Victor Leeming's search began badly. The first person he had to find was Jack Rye, a porter from London Bridge station who had been dismissed on suspicion of theft in spite of vociferous protestations of innocence. The address that Leeming had been given was in one of the poorer quarters of Westminster. When he called there, he learnt that Rye had quit the premises months earlier. As the city echoed to the sound of church bells, a long, arduous trudge ensued through some of the rougher districts of the capital as the sergeant went from tenement to miserable tenement. Rye had kept on the move, changing his accommodation as often as his job. Time and again, he had departed with a landlord's curse ringing in his ears.
When Leeming finally tracked his man down to one of the rookeries in Seven Dials, he discovered that Jack Rye could not possibly have caused the train crash because he had been stabbed to death in a tavern brawl a week before the tragedy occurred. The very fact that Rye had ended up living in such a vile slum was an indication of how low his fortunes had fallen. It was a relief to cross one name off the list. Leeming was grateful to get clear of Seven Dials and of the jeering children who threw stones at his top hat.
Dick Chiffney was also elusive. A plate-layer for the LB amp;SCR, he had been sacked for punching his foreman. His address at the time was that of a hovel in Chalk Farm, a relic of the days when the area was predominantly agricultural. Industry had slowly encroached upon it, houses had been built for the burgeoning middle classes and the arrival of the railways had completed the dramatic change to an urban environment. Chiffney was no longer there but the little house did still have an occupant. Arms folded, she confronted Leeming at the door.
'Who are you?' she demanded.
'My name is Detective Sergeant Leeming,' he replied.
'Is that why you've come – to tell me the bastard is finally dead?'
'I'm looking for Dick Chiffney.'
'And so am I,' she said, baring the blackened remains of her teeth. 'I've been looking for him all week.'
Josie Murlow was a fearsome woman in her thirties, tall, big-boned and with red hair plunging down her back like a hirsute waterfall. Her face had a ravaged prettiness but it was her body that troubled Leeming. She exuded a raw sexuality that seemed quite out of place on a Sunday. As a uniformed constable, he had arrested many prostitutes and had always been immune to their charms. Josie Murlow was different. He could not take his eyes off the huge, round, half-visible, heaving breasts. Leeming felt as if he were being brazenly accosted in broad daylight.
'Are you Mrs Chiffney?' he asked, making a conscious effort to meet her fiery gaze.
'I'm Mrs Chiffney in all but name,' she retorted. 'I cooked for him, looked after him and shared his bed for almost two years then he walks out on me without a word of warning. It's not bleeding right.'
'I quite agree.'
'Who gave him money when he lost his job? Who nursed him when he was ill? Who kept him in drink? I did,' she stressed, slapping her chest with such force that her breasts bobbed up and down with hypnotic insistence. 'I done everything for that man.'
'When did you last see him?'
'Over a week ago.'
'Did he have a job at the time?'
'Dick's been out of work since he knocked his foreman to the ground when he was laying some new track on the railway. We had to get by on what I bring in.'
Leeming did not have to ask what she did for a living. Even though she was now wearing crumpled old clothes and had no powder on her florid cheeks, Josie Murlow was patently a member of the oldest profession. He decided that she must have catered for more vigorous clients. Only big, strong, brave, virile men would have dared to take her on. Others would have found her far too intimidating.
'Why are the police after Dick?' she said, belligerently. 'What's the mad bugger been up to now?'
'I just wished to talk to him.'
'Don't lie to me. I've had enough dealings with the law to know that you never simply want to talk to someone. There's always some dark reason at the back of it. Dick is in trouble again, isn't he?'
'He might be,' admitted Leeming.
'What's the charge this time?'
Leeming was evasive. 'It's to do with the railway.'
'The foreman started the fight,' she argued, leaping to Chiffney's defence. 'He threw the first punch so Dick had to hit him back. In any case,' she added, sizing him up, 'why is a detective from Scotland Yard bothering about a scuffle on a railway line? There's something else, isn't there?' She glared at him. 'What is it?'
'It may be nothing at all and that's the truth. I just need to speak to Mr Chiffney. Do you have any idea where he might be?'
'If I did, I wouldn't be standing here, would I? Josie Murlow is not a woman to give up easy. I've searched everywhere. What I can tell you,' she conceded, 'is where Dick likes to drink. I been to all the places but he must have seen me coming because he wasn't in any of them. You might be luckier. Dick doesn't know you.'
