The Round House was a vast and intricate structure of wrought iron and brick, built to accommodate the turntable used by trains belonging to the London and North Western Railway. Situated in Chalk Farm Road, it was always filled with clamour and action. Since its erection in 1847, it had attracted many visitors but few of them were female and fewer still were as handsome as Madeleine Andrews. In effect, she was a human turntable, making the head of every man there veer round sharply when she entered.
Many engine drivers had taken their young sons to view the interior of the Round House. Caleb Andrews, a short, wiry man whose fringe beard was speckled with grey, was the only one who had taken a daughter armed with a sketch pad. Taller than her father, Madeleine was an alert, intelligent, spirited young woman who had taken over the running of their Camden house when her mother died. Andrews was known at work for his acid tongue and trenchant opinions but his daughter had tamed him at home, coping easily with his shifting moods and taking the edge off his irascibility.
'There you are, Maddy,' he said, raising his voice over the din and making a sweeping gesture. 'What do you think of it?'
She gave a shrug. 'It's magnificent,' she agreed, running her eye over the interior. 'It's like an industrial cathedral. It's even bigger than it looks from outside.'
'Bigger and noisier – I've lost count of the number of times I've driven on to that turntable. It must be hundreds.'
'Do you think anyone would mind if I made a few sketches?'
'They wouldn't dare to mind,' said Andrews, distributing a warning glare around the circle of railwaymen. 'Any daughter of mine has special privileges.'
'Does that mean I can stand on the footplate while an engine is being turned?' she teased.
He laughed. 'Even I can't arrange that for you, Maddy.'
Fiercely proud of her, Andrews stood there with arms akimbo as she began her first quick sketch. Her interest in locomotives was not a casual one. Having discovered an artistic talent, Madeleine had developed it to the point where it had become a source of income. Prints of her railway scenes had been bought by several people. What she had never drawn before, however, was a turntable in action. That was why she had asked her father to take her to the Round House.
Aware of the attention she was getting, she kept her head down and worked swiftly. It was left to Andrews to explain what she was doing and to boast about her modest success as an artist. Any talent she possessed, he was keen to point out, must have been inherited from him. While he chatted to his friends, Madeleine was sketching the locomotive that had just been driven on to the turntable before being swung round so that it could leave frontward. A simple, necessary, mechanical action was carried out with relative ease then the locomotive left with a series of short, sharp puffs of smoke.
Madeleine's pencil danced over the paper and she scribbled some notes beside each lightning sketch. When she turned her attention to the structure itself, she craned her neck to look up at the domed roof. It was inspiring. The fact that the whole place was bathed in evening shadows somehow made the scene more magical and evocative. She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the man who came into the building and spoke earnestly to her father. After his jocular conversation with the others, Andrews was now tense and concerned, plying the newcomer with questions until he had extracted every last detail from him.
On their walk home through the gathering gloom, Madeleine noticed the radical change in her father's manner. Instead of talking incessantly, as he usually did, he lapsed into a brooding silence.
'Is anything wrong, Father?' she asked.
'I'm afraid that it is.'
She was worried. 'You're not in trouble for taking me there, are you? I'd hate to think that I made things awkward for you.'
'It's nothing like that, Maddy,' he told her with an affectionate squeeze of her arm. 'In fact, it's nothing whatsoever to do with the LNWR. While you were drawing in there, Nat Ruggles passed on some disturbing news to me. There's been a bad accident.'
'Where?'
'On the Brighton line.'
'What happened?'
'According to Nat, there was a collision between two trains the other side of the Balcombe tunnel. I suppose the only consolation is that it happened in open country and not in the tunnel itself.'
'Nor on the Ouse Viaduct,' she noted.
'That would have been a terrible calamity, Maddy. If the viaduct was destroyed in a crash, the line would be closed indefinitely. Nobody would be able to take an excursion train to the seaside,' he pointed out. 'As it is, there are bound to be deaths and serious injuries. The Brighton Express would have been going at a fair speed and you know how poor the braking system is.' He showed a flash of temper. 'All that those brainless engineers think about is making trains go faster and faster. It's high time someone designed a means of stopping them.'
He fell silent again and Madeleine left him to his thoughts. She knew how upset he was at the news of any railway accidents. He was always uncomfortably reminded of how hazardous his own job was. Andrews had courted disaster on more than one occasion but always escaped it. There was a camaraderie among railwaymen that meant a tragedy on one line was mourned by every rival company. There was no gloating. With regard to the LB amp;SCR, Caleb Andrews had even more reason for alarm. He had many friends who worked for the company and feared that one or more of them had been involved.
