Disguise was a weapon that Colbeck had used many times and he had taught Victor Leeming its value. Accordingly, the sergeant kept a couple of changes of clothing at his office in case they were needed. Off went his frock coat, smart trousers, waistcoat, shirt, cravat and shoes and on went a crumpled shirt, a smelly old coat frayed at the edges, a pair of baggy trousers and two boots in urgent need of repair. When he replaced his top hat with a ragged cap, Leeming looked like a costermonger down on his luck. After checking his appearance in a mirror, he felt ready to venture out.
Since few cab drivers would stop for someone so blatantly down-to-heel, Leeming made his way to Chalk Farm by means of a horse-drawn omnibus, collecting disdainful looks and murmured complaints from the other passengers. Josie Murlow's hovel was at the end of a cul-de-sac. As he walked along the pavement towards it, he kept his head down and cultivated a lumbering walk. Choosing a spot from which he could keep the house under observation, he pretended to read the newspaper he had brought with him.
Leeming was unhappy. Apart from the danger of meeting Josie Murlow again, he feared that his vigil would be pointless. Dick Chiffney might already have come and gone to the house or sent an intermediary on his behalf. Its formidable owner might not even be there. He was certainly not minded to find out. All in all, it promised to be a long, tiring, uneventful and futile assignment.
It did, however, give him time to brood once more on what he should buy his wife as a birthday present. A garnet necklace was beyond the reach of his wallet and, since Josie Murlow sported such an item of jewellery, he would not even consider it. A small silver brooch was a possibility or even a ring of some kind. What his wife had talked about needing most was a new dress but that was something he could only buy with Estelle's cooperation, and he wanted to enjoy the pleasure of watching her face as she opened a gift that came as a total surprise.
Thoughts of his wife inevitably led to a comparison with the woman whose house he was keeping an eye on. Estelle Leeming was everything that Josie Murlow was not. She was short, dark-haired, slight of build and, even though she had given birth to two children, she had retained something of the youthful bloom that had first won Leeming's heart. Most of all, she was thoroughly wholesome. The same could not be said of the raddled denizen of the nearby hovel, a gross woman whose occupation had reduced her to a waddling mound of flesh and exposed her to the constant threat of assault and hideous diseases.
An hour soon passed and he shifted his position to stretch his legs and to avoid the disapproving glare of the man outside whose house he was standing. Crossing to the other side of the road, he opened his newspaper once more and stared unseeingly at one of the inside pages. There was a consolation. Because he was in a cul-de-sac, people could only come from one direction. Leeming could not miss anyone who went to Josie Murlow's house. As another half an hour slid past, he moved back across the road and took up a different stance, trying to recall when he had last wasted so much time maintaining such an unproductive surveillance. Colbeck might make few mistakes but Leeming felt that he was the victim of one of them now. He gave a first yawn of disillusion. He wanted to go home.
His disaffection was premature. Moments later, a figure came into the street and walked furtively towards him. The man was thickset, shambling and wearing the kind of threadbare suit that could never belong to anyone who lived in one of the neat and respectable villas. Since the stranger's cap was pulled down over his forehead, Leeming could not see much of the unshaven face but the man passed close enough for him to smell the beer on his breath.
Reaching the hovel, the newcomer was circumspect. He looked around to make sure that he was not seen then he banged on the door. Hidden behind his newspaper, Leeming peered around the edge and saw the door open. Josie Murlow was there, after all. From the effusive welcome she gave the man, she knew him well. Leeming felt a thrill of discovery. He might have found Dick Chiffney.
On the train to London, Colbeck and Madeleine Andrews had a compartment to themselves, allowing them to talk freely for the first time since they had left Camden.
'I hope that your father will not disapprove,' he said.
'Of course not,' she replied. 'Father trusts you as much as I do, Robert. He knows that we have an understanding and is quite happy for us to spend time alone together.'
'That's not what I meant, Madeleine. He's such a dedicated servant of the LNWR that he might object to his daughter being taken off on a line owned by another company.'
