Expecting to report to the superintendent the moment he returned from Brighton that evening, Robert Colbeck discovered that Tallis was in a meeting with the Commissioner, defending his officers against the jibes made about them in the newspaper and trying to justify the time and money allotted to the investigation. Colbeck instead invited Victor Leeming into his office to tell him what he had learnt in the course of his trip to the south coast. Before the inspector could speak, however, Leeming blurted out his own news.
'I arrested Matthew Shanklin,' he said, proudly.
'Did the handwriting match?'
'Yes, Inspector – he admitted sending that funeral card.'
'Is he still in custody?'
'No – he's been released on bail.'
Colbeck was staggered. 'For a crime of this magnitude?'
'Mr Shanklin had nothing to do with the train crash, sir.'
'Are you sure of that, Victor? I was beginning to feel certain that he and Chiffney were working in partnership.'
Leeming told him the full story, pointing out that he would much sooner face questioning by Colbeck than submit to the kind of badgering interrogation perfected by Tallis. In sending the funeral card, Shanklin was guilty of malicious behaviour designed to inflict pain on a man he despised. Beyond that, no other charges could be brought against him.
It was a setback for Colbeck. Disappointed that Shanklin was innocent of any part in the crime on the Brighton line, he was at least glad that he had been flushed out into the open. One name could now be eliminated from the major inquiry. The problem was that it left them with only a single suspect.
'Did Mr Shanklin tell you where he'd been today?' said Colbeck.
'He claimed that he'd taken the day off to visit friends.'
'That was an arrant lie.'
'I know that he went somewhere by train because the cab driver remembered picking him up at a railway station.'
'He'd been to Brighton. Far from visiting friends, he was there to call on his sworn enemy, Horace Bardwell.'
'How do you know?' asked Leeming.
'I looked in at the hospital before I left,' said Colbeck. 'I wanted to see how Mr Bardwell and some of the other survivors were faring. Shanklin, apparently, came into the ward in order to gloat over Mr Bardwell. From what I could gather, there was quite a scene. Mr Bardwell was so upset that he had to be sedated for a while.'
'That ought to be mentioned when Shanklin comes to court.'
'It will be, Victor. I'll make sure of it.'
'What else did you find out in Brighton?'
'A great deal – it's difficult to know where to start.'
Colbeck told him about meeting Giles Thornhill, spending time with Sidney Weaver and taking tea with Ezra Follis. He also talked about the visit to the gunsmith. Leeming was puzzled.
'Why did you advise Mr Thornhill to speak tomorrow?' he said.
'It's the only way to bring our assassin out of hiding. As long as the man is at liberty, Mr Thornhill's life is in constant danger.'
'But you're putting him in even more danger by urging him to speak in a public meeting, sir. He could be shot dead on the platform.'
'I think that highly unlikely, Victor,' said Colbeck.
'Why is that, sir?'
'Put yourself in the position of the man with the rifle.'
'Could his name be Dick Chiffney?'
'In all probability, it is. Imagine that you were stalking Mr Thornhill. When you see an advertisement for a public meeting addressed by him, what would you do?'
'Sit at the back of the hall and wait for the right moment.'
Colbeck grinned. 'You'd never make an assassin, I'm afraid.'
'Wouldn't I?'
'No, Victor – the first thing you need to do is to conceal your identity. How can you do that if you appear in public? You'll be seen by people who can give an accurate description of you. Also, of course, there's the small matter of making an escape from the hall. You could well be chased by some public-spirited citizen.'
'All right,' said Leeming, deflated, 'tell me what you'd do.'
'I wouldn't let Mr Thornhill get anywhere near the hall.'
'Then where would you kill him?'
'Near the house,' said Colbeck. 'It's more private and would save me the trouble of shooting over other people's heads in the hall. The man we're after has been inside the grounds before, remember. He knows how to find his way around.'
'But you told me the estate was well guarded.'
'It is at the moment. Very few men will be on duty tomorrow.'
'Has Mr Thornhill agreed to make that speech?'
'He's giving it serious thought, Victor.'
'If he refuses to go,' said Leeming, 'then your plan will have no chance at all of success.'
'Oh, I don't think he'll refuse somehow.'
'Why is that, Inspector?'
'Pride is at stake,' explained Colbeck. 'If Giles Thornhill is not available tomorrow, he'll have to yield the platform to a man he dislikes intensely and I can't see him doing that.'
'Who is the man?'
'The Rector of St Dunstan's.'
Ezra Follis rose at his habitual early hour and shaved with care in order to avoid the scratches on his cheeks. Tiring of the bandaging around his head, he ignored the doctor's advice and unwound it to reveal some gashes on his forehead. There were wounds in his scalp as well but he could not see them in the mirror and they had ceased to remind him of their presence. Now that he had discarded the bandaging, he felt much better. After dressing in his bedroom, he took a smoking cap from the wardrobe and put it on. Follis did not, in fact, smoke but the cap had been a gift from the female parishioner who had made it for him and he did not have the heart to refuse it.
When he came down for breakfast, Mrs Ashmore was already busy in the kitchen. They exchanged greetings, commented on the weather then discussed the day's commitments. It was only when the housekeeper finally turned round that she saw what he had done.
'You've taken it off,' she scolded.
'It was like having my head in a vice.'
'Doctor Lentle will be very cross with you.'
'Only if he finds out what I've done,' said Follis, 'and I know I can count on you not to tell him. Besides, I've finally found a use for this cap that Mrs Gregory made for me. How does it look?'
'Very becoming,' said the housekeeper.
'Do you think I should take up smoking?'
She was stern. 'No, Mr Follis, it will make a stink. My husband used to smoke and the smell was terrible. I think that pipe of his was one of the things that took him away before his time. He had this awful hacking cough.'
