Peril on the Royal Train (17 page)

‘It’s slipped my mind.’

‘And I suppose that your granny’s address has slipped your mind as well.’

‘No, no, I’ll gi’ it to ye. She was fair delighted wi’ the chair.’

He spoke with such confidence that Colbeck was momentarily checked. The prisoner was unperturbed by the thought that the police could visit the grandmother to confirm the claim. The old woman clearly had received the gift.

‘What else was under that tarpaulin?’ resumed Colbeck.

‘Why do ye ask tha’?’

‘Could it, for instance, have been two barrels of gunpowder?’

Duncan laughed. ‘Gunpowder!’

‘It was used to cause a blockage on the railway line.’

The prisoner’s laughter died in his throat and a look of fear came into his eyes.

‘Ewen and me had nothing to do wi’ tha’,’ he said, earnestly.

‘So why did you spend the night at The Jolly Traveller?’ asked Colbeck. ‘You might as well tell me the truth. If you don’t, you and your brother will be charged with causing a train crash that led to excessive damage and to the deaths of the three men on a goods train. I’ve no need to tell you what the penalty for those crimes will be.’ He looked hard at the man. ‘Do you really
want
to go to the gallows?’

Duncan Usher’s mouth had gone completely dry. As he contemplated the prospect just offered to him, he began to shudder. During some arrests, he’d been able to talk himself out of trouble. That was not an option here. Colbeck was too astute to be fooled. There was only one thing left to do.

After licking his lips, the prisoner told his story.

Deprived of the opportunity to earn the reward by capturing the brothers on his own, McTurk at least had the satisfaction of taking part in the arrests. When he went to his local pub that evening, there were some other off-duty railway policemen enjoying a drink. McTurk joined them. The talk inevitably turned to the investigation and he was able to tell them that he’d been instrumental in catching the two malefactors. After a pint of beer, he portrayed himself as a hero who’d overpowered one of the brothers then saved Sergeant Leeming from being beaten by the other. After a second pint, his tongue ran away with him and his audience grew in size. McTurk added colour to his narrative, inventing details to show himself in a good light.

‘They’d never have found the house without me,’ he boasted. ‘I sent the sergeant down the lane to cut off any escape through the garden then I kicked in the door and got into the house. One of them ran away but the other attacked the inspector and I had to pull him off. I knocked seven barrels of shit out of the bastard and put the handcuffs on him. Then,’ he went on, taking a drink from his third pint, ‘I heard this noise from the lane so I charged out there. Ewen Usher was sitting astride the sergeant and punching him. Grabbing him by the neck, I hauled him off. It was then that he pulled a knife on me. I was unarmed, of course, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let him escape. So I whipped off my hat, threw it in his face and kicked him in the balls before he knew what was happening. He went down in agony.’

There was general laughter. Newcomers urged him to tell the story again and McTurk added further embellishment. As a fourth pint was handed to him, he’d really come to believe that he’d caught the brothers single-handed. What he didn’t realise was that among the large crowd now gathered around was a man who spied the chance of a profit. Such a stirring tale deserved wider circulation. Finishing his drink, the man left the pub and headed for the offices of one of Glasgow’s main newspapers.

McTurk, meanwhile, was still sailing on a wave of imaginary valour.

‘Remember my name,’ he told them. ‘When Ewen and Duncan Usher go to their deaths, remember that it was I who put the rope around their scrawny necks.’

Nairn Craig was still in his office when word came through from the police station. He read Colbeck’s neat hand with growing disappointment. The contents of the letter were not what he’d expected. In view of what had happened earlier, he felt duty-bound to pass on the information to Inspector Rae even though it meant calling on the man at home. Surprised to see him, Rae gave him a guarded welcome and conducted the general manager to his study. They settled into high-backed leather armchairs.

‘Well?’ asked Rae.

‘I’ve come to eat some humble pie, Inspector.’

‘That sounds promising.’

‘I was too ready to believe that we’d caught the devils at last.’

‘Whereas, I suspect, the prisoners are not guilty.’