She laughed. 'He's not that prejudiced,' she said. 'Besides, he'll willingly accept anything that helps you to catch the man who killed Frank Pike and the others. Do you think you're any closer to doing that after today?'
'I hope so.'
'That was the purpose of the visit to Brighton, wasn't it? You wanted to speak to two of the survivors of the crash and that's exactly what you did. What you still haven't explained is why you took me with you.'
He kissed her. 'Do you need an explanation?'
'I'm serious, Robert. All that I seemed to do was to keep you company on the journey there, get a glimpse of the Royal Pavilion, take tea in the rectory, look around a church and be more or less forced to read a passage from the Bible.'
'That's why I took you, Madeleine.'
'I'm still none the wiser.'
'I wanted you to meet the Reverend Follis,' he said. 'He's such a curious fellow. I thought he might interest you.'
'He did. I found him very interesting. He's pleasant, attentive and highly intelligent. And he made me feel so welcome.'
'It's precisely why I left you alone with him. I wanted a woman's opinion of the rector. To some extent, of course,' he continued, 'I got that from Amy Walcott. She obviously adores him and was upset when we tore him away from her.'
'Did you see the flowers in the church?' she asked. 'It must have taken her hours to pick and arrange them like that.'
'She's only one doting female at his behest. Mrs Ashmore, his housekeeper, is another, as you must have noticed when she served tea. She mollycoddles him.'
'Well, that's not what I did, Robert,' she said, laughing.
'What happened while I was away?'
'We just talked. When the housekeeper came back from the market, she made us some tea and served scones. Then Mr Follis tried to probe me about our friendship.'
'I thought he might.'
'He was fascinated to hear how we met,' she recalled, 'and amused to discover that Father is an engine driver. The rector has an almost childish love of trains.'
'I don't condemn anyone for that,' said Colbeck, grinning.
'After tea, he asked me if I'd like to see the church. He was showing me around when he suddenly asked me to read something.'
'Were you given freedom of choice?'
'No, Robert,' she replied. 'He chose the passage for me. If it had been left to me, I'd have refused politely but I felt obliged to him. He'd been so friendly and courteous.'
'Considering that you'd never been allowed to read in church before, you did extremely well.'
'I was very nervous.'
'It didn't show, Madeleine.'
'The odd thing was that Mr Follis knew exactly what he wanted me to read. It was almost as if he had made up his mind about it before we even went into the church.' She gave a shrug. 'Why do you think he picked that passage?'
Colbeck smiled. 'I have a theory about that.'
Leeming was in a quandary. There was enough evidence to suggest that Dick Chiffney might have been involved in causing the train crash and it was important to question him. Since the man could well be inside the house, Leeming's first instinct was to knock on the door and apprehend him. He was not afraid of any resistance from Chiffney. Leeming was strong, fit and fearless, very accustomed to overpowering criminals. What made him hesitate was the presence of Josie Murlow. If she became violent – and he was certain that she would – then the arrest would be more difficult. It would also entail restraining, if not actually punching, a woman and that troubled him.
He agonised for a long time over what he should do. In the event, the decision was made for him because the door of the hovel opened and the man came out. After wiping a hand across his mouth, he came back up the street. Lowering the paper, Leeming folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket. He then took a good look at the approaching figure. The fellow was certainly big and brawny enough to be Josie Murlow's lover and he was around the same age as her. He had also been shown great affection on his arrival. It had to be Chiffney. He and his woman had been reconciled.
Careful not to forewarn the man, Leeming turned on his heel and lumbered off, moving slowly so that he would soon be overtaken. The moment that the man went past him, the sergeant pounced. He grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round then held him by the lapels of his jacket.
'What are you doing!' protested the man.
'Dick Chiffney?'
'Let go of me!'
'Are you Dick Chiffney?' demanded Leeming.
'No, I'm not,' said the other, struggling to get away.
'What's your name?
'That's my business.'
'I'm a member of the Metropolitan Police and I just saw you going into Josie Murlow's house.'
'No harm in that, is there?'
'That depends on who you are.'
