The Railway Viaduct (20 page)

‘None at all,’ said Shannon, ‘but I did hear one of the coppers calling him “Luke” – you know, as if they were friends. I called him by that name once and he swore blue murder at me.’

‘How did he pay you?’

‘He waited until I’d got a job with Mr Brassey and settled in here. Then he told me what to do first so that I could prove myself. Once I’d done that,’ said Shannon, ‘he paid me the first half of the money so that I’d have enough to take on people I could trust.’

‘And cheat easily,’ said Mulryne.

‘It’s their own bleeding fault for being so stupid.’

Colbeck’s ears pricked up. ‘You say that you had the first half of the money?’ Shannon nodded. ‘When would you get the other half?’

‘When we brought the railway to a standstill.’

‘But how would you get in touch with Luke?’

‘He gave me an address in London,’ said Shannon. ‘I was to leave a message there, saying what we’d done. Once he could confirm it, he promised to leave the second half of the money for me to collect it. And – as God’s my witness – that’s the fucking truth!’

‘We’ll need that address,’ said Colbeck.

‘As long as you don’t tell the others about the money.’

‘We don’t bargain with criminals,’ said Tallis.

‘It’s a reasonable request, sir,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘and, now that he appreciates the predicament that he’s in, Mr Shannon has been admirably cooperative. Some reward is in order, I believe.’

‘Thanks,’ said Shannon with great relief.

‘We’ll need that address, mind you.’

‘I’ll give it to you, Inspector.’

‘There you are, Superintendent,’ said Mulryne, hands on his hips. ‘You should have let the Inspector question him from the start. He’s a genius at getting blood from a bleeding stone.’

Luke Rogan was working in his office when he heard the doorbell ring insistently. He looked out of the front window to see Sir Marcus Hetherington standing there while a cab waited for him at the kerb. Rogan was surprised. The only place they
ever met was in the privacy of the Reform Club. If he had come to the office, Sir Marcus must have something of prime importance to discuss. Rogan hurried along the passageway and opened the door. Sweeping in without a word, Sir Marcus went into the office and waited for Rogan to join him.

‘What’s the matter, Sir Marcus?’ asked Rogan.

‘This,’ said the other, thrusting a newspaper at him. ‘This is what is the matter, Rogan. Look at the second page.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do as I say.’

‘Very well, Sir Marcus.’

Rogan opened the newspaper and scanned the second page. He soon realised why his visitor had come. What he was looking at was a report of the arrest of four men who were accused of trying to disrupt work on the railway that was being built between Mantes and Caen. Rogan recognised one of the names – that of Pierce Shannon – and assumed that the others were his accomplices. The name that really jumped up at him, however, was not that of the prisoners but of the man who had helped to capture them.

‘Inspector Colbeck!’ he gasped.

‘Read the last paragraph,’ instructed Sir Marcus. ‘The much-vaunted Railway Detective believes that he now has evidence that will lead him to the person or persons responsible for the murder of Gaston Chabal. In short,’ he said, hitting the top of the desk hard with his cane, ‘evidence that points to you and me.’

‘But that’s impossible!’

‘So you assured me.’

‘Shannon didn’t even know my name.’

‘He’s obviously told them enough to steer them towards
you.’

‘He couldn’t have, Sir Marcus.’

‘Then how do you explain this report?’

‘Colbeck is bluffing,’ said Rogan, trying to convince himself. ‘He’s done this before. He pretends to be in possession of more information than he really has in the hope of making someone fly into a panic and give themselves away.’

‘The newspaper certainly gave me a sense of panic,’ confessed Sir Marcus. ‘My wife thought I was having a heart attack when I read that – and I almost did.’

‘He knows
nothing,
Sir Marcus.’

‘Then how did he manage to arrest four men in France?’

‘Pure luck.’

‘Colbeck never relies on luck. He believes in a combination of tenacity and cold logic. He’s been quoted to that effect more than once. I do not want his tenacity and logic to lead him to me.’

‘That’s out of the question, Sir Marcus.’

‘Is it?’

‘I’m the only person that knows you were my client.’

‘Do you keep records?’ asked the other, glancing down at the desk. ‘Do you have an account book with my name in it?’

‘Of course not. I know how to be discreet.’

‘I hope so, Rogan.’