Taking out his notepad, Leeming jotted down the names of four public houses that Chiffney frequented. As he wrote, he kept his head down, glad of an excuse not to look at her surging bosom. Josie was well aware of his interest. When he looked up again, he saw that one flabby arm had dropped to her side while the other rested on the door jamb beside her head. Her crudely seductive pose made him take a step backwards.
'Would you like to come in, Sergeant Leeming?' she invited.
'I…don't have the time,' he stammered.
'I've got drink in the house – and a very empty bed.'
'No, thank you.'
'Josie Murlow gives value for money, I can tell you.'
'I've no reason to doubt that.'
'Then why are you holding back?' she said, putting both hands on her hips and turning sideways so that he saw her body in enticing profile. 'What better way to spend a Sunday?'
'I'm a married man,' he said, indignantly.
'So are most of them – they want something special for a change.' She gave a low cackle. 'I make sure they get it.'
'You'll have to excuse me. I'm still on duty.'
She became aggressive. 'Are you turning me down?'
'I have to find Mr Chiffney,' he said, retreating from the door.
'Well, when you do,' she yelled, 'drag him back here by the balls. I want a word with that swivel-eyed bastard.'
Returning to Brighton by cab, the first thing that Colbeck did was to find a hotel where he could buy himself a light luncheon. He then took time off to look at the town's most famous sight, the Royal Pavilion with its strange but arresting mixture of neo-classical and oriental architecture. In the previous century, the restorative properties of its sea water had helped to turn Brighton from a small fishing port into a fashionable resort. The Pavilion had added to its appeal. Built over a period of many years, it had become a main attraction well before its completion in 1823.
The brainchild of the future King George IV, it had failed abysmally to exercise the same fascination for Queen Victoria and ceased to become a royal residence. Colbeck was glad that it had been purchased by the town in 1850, allowing the public to admire its unique design and its spacious gardens. Those who flocked to the seaside in warmer months did not merely come for the pleasure of walking along the promenade, enjoying the facilities on the Chain Pier or merely reclining on the beach and watching the waves roll in. They were there to view the majestic Pavilion and to get a privileged insight into how royalty lived and entertained.
After seeing his fill, Colbeck set off on his second visit of the day. St Dunstan's Rectory was only a stone's throw from the church itself and it had been built at roughly the same time, retaining its medieval exterior while undergoing many internal renovations. Shown into the drawing room by the housekeeper, Colbeck was given a cordial welcome by Ezra Follis who pulled himself out of his high-backed chair with barely concealed pain.
'Forgive me if I don't shake your hand, Inspector,' he said. 'My hands are still somewhat tender and I had difficulty turning the pages of my Prayer Book during the service this morning. Your visit is timely. I was just about to have my afternoon cup of tea.'
'Then I'll be happy to join you, Mr Follis.'
'Thank you, Mrs Ashmore.'
A nod from the rector was all it took for the housekeeper to bustle out of the room. The two men, meanwhile, sat down opposite each other. After the grand proportions of the library he had visited earlier, Colbeck found the room small and cluttered. The low ceiling, thick roof beams and little mullioned windows contributed to the sense of restriction but the place had a snug, homely feeling about it. Follis had less than a quarter of the number of books owned by Giles Thornhill but Colbeck suspected that he had read far more of the contents of his library than the politician had of his.
'What brings you to Brighton again?' asked Follis.
'I had to speak to one of your Members of Parliament.'
'Then it must have been Giles Thornhill.'
'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'Like you, he was a survivor of the crash.'
'How did you find him?'
'I think he's still in considerable discomfort.'
Follis chortled. 'That's a polite way of saying that he was singularly inhospitable. It's no more than I'd expect,' he said. 'On the one occasion when I called at his house, Thornhill kept me waiting for twenty minutes before he deigned to see me.'
'I take it that you are not an admirer of the gentleman.'
'Voting against him at the last election gave me a sense of delight, Inspector. I despise the man. He manipulates people to his advantage. The only thing that animates him is the greater glory of Giles Thornhill.' He chortled again. 'When visitors come to Brighton for the first time, I ask them what they think of the monstrosity.'
'The Royal Pavilion?'
'No,' said Follis, 'our Parliamentary eyesore – Mr Thornhill.'
'What has he done to offend you?' wondered Colbeck.