'If you must know,' said the man, exhaling beer fumes into Leeming's face, 'my name is Luke Watts and that's the truth. You can ask anyone – ask Josie, if you like.'
Leeming released him. 'Then you're not Dick Chiffney?'
Watts was offended. 'Do I look like him?' he said. 'Dick is the ugliest bugger in London. Don't you dare take me for that cross-eyed son of a sow. It's a bleeding insult, that's what it is.'
'I seem to have made a mistake, Mr Watts.'
'Yes – a bad mistake.'
'But if you're not Chiffney,' said Leeming with a glance at the hovel, 'what were you doing in Josie Murlow's house?'
The man smirked. 'What do you think?'
Edward Tallis had never been hampered by indecision. When action was needed, he took it instantly. Hiring a cab outside Scotland Yard, he was driven to the offices of the LB amp;SCR. He was immediately shown into the room occupied by Harvey Ridgeon. The captain was nonplussed to see him storming through the door.
'What brings you here, Superintendent?' he asked.
'This,' replied Tallis, tossing a copy of the evening newspaper on to the desk. 'It's the early edition – have you read it?'
'I can't say that I have.'
'It contains defamatory statements made by you about my officers. Worse than that, it brings a covert investigation into the full glare of publicity and thereby weakens its effectiveness.'
'It was ineffective enough already.'
'I demand an apology.'
'You'll get nothing at all if you try to hector me,' said Ridgeon, coolly. 'Why don't you sit down and give me a chance to see what it is that I'm supposed to have done?'
Choking back another accusation, Tallis removed his top hat and sat down opposite the desk. Ridgeon, meanwhile, opened the newspaper and saw the headline that had upset the Superintendent. Police Chase Phantom Killer. Highly critical of Tallis and Colbeck, the article contended that the train crash was the result of an accident caused by the driver of the Brighton Express. Ridgeon was quoted a number of times.
'You pour scorn on hard-working detectives,' complained Tallis.
'Not in the way that I'm quoted here,' said Ridgeon. 'I give you my word that I didn't actually say some of these things.'
'You spoke to the press, Captain Ridgeon, and that was fatal. They always twist what you tell them. If you'll forgive my language,' said Tallis, 'a man in your position should know that a newspaper reporter is a man who swallows nails and shits screws. This unprincipled scribbler didn't even have the courtesy to speak to me.'
'That's not true, Superintendent. According to him, he came to Scotland Yard as soon he heard about the crash and asked if the police were taking an interest in it. You told him that you were not.'
'It was an honest answer.'
'Yet you'd already dispatched Inspector Colbeck to the scene.'
'I authorised him to go in the light of a request from the railway company. At that time,' said Tallis, 'there was no indication of any criminal activity in relation to the crash. Strictly speaking, therefore, I had not set an investigation in motion. When I did so, I hoped that it could operate without the so-called gentlemen of the press looking over our shoulders. Thanks to that libellous article,' he went on, pointing to the newspaper, 'the whole world now knows about it.'
'Then they can judge for themselves whether or not a police investigation is appropriate.'
'No, they can't, Captain. People can only make a considered judgement if both sides of a case are presented to them. Only one is offered in that article – yours. You have no idea how much evidence Inspector Colbeck has gathered.'
'I must correct you there, Superintendent.'
'What do you mean?'
'The Inspector was good enough to reveal it to me.'
Tallis frowned. 'When was this?'
'Earlier today,' said Ridgeon.
'Colbeck made no mention of any visit to you. It was certainly not something I'd have endorsed. I felt that we'd said everything that needed to be said between us in my office.'
'The Inspector took a less inflexible view of the situation than you, Superintendent. He had the sense to see that my work might complement his own. We had a long discussion.'
'Really?' said Tallis, infuriated at being wrong-footed.
'I admired him for his candour and heard what he had to say. His argument was very cogent. Unfortunately,' said Ridgeon, 'it was fundamentally flawed.'
'Those are the very words quoted in that article.'
'I stand by them.'
'In the fullness of time, you may be embarrassed by them.'