When they reached the house, they let themselves in. Having met his daughter at the end of his day's shift, Andrews was still in his working clothes. He removed his cap and slumped into a chair.
'I'll make some supper,' offered Madeleine.
'Not for me.'
'You have to eat something, Father. You must be starving.'
'I couldn't touch a thing, Maddy,' he said with a grimace. 'I don't think I'd be able to keep it down. Just leave me be, there's a good girl. I have too many things on my mind.'
It was late evening when Robert Colbeck arrived at the house and he was pleased to see a light in the living room. After paying the cab driver and sending him on his way, he knocked on the door. When it was opened by Madeleine, she let out a spontaneous cry of delight.
'Robert! What are you doing here?'
'At the moment,' he said with a warm smile, 'I'm enjoying that look of surprise on your face.' He gave her a token kiss. 'I'm sorry to turn up on your doorstep so late, Madeleine.'
'You're welcome whatever time you come,' she said, standing back so that he could step into the house. She closed the front door behind him. 'It's lovely to see you so unexpectedly.'
'Good evening, Mr Andrews,' he said, doffing his top hat.
Deep in thought, the engine driver did not even hear him.
'You must excuse Father,' said Madeleine in a whisper. 'He's been upset by news of an accident on the Brighton line. Let's go on through to the kitchen, shall we?'
'But it was the accident that brought me here,' explained Colbeck. 'As it happens, I've just returned from the site.'
'What's that?' asked Andrews, hearing him this time and getting up instantly from his chair. 'You know something about the crash?'
'Yes, Mr Andrews.'
'Tell me everything.'
'Give Robert a proper greeting first,' chided Madeleine.
'This is important to me, Maddy.'
'I appreciate that, Mr Andrews,' said Colbeck, 'and that's why I came. If we could all sit down, I'll be happy to give you the full details. I don't think you should hear them standing up.'
'Why not?'
'Just do as Robert suggests, Father,' said Madeleine.
'Well?' pressed Andrews as he resumed his seat.
Sitting on the sofa, Colbeck took a deep breath. 'It was a head-on collision,' he told them. 'Six people were killed and dozens were badly injured.'
'Do you know who was on the footplate at the time?'
'Yes, Mr Andrews. The driver of the ballast train was Edmund Liversedge. His fireman was Timothy Parke.'
Andrews shook his head. 'I don't know either of them.'
'Their families are being informed of their deaths, as we speak.'
'What about the express?'
'The fireman was the only survivor on the footplate. He managed to jump clear before the crash. His name is John Heddle.'
'Heddle!' repeated the other. 'That little monkey. I remember him when he was a cleaner for the LNWR. He was always in trouble. In the end, he was sacked.' He scratched his beard. 'So he's made something of himself, after all, has he? Good for him. I never thought John Heddle would become a fireman.'
'What about the driver?' said Madeleine.
'It appears that he was killed instantly,' said Colbeck.
After looking from one to the other, he lowered his voice. 'I'm afraid that I have some distressing news for you. The driver was Frank Pike.'
Madeleine was shocked and her father turned white. Frank Pike was more than a friend of the family. Andrews had been seriously injured during the train robbery that had brought Robert Colbeck into his life. The fireman that day had been Frank Pike and Colbeck had been impressed by his loyalty and steadfastness. He had been even more impressed by Madeleine Andrews and what had begun as a meeting in disturbing circumstances had blossomed over the years into something far more than a mere friendship.
'I felt that you ought to know as soon as possible,' Colbeck went on. 'It seemed to me that you and Madeleine might prefer to be there when I break the news to his wife. Mrs Pike is sure to be sitting at home, wondering why her husband has not come back from work. She's going to need a lot of support.'
'Then Rose will get it from us,' promised Madeleine. 'This will be a crushing blow. She was so proud when Frank became a driver.'
'It's the reason he left the LNWR,' recalled Andrews, sorrowfully. 'They refused to promote him. The only way he could be a driver was to move to another company so that's what he did. Frank Pike was the best fireman I ever had,' he said, wincing. 'I'll miss him dreadfully.' His eyes flicked to Colbeck. 'Do you know what caused the accident?'
'No,' replied the detective, 'and I was very sceptical about the one theory that was put forward. It was suggested that the express train went too fast around a bend and came off the rails as a result. Is that the kind of thing you'd expect of Frank Pike?'
'Not in a hundred years!' said Andrews, red with anger. 'Frank would always err on the side of safety. I should know – I taught him.' He jumped up and struck a combative pose. 'Who's been spreading lies about him?'
'It's just a foolish idea starting to take root.'
'It's more than foolish – it's an insult to Frank!'