'He's treated people with contempt as if he inhabits a superior order of creation. Then, of course,' said Follis, knowingly, 'there's the small matter of his inheritance.'
'Judging by the size of his house, I'd say that it was an extremely large one.'
'His father made his fortune in the slave trade, Inspector.'
'Ah, I see.'
'He grew rich on the suffering and humiliation of others. That may explain why Thornhill regards so many of us as mere slaves. However,' he went on, sympathy coming into his voice, 'I'm genuinely sorry that he was injured in the crash and did my best to help him at the time. Needless to say, I received no thanks.'
'Do you see Mr Thornhill often?' asked Colbeck.
'At least once a week – we catch the Brighton Express every Friday evening and often share a carriage. Though we acknowledge each other, we rarely speak.' Follis grinned. 'I fancy that he knows he can't rely on my vote.'
They chatted amiably until the housekeeper arrived with a tray. As she served the two of them with a cup of tea, Colbeck was able to take a closer look at Ellen Ashmore. She was a stout woman of medium height with well-groomed grey hair surrounding a pleasant face that was incongruously small in comparison with her body. Though she and Follis were of a similar age, she treated him with a motherly concern, urging him to rest as much as possible.
'Mrs Ashmore will spoil me,' said Follis when she had left the room. 'She did everything she could to stop me taking the service this morning. I told her that I had a duty, Inspector. I couldn't let my parishioners down.'
'I'm sure that they appreciated your being there.'
'Some of them did.' Adding sugar to his cup, Follis stirred his tea. 'Incidentally, did you manage to get anything coherent out of Horace Bardwell?'
'I'm afraid not,' said Colbeck. 'He's hopelessly bewildered.'
'We prayed for him and the other victims.'
'While I was at the hospital yesterday, I spoke to some of them. Two, apparently, were in the same carriage as you.'
'Oh? And who might they be?'
'Mr Terence Giddens and a young lady named Miss Daisy Perriam. They were both highly distressed at what happened to them.'
'That's understandable,' said Follis with something akin to amusement. 'Instead of being trapped in hospital beds, the pair of them had hoped to be sharing one.' Colbeck was taken aback. 'You didn't see them together as I did, Inspector. Had you done so, you'd have noticed that, though they pretended to be travelling alone, they were, in fact, together. That's why Giddens was so desperate to get out of the hospital.'
'He told me that his bank needed him in London.'
'I heard the same lie. The truth of it is that he was afraid that his wife would read about the crash in the newspapers and see her husband's name among the injured. The last thing that Giddens wanted was for his wife to discover that, instead of doing whatever he told her he would be doing that weekend, he had instead slipped off to Brighton with a beautiful young woman. He lives in fear that Mrs Giddens will walk through the door of his ward at any moment.'
Colbeck was impressed. 'You're a shrewd detective, Mr Follis,' he said. 'I wish I had your intuition.'
'It's something one develops,' explained Follis. 'If you'd sat by as many sad deathbeds as I have, and settled as many bitter marital disputes, and listened to as many tearful confessions of wickedness and folly, you'd become acutely sensitive to human behaviour. As it was, Giddens gave himself away at the start. When I first spoke to him in hospital, he wanted to know if Daisy Perriam had survived the crash. He was far less interested in the fate of Giles Thornhill and the others in our carriage.'
'I wish that I'd talked to you earlier.'
'Why – are you going to offer me a job at Scotland Yard?'
'No,' said Colbeck, tickled by the suggestion. 'By inclination and training, you're clearly far more suited to the Church – though I'm bound to observe that there are very few clergymen who'd share your tolerant view of people's peccadilloes. Any other gentleman of the cloth would be scandalised by the relationship you discerned between Mr Giddens and Miss Perriam.'
'God has punished them enough for their sins,' said Follis. 'I don't feel they deserve the additional penalty of my disapproval. Given their condition, they'll get nothing but sympathy from me.'
Colbeck could not imagine that view being expressed by any other churchman. It would certainly not be endorsed by Edward Tallis, a man of high ideals and a stern moral code. In his report to the superintendent, Colbeck would make no mention of the liaison between a respected, married banker and an attractive young woman. The more he got to know Ezra Follis, the more interesting and unusual the man became. Colbeck was about to ask a question when the rector read his mind.
'The honest answer is that there have been occasional moments of friction,' he said, blithely 'That's what you wanted to know, isn't it? You were wondering about my relationship with my bishop.'