'I think not, Superintendent.'
Tallis glowered. 'Do you realise what you've done, sir?'
'I've given straight answers to straight questions.'
'Oh, you've done a lot more than that. You've just opened a Pandora's box. Every newspaper in London will now be baying at the door of my office. That article has not simply made a mockery of our investigation,' said Tallis, 'it's also a stark warning to the villains behind the crash that we are pursuing them. If they have any sense, they'll have left London already.'
'Yes,' said Ridgeon, unable to resist sarcasm, 'and stepped straight back into the sensational novel from which they escaped. That's where they belong, after all – in the world of imagination.'
Getting to his feet, Tallis snatched up his newspaper and left.
Colbeck had also been dismayed by the article. After sending Madeleine Andrews home in a cab, he had bought a copy of the newspaper at the railway station and read it on his way back to Scotland Yard. It made him regret his decision to speak to Ridgeon in confidence. He was wounded and disappointed by what the Inspector General of Railways had done. A difficult and complex investigation had suddenly become even more arduous.
His immediate concern was how upset Madeleine would be when she read the article and saw the biting criticism of the Railway Detective. Caleb Andrews was in the habit of buying the newspaper at Euston station when he came off duty in the evening. He, too, would be deeply hurt by the attack on Colbeck and scandalised by the accusation of speeding made against his friend, Frank Pike. There was a venomous note to the article. It was almost if, having praised Colbeck for a long record of success, the newspaper felt that it was time to go to the other extreme. It was a crucifixion in print.
There would be repercussions. Colbeck would be dogged by reporters from other newspapers, mocked anew in their columns and denied complete freedom of movement. From now on, he would be watched. There would also be one or two colleagues at the Detective Department who, jealous of his reputation, would derive great joy from the public censure of him. Not everyone at Scotland Yard was ready to join in the general adulation of Robert Colbeck.
As the cab rolled to a halt, he got out and paid the driver, only to be set upon immediately by half a dozen reporters who had been lying in ambush. In answer to a salvo of questions, he told them that he had no comment to make and went swiftly into the building. The real torment was yet to come. Colbeck would now have to face a gruelling interrogation by Edward Tallis and would be reprimanded for not having made more progress in the case. Continuing success was the only way to keep bad headlines at bay. Colbeck would be blamed for the hostile article in the newspaper.
He went straight to the superintendent's office and tapped on the door before opening it. Anticipating a barrage of abuse, he was amazed to find Tallis quiescent for once, seated at his desk in a cloud of cigar smoke. Colbeck's first thought was that his superior had not yet read the article then he saw the newspaper lying open on the desk. As Tallis drew deep on his cigar, it glowed with life and the swirling cloud of smoke was thickened as he exhaled with calculated slowness. When he spoke, his voice was eerily soft.
'Have you read the newspaper, Inspector?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Colbeck.
'Do you have any comment to make?'
'I'm saddened that Captain Ridgeon saw fit to criticise us in such a public way, though I daresay he feels that the very fact of a police investigation is an implied criticism of his work.'
'That's exactly what he feels,' said Tallis, 'even if he didn't put it in those exact words. I've not long come back from seeing him.'
'What did he say?'
'Among other things, he told me that you and he had discussed the whole business in some depth but that you had failed to persuade him that the train crash was a criminal act.'
'That's true, Superintendent.'
'Why didn't you tell me you were going to see him?'
'I felt that you might advise against it,' said Colbeck. 'At the start of the investigation, you warned us to work alongside Captain Ridgeon without causing any friction. When you met him, however, you objected to his tone and refused to obey the orders he unwisely tried to give you. Victor and I expressed thanks for your support.'
'I find this very alarming, Inspector Colbeck,' said Tallis, voice still uncharacteristically soft. 'Is it your habitual practice to do things to which you know I would object?'
'Not at all, sir – this was an isolated instance.'
'What was the motive behind it?'
'I hoped that I could get Captain Ridgeon on our side.'