‘Colbeck will not get within a mile of us.’

‘What can he possibly have found out?’

‘Nothing of value.’

‘He must have squeezed something out of those Irishmen.’

‘Shannon was the only one I had dealings with. The others don’t even know that I exist. And all that Shannon can do is to
give them a rough description of me.’ Rogan showed snaggly teeth in a grin. ‘That means he’d be describing thousands of men who look just like me.’

Sir Marcus relaxed slightly. He removed his top hat and sat down on a chair, resting his cane against a wall. Rogan took the unspoken hint and went to a small cupboard. Taking out a bottle of whisky, he poured two glasses and handed one to his visitor.

‘Thank you,’ said the old man, tasting the whisky. ‘I’d hoped to toast our success but our plans have obviously gone awry.’

‘We can try against at a later date, Sir Marcus.’

‘This was our chance and we missed it.’

‘Bide our time, that’s all we have to do.’

‘Until a certain detective comes knocking on our doors.’

‘That will never happen,’ said Rogan, airily. ‘The one thing that Shannon knows is an address where he was to leave a message. Nobody at that address knows my name or where I live. It was simply a convenient way of paying Shannon the second half of his fee when his work was completed.’

‘But it was not. He failed and you failed.’

Rogan was hurt. ‘You can’t put the blame on me.’

‘You selected this idiot.’

‘With the greatest of care, Sir Marcus. I asked a friend about him before I even went near him. He told me that Shannon was full of guile and quite fearless. That’s the kind of man we wanted.’

‘Then why has he let us down so badly?’ asked Sir Marcus. ‘And why is Inspector Colbeck coming back to England with such apparent confidence to hunt down Chabal’s killer?’

‘He’s trying to frighten us.’

‘He frightened me, I can tell you that.’

‘You’re as safe as can be, Sir Marcus,’ Rogan assured him, taking a first sip of his whisky. ‘So am I. London is a vast city. He could search for fifty years and still not find us. Colbeck has no idea where to start looking.’

‘There’s that address you gave to Shannon.’

‘A dead end. It will lead him nowhere.’

‘Supposing that he does pick up our scent?’

‘I’ve told you. There’s no hope of him doing that.’

‘But supposing – I speak hypothetically – that he does? Colbeck has already come much farther than I believed he would so we must respect him for that. What if he gets really close?’

‘Then he’ll regret it,’ said Rogan, coolly.

When he got back from work that evening, Caleb Andrews found a meal waiting for him. Since he had good news to impart about the murder investigation, he surrendered his paper to Madeleine and drew her attention to the relevant report. She was thrilled to read of Robert Colbeck’s success in France. Her faith in him had never wavered and she had been disturbed by the harsh criticism he had received in the press. Public rebuke had now been replaced by congratulation. He was once again being hailed for his skill as a detective.

When the meal was over, Andrews was in such an ebullient mood that he challenged his daughter to a game of draughts. He soon repented of his folly. Madeleine won the first two games and had him on the defensive in the third one.

‘I can’t seem to beat you,’ he complained.

‘You were the one who taught me how to play draughts.’

‘I obviously taught you too well.’

‘When we first started,’ she recalled, ‘you won every game.’

‘The only thing I seem to do now is to lose.’

He was spared a third defeat by a knock on the front door. Glad of the interruption, he was out of his chair at once. He went to the door and opened it. Robert Colbeck smiled at him.

‘Good evening, Mr Andrews,’ he said.

‘Ah, you’re back from France.’

‘At long last.’

‘We read about you in the paper.’

‘Don’t keep Robert standing out there,’ said Madeleine, coming up behind her father. ‘Invite him in.’

Andrews stood back so that Colbeck could enter the house, remove his hat and, under her father’s watchful eye, give Madeleine a chaste kiss on the cheek. They went into the living room. The first thing that Colbeck saw was the draughts board.

‘Who’s winning?’ he asked.

‘Maddy,’ replied Andrews, gloomily.

‘This game was a draw, Father,’ she said, eyes never leaving Colbeck. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to see you again, Robert! What exactly happened in France?’

‘And why did you have to solve crimes on
their
railways? Don’t they have any police of their own?’

‘They do, Mr Andrews,’ replied Colbeck, ‘but this was, in a sense, a British crime. It was almost like working over here. British contractors have built most of their railways and French locomotives are largely the work of Thomas Crampton.’