‘Oh, they’re guilty enough,’ said Craig, ‘but they didn’t commit the crime for which they were arrested. Inspector Colbeck’s letter gave me a detailed account. Ewen and Duncan Usher denied having any involvement in the crash. What took them to the area on the day before was another crime altogether.’

Colbeck had extracted a full confession from Duncan Usher. He and his brother were thieves who’d widened their field of operation by stealing from goods trains. Their work called for planning and audacity. Duncan chose stretches of the line where freight was slowed down by a gradient. Armed with a pile of sacks, his brother would leap into a wagon, stuff items into a sack and throw it into the grass. He was agile enough to move from wagon to wagon in search of booty, choosing things that would not break and which were easy to sell. Duncan’s task was to follow the train with the cart and pick up the stolen goods. Since they took only small amounts from the total cargo, the thefts went largely unnoticed. That emboldened them to strike more often and to venture further away from Glasgow. Under the threat of facing a murder charge, Duncan Usher had even volunteered the whereabouts of the shed where the brothers kept the proceeds of their crime until they could sell them.

‘So,’ said Craig, gloomily, ‘we’ve rid the Caledonian of a pair of vultures but we haven’t found the people behind the train crash.’

Rae smiled wryly. ‘In short,’ he remarked, ‘you’ve caught a sprat instead of a mackerel, let alone a whale. Don’t be so downhearted. Now that you’re aware of how easily your freight can be pillaged, you can guard against it. Inspector Colbeck should be praised for bringing the practice to light.’

‘I’d much rather he did what I brought him here for.’

‘Does that mean you’re losing faith in him?’

‘No, no,’ said Craig, quashing the idea at once. ‘I back him to the hilt. He showed his true mettle during the arrest of those brothers. According to McTurk, both Colbeck and Leeming were fearless.’

‘Unfortunately, they were apprehending the wrong men.’

‘They were apprehending the
right
men for a different crime. I suppose that there’s some solace in that. But,’ he went on, rising out of his chair, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the evening, Inspector. I’ll take my leave.’

Rae was on his feet at once, waving his visitor back to his seat.

‘You’ll do nothing of the kind, Mr Craig. I can’t promise that we can provide any humble pie but I’ve an excellent malt to tempt you. Wait here while I fetch some glasses. There’s nothing like whisky for stimulating the brain,’ he added, moving to the door. ‘It will help us to find the answer we seek.’

‘What answer is that?’

‘If these brothers are not, after all, the culprits,’ said Rae, ‘then who is?’

It was after midnight when they approached the engine sheds and their dark clothing made them all but invisible. Tam Howie carried a lamp that could give some degree of illumination when the shutter was opened. Ian Dalton had the pot of paint. It seemed extraordinarily heavy, his sense of guilt adding weight to it. Dalton was having misgivings. Inspired by what Howie and his wife had done, he believed that it would be easy to follow suit. In fact, it was a nerve-racking exercise. It was only when they crept across the railway lines that he realised just how much was at stake. If caught, he stood to lose his freedom, his job and his reputation. Whatever happened, there’d be uneasiness at home because, in order to explain his absence at that hour, he’d been forced to lie to his wife for the first time in their marriage. She would never dare to tax him on the subject but their relationship would undergo a subtle change.

‘Stop!’ ordered Howie, crouching down.

‘What is it?’ whispered Dalton, quaking slightly.

‘The nightwatchman is doing his rounds.’

They stayed low for several minutes. Dalton’s legs were aching and there was a searing pain across his shoulders. When he heard footsteps pass within yards of them, he almost fell over. Howie waited until the coast was clear before nudging him. As he tried to follow his friend, Dalton discovered that the paint pot had doubled its weight and was biting into his hand. He was grateful when they eventually slipped into the engine shed and he was able to put it down.

‘Are you nervous?’ asked Howie.

‘That’s putting it mildly, Tam.’

‘It will soon pass. Flora and I felt the same the first time.’

‘When was that?’

‘Oh, it was a long time ago.’

Howie risked opening the shutter on the lamp so that he could pick his way along the shed. When he reached a locomotive, he stopped and pointed.

‘There’s your canvas,’ he said. ‘Leave your signature on it.’