Tallis picked up the newspaper. 'This is the result,' he said. 'The other result is that I am made to look foolish because I was unaware that you had paid a visit to the captain earlier. Do I have to remind you that there's a chain of command here?'
'It's not possible to clear everything with you beforehand, sir,' argued Colbeck. 'Some decisions have to be made in response to a given situation. If I had to get your approval for every move I make, then my hands would be tied. That would be intolerable.'
Tallis puffed on his cigar again, filling his lungs with the smoke before blowing it out again in a series of rings. He studied Colbeck in silence through the fug. While it was too much to ask him ever to like the man, he had to respect his achievements over the years. The Railway Detective's record was unrivalled even if some of his methods were not endorsed by the superintendent. Nobody, however, was infallible. In trusting Captain Ridgeon, Colbeck had made a serious misjudgement. Tallis wondered if it was the only one.
'Are you sure that crash was caused by someone?' he said.
'I'd stake every penny I possess on it,' affirmed Colbeck.
'The Detective Department does not take gambles, Inspector. We deal only in certainties. Give me some of them. How, for instance, have you spent today – after you left Captain Ridgeon, that is?'
Colbeck told him about his visit to Chalk Farm and about the funeral card that had sent him haring off to Brighton. He said nothing about Madeleine Andrews, however, or her strange experience at the lectern in St Dunstan's church. It was not relevant and it would only serve to inflame Tallis. Colbeck's conclusion was that Horace Bardwell definitely had to be considered the most likely target of those who had caused the disaster on the Brighton line.
'What does that tell you?' asked Tallis.
'Matthew Shanklin is a prime suspect,' said Colbeck. 'If, that is, my supposition is correct. Should Mr Thornhill's death turn out to be the object of the crash, then Shanklin will be exonerated. I have grave doubts that that will happen.'
'Why is that, Inspector?'
'I told Victor to speak to him again.'
He recounted the details of Leeming's visit, stressing Shanklin's reaction to the name of Dick Chiffney. The possession of a telescope was also viewed as strong evidence. He reminded the superintendent of Bardwell's bitter remarks about Shanklin. Mutual hatred existed between the two men.
'I think that Matthew Shanklin may well have sent the macabre message to the hospital,' said Colbeck.
'How can you prove that?'
'I'll compare his handwriting with that on the card, sir.'
Resting his cigar in the astray, Tallis sat back pensively in his chair. Ever since he had entered the room, Colbeck had been waiting for him to explode and to unleash the kind of vituperation for which he was so well-known. Instead, he was unusually subdued. He had been sobered by the personal attack in the newspaper and was desperate for reassurance that the crime could indeed be solved before too long.
'The first thing you must do,' he said at length, 'is to establish a connection between Shanklin and this other fellow, Chiffney.'
'Victor is trying to do that at this moment, sir.'
'Why – where is he?'
'Somewhere in Chalk Farm,' said Colbeck. 'He's keeping watch on the home of Josie Murlow.'
Victor Leeming had retreated to the end of the street, feeling that he was too conspicuous if he stayed too long in the same place. He was still chiding himself for confusing one of Josie Murlow's clients with Dick Chiffney. The confrontation with Luke Watts had made him feel stupid but he had at least learnt something about Chiffney. The man was ugly and cross-eyed. He wished he had known that before he accosted the wrong person. Leeming had lost all track of time. It seemed as if he had been there for hours and all he had seen of Josie was a fleeting glimpse. He began to despair of catching sight of her again and wondered if he should accept defeat and leave.
He decided to stroll down the street for the last time, taking a final look at the house from close quarters before quitting his vigil. Hands thrust into his pockets and head down, he walked slowly along and hoped that his next assignment would not be so boring and so fruitless. His feet were hurting, his shoulders were aching and the smell from his coat was increasingly offensive. He longed to get back into clean clothing once more.
Leeming was only twenty yards from the hovel when a small boy ran past him to slip an envelope through the letterbox before dashing away. Within a matter of minutes, the door opened and out stepped Josie Murlow. He did not recognise her at first. She had been transformed. Wearing a dark dress that verged on respectability, she had somehow tamed her hair, swept it up and hidden it completely beneath her hat. She moved along with a measure of dignity. If he had not known her true calling, he would have taken her for a servant from a large establishment.