'Don't shout, Father,' said Madeleine, trying to calm him.
'Isn't it enough that the poor man has been killed doing his job?' yelled Andrews. 'Why do they have to blacken his name by claiming that the accident was his fault? It's wrong, Maddy. It's downright cruel, that's what it is.'
'I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mr Andrews,' said Colbeck, 'and I'm sure that Pike will be exonerated when the full truth is known. Meanwhile, however, I don't believe you should let this idle speculation upset you and I strongly advise you against making any mention of it to his widow.'
'That's right,' said Madeleine. 'We must consider Rose's feelings.'
'Shall we all go there together? I know that she lives nearby.'
'It's only minutes away, Robert.'
'This is a job for Maddy and me,' announced Andrews, making an effort to control himself. 'It was good of you to come, Inspector, and I'm very grateful. But I know Rose Pike well. She'll be upset by the sight of a stranger. She'd much rather hear the news from friends.'
'I accept that,' said Colbeck.
'Before we go, I'd like to hear more detail of what actually happened. Don't worry,' Andrews continued, holding up a palm, 'I won't pass any of it on to Rose. I just want to know whatever you can tell me about the accident. You don't have to listen to this, Maddy,' he said. 'If it's going to upset you, wait in the kitchen.'
'I'll stay here,' she decided. 'I want to hear everything.'
'In that case,' said Colbeck, weighing his words carefully, 'I'll tell you what we discovered when we got to the scene.'
Since he had been spared the ordeal of spending a night way from his family, Victor Leeming made no complaint about the early start. He and Colbeck were aboard a train that took them to Balcombe not long after dawn. It was a fine day and the sun was already painting the grass with gold. Watching the fields scud past, Leeming thought about the present he ought to buy for his wife's forthcoming birthday, hoping that he would be able to spend some of the occasion with her instead of being sent away on police business. Colbeck was reading a newspaper bought at London Bridge station. As he read an account of the train crash, his jaw tightened.
'Someone has been talking to Captain Ridgeon,' he said.
The sergeant turned to him. 'What's that, Inspector?'
'This report lays the blame squarely on the shoulders of Frank Pike. I just hope that his widow doesn't read it.'
'Isn't it possible that the driver of the Brighton Express was at fault?' suggested Leeming.
'I think it highly unlikely, Victor.'
'Why?'
'Pike had an unblemished record,' said Colbeck. 'If there had been any doubts at all about his skill as an engine driver, he would never have been allowed to take charge of the Brighton Express.'
'We all make mistakes from time to time, sir.'
'I'm not convinced that a mistake was made in this case.'
'How do you know that?'
'I don't,' admitted Colbeck. 'I'm working on instinct.'
'Well,' said Leeming, 'for what it's worth, my instinct tells me that we're on a wild goose chase. In my view, we could be more usefully employed elsewhere. We should let the railway company do their job while we get on with ours.'
'I think you'll find that the two jobs may overlap.'
'Is that what Captain Ridgeon told you?'
'Far from it, Victor,' said the other with a grim chuckle. 'The inspector general inclined to your view that we have no business at all being there. It was a polite way of saying that we were treading on his toes.'
'So why are we bothering to go back, sir?'
'We need to find out the truth – and if that involves stamping hard on both of the captain's feet, so be it. We must establish whether the crash was accidental or deliberate.'
'How do we do that?'
'In two obvious ways,' said Colbeck. 'First, we inspect the point at which the express actually left the track to see if there's any sign of criminal intent. Second, we speak to John Heddle. He was on the footplate at the time so will be an invaluable witness.'
'I wonder why the driver didn't have the sense to jump off.'
'We may never know, Victor.'
Transferring to a cab at Balcombe station, they spent the rest of the journey in a more leisurely way. When they reached the site of the accident, they saw that considerable changes had taken place. Passengers were no longer strewn across the grass and all the medical assistance had disappeared. Work had continued throughout the night to clear the line so that it could be repaired. Fires were still burning and timber from the wreckage was being tossed on to them. Hoisted upright by cranes, the two battered locomotives stood side by side like a pair of shamefaced drunkards facing a magistrate after a night of mayhem. The body of Frank Pike had been removed.
Picking a way through the vestigial debris, the detectives reached the track for the up trains and walked along it in the direction of Balcombe. Beside them was a deep channel that had been gouged out of the earth by the rampaging Brighton Express. The rails of the parallel track had been ripped up and bent out of shape.
'You can see what happened,' noted Colbeck. 'One side of the train was running on bare earth while the wheels on the other side were bouncing over the sleepers.'