Colbeck blinked. 'How did you know I was going to ask that?'
'It's what most people think when they hear some of my rather eccentric opinions. They marvel why I've not been rapped over the knuckles and forced to toe the line.'
'The Anglican church has many restraints.'
'And I willingly abide by most of them,' said Follis. 'But I reserve the right to conduct my ministry according to my own promptings. I'm more concerned about the response of my parishioners than the strictures of the bishop or the dean. As long as I can preach to a congregation, I'll continue to do so in my own way.' He took a sip of tea. 'Now, tell me, Inspector – what progress have you made?'
'We're still in the early stages of the investigation,' said Colbeck, 'but I have every confidence that we'll catch the person or persons responsible for the crash. It's only a question of time.'
'That's reassuring to hear.'
'We already have some suspects in mind.'
'It must be someone with a fierce hatred of trains.'
'You could well be right,' said Colbeck, unwilling to give any more information. 'Even after all this time, railways are still not universally accepted. Whoever caused that crash wanted to inflict serious damage on the LB amp;SCR. He knew how calamitous the consequences would be.'
'Journeys to London have been badly disrupted,' remarked Follis, 'and that's a nuisance to those of us who go there on a regular basis. Not that I'll be doing any travelling for a while,' he went on. 'I'll have to wait until I begin to look more human.'
Colbeck sampled the tea. 'This is excellent,' he said.
'Mrs Ashmore looks after me very well. Here in the rectory, I have everything a man could desire – peace, harmony, a selection of fine books and the loving care of a woman.' He set his cup and saucer down. 'In view of your well-deserved reputation, Inspector, I've every reason to accept your judgement but I have to point out that your view is not shared by everyone. All of the passengers still believe they were victims of an unfortunate accident.'
'Until we catch the perpetrator, I'm happy for them to think that. There's no need to spread alarm, especially when the survivors are hardly in the best condition to cope with it. No,' said Colbeck, 'the official view remains that of the inspector general.'
'He puts the blame on the driver of the Brighton Express.'
'That's both wrong and unjust.'
'Is he aware that you hold a very different opinion?'
'Oh, yes,' replied Colbeck. 'Captain Ridgeon and I have already clashed once. I daresay that we shall do so again before long.'
Captain Harvey Ridgeon was in a purposeful mood when he called at Scotland Yard that afternoon. Demanding to speak to the most senior detective on the premises, he was shown into the office of Edward Tallis. After attending church early that morning, the superintendent had spent the rest of the day going through reports of the various cases that came under his aegis and making copious notes of the instructions he intended to give to his respective officers. He could see at a glance that his visitor had come to complain.
Once introductions had been made, Ridgeon was offered a seat. As former soldiers, they had similar attitudes, similar upright sitting positions and similar ways of speaking. What distinguished Tallis was that he no longer attached his military rank to his name, preferring the nomenclature conferred on him by the Detective Department.
'What can I do for you, Captain Ridgeon?' he asked.
'I'd like you to remonstrate with Inspector Colbeck,' said the other, coolly. 'I find his interference both unhelpful and annoying.'
'Then your argument is with the railway company itself. It was they who sought his assistance.'
'I need no assistance, Superintendent. As my record shows, I'm perfectly capable of carrying out an inquiry into a railway accident.'
'Nobody disputes that. The point at issue here, however, is that we are not dealing with an accident. Inspector Colbeck is certain that a heinous crime has been committed.'
'The facts are open to that misinterpretation, I agree,' said Ridgeon. 'What surprises me is that the much-vaunted Railway Detective has misread them so wilfully.'
'His report seemed convincing enough to me.'
'The real fault lies with the driver, Superintendent.'
'What about the bolts that were found in the bushes?'
'They could easily have sprung clear when the locomotive first left the rails. Think of the force involved – the train demolished the whole track as it careered along.'
'How do you explain the pickaxe found by Sergeant Leeming?'
'That was the surest proof of your officers' inexperience,' said Ridgeon. 'Both of them leapt to the same conclusion. Had they been as acquainted with the laziness of certain railwaymen as I am, they would have known that some of them conceal their tools under the bushes to save them the trouble of having to carry them to and fro.'
'But no work had been done recently on that stretch of line,' said Tallis, recalling the detail in Colbeck's report.