He felt a stab of fear, thinking that she would recognise him but Josie did not even glance in his direction. Wherever she was going, she was eager to get there, ignoring everything else on the way. It made it much easier for Leeming to follow her. Turning at the corner, she went on down the main road, never once looking over her shoulder. Leeming was tingling with excitement. He believed she had received word from Chiffney and was going to meet him. All of his recriminations vanished. His visit to Chalk Farm had, after all, been supremely worthwhile.
Given her size, Josie could not walk fast but she kept up a reasonable speed as she picked her way through pedestrians coming towards her. After going for a couple of hundred yards, she turned into a side-road and continued on her way. Leeming came around the corner, checked that she was not looking back then kept up his pursuit. Confident that she was leading him to a main suspect in the investigation, he squeezed the handcuffs in his pocket, certain that they would be needed on Chiffney. A man ruthless enough to bring an express train off the rails was unlikely to surrender meekly. Even the presence of Josie did not deter Leeming now. If necessary, he would take them both on.
She eventually stopped outside the Shepherd and Shepherdess, an incongruous name for a public house in an urban district. Then, for the first time, she turned round. Leeming took evasive action, diving sideways into an alleyway. When he peeped around the corner, he saw that Josie was walking further on. He tried to follow her but it was in vain. Before he even stepped back out into the road, he was hit on the back of head and plunged helplessly into unconsciousness.
Dick Chiffney unlocked the door and hustled her into the bedroom. Josie Murlow was so pleased at their reunion that she threw her arms around him and held him tight. Taking off her hat, he let her hair cascade down then kissed her full on the lips. It was minutes before they finally broke apart.
'I was beginning to think you'd run out on me again,' she said.
'I gave you my promise I'd send for you.'
'Where did you spend last night?'
'Right here,' he said, indicating the room. 'This house belongs to an old friend. He let me in as a favour.'
'Why didn't you send for me earlier?'
'I had someone to see, Josie – the gentleman I'm working for.'
'Has he paid you yet?'
'I have to do the job first.'
'Well, be quick about it, Dick,' she urged. 'The police are sniffing about. I had another one banging on my door today. They want you.'
'That's why I took precautions.'
'Them instructions you give me, you mean?'
'Yes, Josie. I had a feeling you might be followed. My note told you to stop at the Shepherd and Shepherdess to look round.'
'I saw nobody,' she said. 'Not a bleeding soul.'
'Well, I did,' he said with a chuckle, taking out his pistol, 'and I give him a sore head with this.' He mimed the action of striking with the butt of the weapon. 'That will teach him not to mess with Dick Chiffney.'
Josie was anxious. 'Where did you get that gun?'
'The gentleman give it to me.'
'What for – you're not going to shoot someone, are you?'
'I told you before, Josie – you don't need to know what's going on. I've got a job to do, that's all. When it's done, I get the rest of the money and I can hand back both of the guns.'
'Both of them?' she echoed.
'I've got this as well,' he boasted, lifting the overhanging coverlet to reveal the rifle under the bed. She gasped in alarm. 'Don't get so upset, my old darling,' he said, letting the coverlet go and putting an arm around her. 'Everything will be all right.'
'What have you got yourself into, Dick?'
'Nothing I can't handle.'
'I don't like it,' she said. 'You told me that there was no danger at all then I get two detectives coming to my house. When I try to leave it, I'm followed by someone.'
'He was a police spy, Josie.'
'That's dreadful! I don't want policemen camped outside my house, watching everything I do. What will happen now that you attacked the man following me?' A worrying thought struck her. 'You didn't kill him, did you?'
'No,' he said, airily, 'I didn't hit him hard enough. I should've done really. The more coppers we can get rid of, the better.' He took her by the shoulders. 'Try to stay calm, my love,' he urged. 'I'm doing this for us.'