'It must have been a very bumpy ride, sir.'
'Yes, Victor. On the other hand, the ground did act as a primitive braking system, slowing the express down a little and lessening the force of impact. This long furrow saved lives.'
'But not enough of them,' said Leeming under his breath.
They strolled on for over a quarter of a mile before they came to the point where the train had first parted company with the track. Four men in frock coats and top hats were clustered around the spot. As the detectives approached, the youngest of the men broke away to exchange greetings with them. Captain Ridgeon forced a smile.
'Your journey is in vain, gentlemen,' he said. 'As we suspected, the Brighton Express left the rails here. It is, you'll observe, on the crown of a bend. The indications are that the train was travelling too fast to negotiate the bend properly.'
'This is not what I'd call a real bend,' said Colbeck, studying the broken rail then looking up the line beyond it. 'It's no more than a gentle curve. High speed would not have caused a derailment.'
'Then what would have done so?' challenged Ridgeon.
'The most likely thing is an obstacle on the line.'
'Where is it? We'd surely have found it by now. Besides, John Heddle, the fireman, would have noticed any obstacle in the path of the train and he swears that he saw nothing.'
'I'd like to speak to Heddle myself.'
'He'll only tell you what he told us, Inspector. Nothing was blocking the line. We had an accident near here some years ago when a goods train hit a cow that had strayed on to the track. Since then, both sides have been fenced off.'
Colbeck was not listening to him. Crouching down, he ran a hand along the section of flat-bottomed, cast iron rail that had sprung away at an acute angle from the track. The section was curved but more or less intact. Colbeck stood up and gazed around.
'What are you looking for, Inspector?' asked Leeming.
'The fishplates that held this rail in place,' said Colbeck.
'They would have been split apart when the train left the track,' said Ridgeon, irritated by what he saw as the detective's unwarranted interference. 'It was going at high speed, remember.'
'In that case, they would have been bent out of shape but still fixed to the sleeper. Yet there's no sign of them, Captain Ridgeon.' Colbeck pointed a finger. 'You can see the holes in the timber where the bolts used to be.'
'Then they were obviously ripped out by the train.'
'I disagree. I fancy that they were removed beforehand.'
'That's a preposterous notion!' said Ridgeon with scorn. 'You'll be telling me next that someone deliberately levered the rail away.'
'I may be telling you exactly that, sir,' said Colbeck.
After examining the rail again with great care, he signalled to Leeming and the two of them began to scour the immediate area. Ridgeon and the other men looked on with ill-concealed disdain. Having made up their minds about the cause of the accident, they resented being told that they might have made a mistake. The search was thorough but fruitless and Leeming spread his arms wide in despair. It was a cue for Ridgeon to resume his conversation with the others. They turned their back on the two interlopers.
Colbeck, however, did not give up easily. Widening the search, he removed his hat so that he could poke his head into the thick bushes that bordered the track on one side. Leeming joined him with patent reluctance. They burrowed away in the undergrowth. While the inspector made sure that he did not damage his clothing in any way, the sergeant scuffed the knees of his trousers and snagged his coat on a sharp twig. Leeming was also stung by a lurking nettle.
Captain Ridgeon, meanwhile, finished his discussion with his colleagues and made some notes on a pad as the others walked away. He was still writing when he heard footsteps approaching and he looked up to see Colbeck coming towards him. The inspector was holding a fishplate in each hand.
'We found these,' he said, passing them to Ridgeon. 'As you'll see, they're not bent or damaged in any way. That's because the bolts were removed so that these plates could be lifted away and tossed into the bushes.'
'That proves nothing,' said Ridgeon, defiantly.
'It proves that they were not torn apart by the force of the train. Victor found one of the bolts. That, too, was undamaged. It was taken out by someone who knew what he was doing. My guess is that the section of line was then prised away, making a derailment inevitable.'
Ridgeon was icily polite. 'I'm grateful to you for your opinion, Inspector Colbeck,' he said, 'but, in essence, that's all it is – a personal, unsought, uninformed opinion. On the basis of what I've seen and heard, I still believe that a fatal error was made by the driver, Frank Pike.'
'How can I change your mind?'
'It would be foolhardy of you even to try.'
'A crime was committed here.'
'Yes – and the man who perpetrated it was a careless driver.'
'Inspector!' bellowed Leeming.
The two men looked across at a large bush that was shaking violently. After a moment, the sergeant emerged out of it, scratched and dishevelled but wearing a triumphant grin. In his hands, he was carrying a pickaxe. He waved it in the air.
Colbeck turned slowly to confront the inspector general.
'Perhaps you can explain that away, sir,' he said.