Dalton didn’t believe that he’d be able to hold the brush steady, let alone scrawl a message. His hands were shaking too much. He steeled himself to go on, reminding himself why they were there and what higher purpose they served. Instead of thinking of himself, he needed to focus on the damage that the Caledonian had done to the purity of the Sabbath. This was his chance to punish it. Opening the paint pot, he dipped in the brush and wrote the first giant letter on the side of the boiler. It gave him a strange thrill. Once he’d added a couple more letters, his fears began to evaporate. He even started to take pleasure in what he was doing. When the slogan had been finished, Howie ran the lamp along its full length and beamed with appreciation.

‘Well done, Ian!’ he said, grasping his arm. ‘You’re one of us now.’

‘Thank you, Tam. I was glad of the chance to do it.’

‘There’ll be lots of other chances, don’t worry.’

‘Now that it’s over, I feel so excited.’

‘You’ve struck a blow for the Sabbath.’

‘Is it true that Flora has actually done this?’

Howie chuckled. ‘Oh, she’s done a lot more than paint slogans,’ he said, proudly. ‘You wouldn’t believe how daring my wife is, Ian. Nothing daunts Flora.’

Madeleine Colbeck read the letter three times before putting it down. Couched in loving terms and written in lucid prose, it gave her details of the investigation in which her husband was engaged. Though she was pleased to have more information about the case, she was distressed to learn that it might keep Colbeck away from her for some time. When she called on her father that morning, she told him what she’d learnt about the train crash. Andrews was troubled by the details.

‘It could have been
me
, Maddy,’ he said, soulfully. ‘Not that I’d ever have worked for the Caledonian, mark you, but you know what I mean. It could have been me or Gideon Little or Jonas Marklew or any other driver in that goods train. A deliberate blockage of the line could have killed any one of us. My heart goes out to the driver – and to the fireman and guard, of course. I’m bound to think that there, but for the grace of God, go I.’

‘There’s no need to be morbid about it, Father.’

‘Driving a train means taking a risk. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ said Madeleine, recalling the time when her father was assaulted by train robbers. ‘I’m glad all that risk is behind you.’

‘What pleases me is that Mr Renwick appreciates our work.’

‘And so he should. You were a loyal servant to the company.’

‘I learnt my trade properly and I taught it to dozens of others. It’s only fitting that I should be invited to the dinner this week.’

‘That’s one reason I came to see you. I’m not sure what to wear.’

‘Whatever it is, you’ll look beautiful in it, Maddy.’

‘Thank you.’

‘The other drivers will be there with their wives,’ he told her, ‘and all of them are as wrinkly as prunes.’

‘Father!’ she protested.

‘I take that back. Horace Oldfield’s wife is as fat as a pig without a wrinkle on her. You’ll outshine every woman in the room.’

‘Well, I expect you to show more respect to the ladies there.’

‘I will, Maddy. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Thanks to what you’ve just told me, I expect to be the centre of attention.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘We’ll be in a room full of railwaymen,’ he said. ‘What else will they talk about but the crash up in Scotland? They’ll be agog for news. And
I’ll
be in a position to tell them exactly what’s going on in the investigation.’

Summoned to the general manager’s office, Superintendent McTurk believed that he was about to receive praise for his part in the arrests. Back in uniform and with his brass buttons polished to a high sheen, he knocked on the door before opening it. Nairn Craig was standing behind his desk. Colbeck was also on his feet. Their manner was not welcoming. McTurk closed the door behind him.

‘You sent for me, Mr Craig?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ said the other. ‘I require an explanation.’

McTurk was puzzled. ‘An explanation for what, sir?’

By way of reply, Craig lifted up the newspaper on his desk and handed it to him. McTurk saw his name in the headline and quailed. The article applauded his bravery in capturing the two men responsible for the train crash and it made much of the fact that a Scotsman had outshone the much-vaunted Railway Detective. Words that McTurk had uttered while in his cups were quoted in full.

‘Did you say all this?’ demanded Craig.

‘No, no, I didn’t.’

‘You’d obviously been drinking at the time.’

‘I may have had one drink, sir, but that was all.’

‘Does that mean you were completely sober when you made these ridiculous claims?’ asked Colbeck. ‘That would be even more reprehensible.’