'All you've done so far is to bring the law down on me and I'm scared. What's happening, Dick? I don't like being kept in the dark. Most of all,' she went on, 'I don't like having my house watched.
'Then you've no need to go back there, Josie.'
'Where else can I go?'
'You can stay here, my darling,' he said, nodding at the flagon on the table, 'for the time being, anyway. We've got plenty of gin and a nice big bed – what more do we need?'
When he regained consciousness, Victor Leeming found himself lying on the ground in an alleyway close to some animal excrement. His face and body had been bruised in the fall and his head felt as if it were about to explode. It took him a little while to work out what had happened. His thick cap had prevented a bad scalp wound, leaving him with a large bump that throbbed insistently. Most people who had passed by took him for a drunk who had passed out. Nobody came to his aid. It was only when he dragged himself painfully to his feet that an old man stopped to help him.
'Are you all right?' he asked, looking at the grazes on his face.
'I think so.'
'Is there anything I can do?'
'Yes,' said Leeming, wincing at the pain. 'Find a policeman.'
'You stay here.'
When the old man went off, Leeming leant against the wall for support, annoyed that he had let himself be caught off guard. He took off his cap and ran a hand gingerly over the bump on his head. The assault had not been the work of a thief. Nothing had been taken from his pockets. Given the fact that Leeming was trailing Josie Murlow, the most likely assailant, he guessed, was Dick Chiffney.
A policeman eventually arrived and was astonished when he heard that the scruffy man in the alleyway was a detective sergeant. He hailed a cab on Leeming's behalf, helped him into it and told the driver to go to Scotland Yard as fast as he could. The juddering movement of the carriage made Leeming's head pound even more and the clatter of the horse's hooves resounded painfully in his eardrums. He could not wait to reach his destination.
By the time he finally got to Colbeck's office, he was still a little unsteady on his feet. Colbeck took charge at once, sitting him down, pouring him a glass of whisky from a bottle concealed in his desk then gently bathing his face with cold water.
'I hate to send you home to your wife in this state,' he said.
'Estelle is used to seeing me with a few bruises, sir,' said Leeming, bravely. 'Her father was a policeman, remember. She knows that it's a dangerous job.'
'You were lucky, Victor.'
'I don't feel lucky.'
'No,' said Colbeck, sympathetically, 'I'm sure you don't but it could have been far worse. If you were knocked out, somebody might have taken the opportunity to inflict serious wounds. Tell me exactly what happened.'
'I'm not certain that I remember it all, Inspector.'
After another restorative drink of whisky, Leeming gave a halting account of his time outside Josie Murlow's house, recalling his folly in accosting Luke Watts and his lack of concentration when he stepped into the alleyway. Colbeck seized on one detail.
'The boy delivered a warning to the house,' he decided. 'Josie Murlow was told that she should take a particular route so that anyone following her could be seen. She was probably told to look back outside that public house so that you would instinctively try to hide somewhere. Someone was waiting for you.'
'I think it was Dick Chiffney.'
'There's a strong possibility that it was, Victor.'
'Then I need to go back and search for him,' said Leeming. 'I have a score to settle with Chiffney.'
'The only place you're going this evening,' said Colbeck, 'is home to Estelle. You need rest. My advice is that you don't buy a newspaper on the way there.'
'Why not, sir?'
Colbeck told him about the article concerning the train crash and how Tallis had responded to it. He also talked about the visit to Brighton where he had spoken to Horace Bardwell and learnt more about his relationship with Matthew Shanklin. Leeming was cynical.
'One of them is lying, Inspector,' he argued. 'Mr Shanklin reckons that Mr Bardwell is a crook yet you heard him claim that Mr Shanklin is the troublemaker. Which one should we believe?'
'I'll let you know when I've talked to Mr Shanklin tomorrow.'
'At least, we know one thing for certain. The target of the train crash was Horace Bardwell.'
'That's what I thought, Victor,' admitted Colbeck, 'but I've been forced to reconsider. In the last hour, we received another message from Giles Thornhill – someone tried to kill him earlier today.'