'Then the pickaxe was left there at an earlier stage and forgotten by the man who put it there. Or perhaps he's no longer working for the company. There's nothing sinister in that pickaxe. It's not the first implement I've found concealed near the line.'
Tallis was irritated by the mingled authority and complacence in his voice. Unlike the superintendent, Ridgeon was not given to bluster and browbeating. He opted for a calm yet incisive approach. There was no doubting the man's credentials. Only someone of exceptional talent would have been appointed to head the railway inspectorate. For the first time, Tallis began seriously to wonder if Colbeck had made a mistake in his assessment of the crash. His instinct, however, was to support his officers steadfastly so his expression betrayed no hint of this worrying thought. He stroked his moustache meditatively.
'Well?' asked Ridgeon after a long pause.
Tallis gave a shrug. 'Well what, Captain?'
'I'm waiting for a response.'
'I put my faith in Inspector Colbeck.'
'Does that mean you're not going to reprimand him?'
'Not without good reason,' said Tallis.
'But I've just given you that good reason,' said Ridgeon. 'The inspector has contradicted my findings and reached an alternative conclusion that is both mistaken and dangerous.'
'Dangerous?'
'If the newspapers hear that a crime is suspected, they will seize on the notion and give it wide publicity. Imagine how upsetting that will be for the survivors of the crash, not to mention the LB amp; SCR itself. Inspector Colbeck will have caused a lot of unwarranted panic.'
'The truth is bound to come out sooner or later.'
'We already know the truth. The driver of the Brighton Express was to blame. It's the only explanation,' said Ridgeon. 'If the inspector had taken the trouble to speak to the fireman on the express, he would have discovered that there was no obstruction on the track.'
'As it happens,' said Tallis, quick to score a debating point, 'the Inspector did interview John Heddle. While the fireman confirmed that he saw nothing obstructing the track, he was adamant that the train had not been going at an excessive speed. Driver Pike was apparently known for his caution.'
'Even the best horse stumbles, Superintendent.'
'This was rather more than a stumble.'
'Let's not mince words here,' said Ridgeon with a touch of impatience. 'The situation is this – as long as Inspector Colbeck is looking over my shoulder, I'm unable to do my job properly. I want you to give him a formal reprimand and take him off this case.'
'Then you'll be disappointed, Captain Ridgeon, because I intend to do neither. Colbeck is a remarkable detective with a habit of knowing exactly which stones to look under.'
'He's in the way, Superintendent.'
'I believe he takes a similar view of you.'
'Damn it all, man!' protested Ridgeon, raising his voice at last. 'I'm the inspector general with a legitimate right to investigate this accident. It's not a police matter. Inspector Colbeck is trespassing on my territory and I take exception to it.'
'Your complaint is noted,' said Tallis, brusquely.
'Does that mean you'll take no action?'
'None is necessary at this stage.'
'Of course it is,' said Ridgeon, rising to his feet. 'One of your officers is making it impossible for me to do my job properly. He's making wrong assumptions on inadequate evidence and must be moved immediately out of my way. I'm not used to being disobeyed, Superintendent,' he added, pulling himself to his full height. 'I'll have you know that I was a captain in the Royal Engineers.'
'I have every respect for an army man,' said Tallis, getting up behind his desk and straightening his back. 'I was a major in the 6th Dragoon Guards.' He bestowed a glacial smile on his visitor. 'Was there anything else, Captain Ridgeon?'
Before he left Brighton, Colbeck paid another visit to the county hospital. Another of the survivors of the crash had died from his injuries, reinforcing Colbeck's determination to solve the crime. Entering one ward, he saw Terence Giddens being interrogated by a woman whose age, dress and manner identified her as his wife. Mixing sympathy with suspicion, she was asking her husband what he had been doing on a train to Brighton in the first place. Ezra Follis's assessment of Giddens as an adulterer had been correct. A collision between two trains had precipitated a marital crisis.
The journey back to London gave Colbeck time to reflect on his visit to the town. Giles Thornhill had presented a strong argument for being the real target of the train crash but Colbeck was reluctant to forget about Horace Bardwell. He felt that Bardwell's association with the railway company was a telling factor. What pleased him most was his decision to call on Ezra Follis. He had learnt a lot about Thornhill from the outspoken rector and now understood why the politician was so unpopular in certain quarters. He wondered how Follis would have reacted if he had read the fake obituary sent to the Member of Parliament. Though he had disliked the man intensely, Colbeck felt sorry for his plight. Thornhill was definitely being stalked.