‘I’m the one person you don’t need to tell that to, Inspector,’ said Andrews, knowledgeably. ‘In fact, there are far more
Cramptons in France than here in England. Lord knows why. I’ve driven three or four of his engines and I like them. Shall I tell you why?’

‘Another time, Father,’ said Madeleine.

‘But the Inspector is interested in engineering, Maddy.’

‘This is not the best moment to discuss it.’

‘What?’ Andrews looked from one to the other. ‘Well, perhaps it isn’t,’ he said, moving away. ‘Now where did I leave my tobacco pouch? It must be upstairs.’ He paused at the door. ‘Don’t forget to show him that picture you drew of the Sankey Viaduct, Maddy.’

He went out of the room and Colbeck was able to embrace Madeleine properly. Over her shoulder, he saw that the tobacco pouch was on the table beside the draughts. He was grateful for her father’s tact. He stood back but kept hold of her hands.

‘What’s this about the Sankey Viaduct?’

‘Oh, it was just something I sketched to pass the time,’ she said. ‘It’s probably nothing at all like the real thing.’

‘I’d be interested to see it, all the same.’

‘Your work is far more important than mine, Robert. Come and sit down. Tell me what’s happened since I last saw you.’

‘That would take far too long,’ he said, as they sat beside each other on the sofa. ‘I’ll give you a shortened version.’

He told her about his visit to Paris and his long conversation with Gaston Chabal’s mother-in-law. Madeleine was startled by the revelation that the engineer appeared to have seduced another woman for the sole purpose of gaining an additional investor in the railway. She was fascinated to hear of Brendan Mulryne’s success as a spy and pleased that Superintendent
Tallis had been forced to admit that the Irishman had performed a valuable service.

‘Mr Tallis couldn’t actually bring himself to thank Brendan in person,’ said Colbeck. ‘That would have been asking too much. What he did concede was that the notion of putting an informer into the ranks of the navvies had, after all, been a sensible one.’

‘Coming from the superintendent, that’s high praise.’

‘I pointed out that Brendan Mulryne would be an asset if he were allowed to rejoin the police force but Mr Tallis would not hear of it. He’d sooner recruit a tribe of cannibals.’

‘Why is he so critical of your methods?’

‘There’s always been a degree of animus between us.’

‘Is he envious of you?’

‘It’s more a case of disapproval, Madeleine.’

‘How could he possibly disapprove of a man with your record?’

‘Quite easily,’ said Colbeck with a grin. ‘Mr Tallis doesn’t like the way I dress, the approach I take to any case and the readiness I have to use people such as Brendan Mulryne. Also, I’m afraid to say, he looks askance at my private life.’

She gave a laugh of surprise. ‘Your private life!’

‘He thinks that you’re leading me astray.’

‘Me?’

‘I was only joking, Madeleine,’ he said, putting an arm around her. ‘The truth is that Superintendent Tallis doesn’t believe that his detectives should
have
a private life. He thinks that we should be like him – unattached and therefore able to devote every waking hour to our job with no distractions.’

‘Is that what I am – a distraction?’

‘Yes – thank heaven!’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘Now, let’s
see this drawing of the Sankey Viaduct.’

‘You won’t like it, Robert.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too fanciful.’

‘I love anything that you do, Madeleine,’ he said, warmly. ‘And it must be worth seeing if your father recommends it.’

‘He only saw an earlier version.’

‘Please fetch it.’

‘I’m not sure that I should.’

‘Why are you being so bashful? I really want to see it.’

‘If you wish,’ she said, getting up, ‘but you must remember that it’s a work of imagination. It has no resemblance to the real viaduct.’ She crossed the room to pick up a portfolio that rested in an alcove. Opening it up, she selected a drawing. ‘It was simply a way of keeping you in my mind while you were in France.’

‘Then I must have a look at it.’

Colbeck rose to his feet and took the sketch from her hand. He was intrigued. The viaduct dominated the page, but what gave him a sudden thrill of recognition was the way that it connected England and France. It was like a bridge across a wide gulf. He let out a cry of joy and hugged her to him. Madeleine was mystified.

‘What have I done to deserve that?’ she said.

‘You’ve just solved a murder!’