off the train and send him to certain death. For his part, the detective wanted to capture his man alive. He had already lost Chiffney under the wheels of a locomotive. He was determined that a train would not rob him of another arrest.
As they wrestled among the items of luggage, some of them were knocked off the roof and bounced on the adjacent track. Colbeck did not wish to join them. Jamieson went for his neck, using both thumbs to press down hard in an effort to strangle him. Colbeck responded at once, getting a hand under the other man’s chin and pushing it up with all his energy until Jamieson’s head was forced so far back that he had to release his grip on Colbeck’s neck.
Before he could get another hold on his adversary, Jamieson was thrown sideways by Colbeck then swiftly mounted. Though he punched him time and again in the face, Colbeck could not subdue him completely. He chose another way to bring the encounter to a decisive end. Rising to his feet, he grabbed a trunk and lifted it high with both hands. When Jamieson tried to get up, Colbeck brought the heavy object crashing down on his head. It knocked him senseless. Jamieson did not feel the handcuffs as they were put on his wrists.
The fight had taken place during the short journey to Burgess Hill station. When the train lurched to a halt, Leeming got out and came running along the platform. He was astounded to see Colbeck standing on the roof of the train with Jamieson lying beside him.
‘Ah, there you are, Victor,’ said Colbeck, gratefully. ‘I’m glad you came. I need a hand with this luggage.’
Captain Harvey Ridgeon accepted that he had made a serious error. As soon as he heard the news, he took a cab to Scotland Yard. Colbeck and Leeming were in the superintendent’s office to hear the Inspector General of Railways offer a gracious apology. It was accepted by Tallis without even a tinge of bitterness.
‘We have one consolation, Captain Ridgeon,’ he said. ‘The villain served in Her Majesty’s navy – at least he was not an army man!’
‘Soldiers can also make terrible mistakes,’ admitted Ridgeon. ‘I happen to be one of them. Unlike Captain Jamieson, however, I’m able to learn from it.’ He turned to Colbeck. ‘I think I can guarantee that I’ll never again question the judgement of the Railway Detective.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck.
‘I shall be writing to Mrs Pike to make it clear that her husband was in no way responsible for that crash.’
‘I think she’ll appreciate that, sir.’
‘Yes,’ said Tallis, ‘but I doubt if she’ll be pleased to learn that the real cause of that disaster lay in the sexual peccadilloes of the Rector of St Dunstan’s. He seems to have led endless women astray.’
‘Captain Jamieson’s wife was one of them,’ noted Colbeck. ‘The lady spent the night with him in London then returned on the Brighton Express the following day. It’s the reason why that particular train occupied Jamieson’s mind. He knew that Mr Follis travelled on it every Friday, returning from his latest adventure in London. Since the express had come to symbolise his wife’s infidelity, Jamieson wanted to destroy both the train and one of its passengers.’
‘With no thought for all the others on that train,’ said Leeming.
‘Captain Jamieson will have an appointment with t
he hangman,’ decreed Tallis. ‘If it were left to me, a certain clergyman should dangle beside him. The rector should not go unpunished.’
‘Oh,’ said Colbeck, ‘I think you’ll find that he’s been adequately punished, sir. His ministry is over and he’ll leave Brighton with his reputation in tatters.’
‘Don’t forget that he was shot as well,’ Leeming reminded them. ‘His shoulder will never be the same again.’
‘That’s only a physical wound, Victor. The mental scars will never heal. Mr Follis was stricken with guilt when he realised the pain and misery his actions had indirectly caused. Imagine how he must feel about the way that Mrs Jamieson was treated by her husband,’ Colbeck went on. ‘That was Mr Follis’s doing and he’s accepted the full blame.’
‘How ever did he attract so many women?’ wondered Leeming.
‘Let’s have no crude speculation, Sergeant,’ warned Tallis. ‘This case is revolting enough without adding salacious details.’ He sat back in his chair and eyed his cigar box ‘Now that Captain Ridgeon has tendered his apology, I should like to talk to him alone. You and the inspector are free to go.’
Sensing that the two men were about to trade reminiscences of army life, Colbeck opened the door and left the room. Leeming was on his heels. ‘There’s one good thing to come out of this,’ he said, happily. ‘Now that we’ve solved the case, I’ll be able to spend Sunday at home, after all.’
‘Not necessarily, Victor.’
‘Surely you don’t expect me to work on Estelle’s birthday, sir?’
No,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I suggest that you might not wish to stay at home.’ He took something from his pocket. ‘The railway company was so delighted with our efforts that they gave me these – four first class return tickets for the Brighton Express on Sunday. Overcome your dislike of rail travel,’ he urged, handing the tickets to Leeming. ‘Give your dear wife an additional birthday present and take the whole family to the seaside for the day.’
Murder on the Brighton Express Page 25