Regardless of the fact that it was now evening, he knew that Tallis would be waiting for him to report to Scotland Yard. Instead of going straight there when he reached London, however, he first took a cab to Camden to pay a more enjoyable visit. Madeleine Andrews was thrilled to see him. They embraced warmly on the doorstep and kissed once they were inside the house. Over her shoulder, Colbeck noticed the easel, standing by the window to catch the best of the light.
'What are you working on?' he asked, crossing to look. 'Oh, it's the turntable at the Round House.'
'Father took me there last week.'
'There's so much drama in the way you've drawn it.'
'I found it a very dramatic place.'
He studied the picture admiringly. 'You've got a wonderful eye for detail, Madeleine.'
'I know,' she said, subjecting him to careful scrutiny. 'I always choose subjects I like.' They shared a laugh and he hugged her again. The sound of the back door opening made them move guiltily apart. 'I'd forgotten that Father was here,' she whispered. 'He's been out in the garden.'
Caleb Andrews came in from the kitchen in his shirtsleeves and stopped when he saw Colbeck. 'Just the man I want to see, Inspector,' he said. 'I discovered that there is truth in the rumour.'
'And what rumour might that be, Mr Andrews?' asked Colbeck.
'Someone caused that accident on the Brighton line.'
'Who told you that?'
'You did,' replied Andrews. 'That's to say, you told John Heddle and he passed it on to me when I called on him today. It's a fact, isn't it? I mean, you won't deny it, will you?'
'No,' admitted Colbeck. 'It's a fact.'
'It beggars belief that anyone could be so evil,' said Madeleine. 'What is Rose Pike going to say when she learns the hideous truth?'
'How is Mrs Pike?'
'She's still in a daze, Robert. We both spent time with her today but there was little that we could do. She and Frank were so happy together. All that happiness has suddenly been snatched away from her and it's been a shattering blow.'
'Don't add to her pain by telling her that the crash was not an accident,' said Colbeck. 'The time for her to learn the truth is when we've caught the man behind the disaster. The same goes for you, Mr Andrews,' he went on, turning to him. 'I'd be grateful if you didn't spread the word about our investigation until it's been completed.'
Andrews was puzzled. 'Why not?'
'Do as Robert advises,' said his daughter.
'But I don't understand why, Maddy.'
'Apart from anything else,' said Colbeck, 'if it becomes common knowledge, it will alert the man we're after. At the moment, he has no idea that we're on his tail. I want to keep it that way.'
'Very well, Inspector – if you say so.'
'Thank you, Mr Andrews. I'd be very grateful. And I also need to thank you, Madeleine,' he said, smiling at her. 'That note you sent me contained a valuable piece of information. Frank Pike actually saw someone carrying out what looked like a reconnaissance of the line.'
'I can vouch for that,' said Andrews, seizing his cue. 'I got all the details from John Heddle. I know you spoke to him, Inspector, but you questioned him as a detective. I talked to him as another railwayman. I wanted to know the speed of the train immediately before the crash, the way the engine was performing and how well Frank was driving it.'
'Did he remember the man with the telescope?'
'He remembered more than that. He and Frank were on stopping trains both times so they were going slower than the express. The first time they saw the man,' recalled Andrews, 'they didn't pay much attention. When they saw him a second time, it was different.
'Why was that?' asked Colbeck.
'The man with the telescope wasn't alone, Inspector.'
'Is he sure about that?'
'Heddle was a cheeky lad when he worked for the LNWR as a cleaner but he had a sharp eye. He reckons that the man with the telescope was well-dressed while the other man wore rough clothing.'
'Does Heddle remember exactly where this was?'
'More or less,' said Andrews, relishing the chance to pass on what he believed was significant evidence. 'He claims it was close to the place where the express came off the track on Friday. The man with the telescope was pointing at the line as if he was giving orders to the other man. Is that any help to you, Inspector?'
'It is, indeed,' said Colbeck. 'Thank you.'
'There you are – I've told you before. When it comes to a crime on the railways, the person to turn to is Caleb Andrews. I'll help all I can and there's only one thing I ask in return.'
'What's that, Mr Andrews?'
'When you catch the men who murdered Frank Pike,' said the other, letting his fury show, 'hand the pair of them over to me!'