'Yet it didn't stop him smoking.'
'He just wouldn't listen.'
'A common fault of the male gender, I fear,' he conceded. 'We're always deaf to sound advice about our health.' He became serious. 'The truth of it is that I felt something of a fraud with all that bandaging on. Those lying in hospital were the real victims. Some have lost limbs in the crash and Mr Bardwell has been blinded. I'm embarrassed when people offer sympathy to me. I don't deserve it.'
'You deserved every ounce of it,' she said, softly. 'I saw what other people didn't see. I watched you struggling as you went up those stairs. I heard you groaning in pain during the night. You put on a brave face for your parishioners but I know the truth.'
'Thank you, Mrs Ashmore,' he said, touching her gently on the shoulder. 'I have no secrets from you.' He adjusted the cap slightly. 'I wonder if I should wear this when I go to that meeting.'
'I think your own hat would be more suitable.'
'It's not an ecclesiastical function. I'll be speaking to the good citizens of Brighton about the future of their fair town. It will be a talk and not a sermon.'
'You can hold an audience wherever you speak.'
'I'm not sure how some of them will cope with the shock. They're expecting to hear Giles Thornhill and they get the Rector of St Dunstan's instead. We're as different as chalk and cheese.'
'I've always preferred cheese,' she said with a half-smile. 'Now, off you go into the dining room and I'll serve breakfast.'
He looked at the clock on the wall. 'I've got the verger coming at eight-thirty and the dean at nine. Then the ladies of the sewing circle will be descending on us. I must remember the smoking cap for that because Mrs Gregory is certain to be among them. No sooner do they go than I have to discuss the implications of holy matrimony with those delightful young people whose banns will be read for the first time next Sunday.' He smiled apologetically. 'We'll needs lots of cups of tea, I'm afraid.'
'That's what I'm here for, Mr Follis.'
'And how grateful I am to have you!' he said. Follis breathed in deeply then exhaled with a broad smile. 'You know, I really do feel so much better. I can even face the dean with equanimity in spite of the criticism I'm certain to incur from him. He always has some rebuke for me. If my recovery continues,' he went on, chirpily, 'I might even change my mind about Thursday.'
'You mean that you'll stay overnight in London?'
'I mean exactly that, Mrs Ashmore.'
'Very good, sir,' she said, obediently.
'Do you have any objection to that?'
'It's not my place to object, Mr Follis. You must do whatever you wish. You'll never hear a word of complaint from me.'
She turned away so that he could not see her disappointment.
The day began early at Scotland Yard. Summoned to the superintendent's office, Colbeck saw the morning newspapers strewn across his desk. Tallis was embittered.
'Is there any profession more abhorrent and untrustworthy than that of journalism?' he asked, scowling. 'They pour their poison into the unsuspecting minds of the British public and warp their judgement. Our press is nothing but an instrument of torture.'
'I think that's a gross exaggeration, sir,' said Colbeck.
'Then you've not read the morning editions.'
'I've not had time, superintendent.'
'This one,' continued Tallis, slapping a newspaper, 'suggests that we're causing widespread distress among both survivors of the crash and relatives of the victims by daring to suggest that foul play was an element in the disaster. The author of this vicious article claims that we are the ones guilty of foul play by persisting with an investigation that is wrong-headed and redundant. What do you say to that?'
'We'll have to make the gentleman eat his words, sir.'
'Gentleman!' bellowed the other. 'I see nothing gentlemanly in this brutal prose. We are being soundly cudgelled, Inspector. You are traduced by name and I by implication. In trying to uphold the law, we are mocked unmercifully.'
'I always ignore such censure,' said Colbeck.
'Well, I don't, I can tell you. Newspaper editors should have statutory restraints imposed upon them. They should not be allowed to trade freely in sly innuendo and outright abuse. They should be prevented from holding up the Metropolitan Police Force to mockery.'
'With respect, sir, it's our job to do that.'
'What do you mean?'
'By appearing to make mistakes,' said Colbeck, 'we lay ourselves open to ridicule. The only way to stop that happening in this case is to solve the crime at the heart of it.'
'According to the newspapers, there is no crime.'
'Then I'll enjoy reading them when we make an arrest and prove that Captain Ridgeon's assessment of the crash was both hasty and misguided. Nobody is entitled to unstinting praise,' he went on, reasonably. 'We have to earn it. It's annoying to be pilloried in the press but we can rectify that.'
'I want an abject apology from every editor,' demanded Tallis.
'That may be too much to ask, Superintendent.'
'Confound it, man – it's their duty to help us!'
'They'd argue that it's their duty to report events in as honest and unbiased a way as they can. Sadly, that's not always the case but it's no use fulminating against them. Unless they print something defamatory, there's little we can do.'
'I can write strong letters of denial.'
'That would be pointless at this stage, sir,' said Colbeck. 'In a war of words, the press always has more ink. Besides, in order to defend what we're doing, you'd have to reveal some of the evidence we've gathered and that would be imprudent. Those responsible for that train crash have already been warned that we are after them. If they realise how close we are, they may bolt altogether.'
Tallis stood up. 'How close are we, Inspector?'
'I anticipate significant progress by the end of the day.'
'You thought we'd achieve that by matching Mr Shanklin's handwriting with that on a funeral card.'
'I was too optimistic,' admitted Colbeck.
'And are you being too optimistic today?'
'No, sir – I'm being much more cautious.'
Tallis opened a box on the desk and took out a cigar, cutting the end off it before thrusting it into his mouth and lighting it. He puffed vigorously until the cigar began to glow and acrid smoke curled up to the ceiling.
'We need that significant progress, Inspector,' he said. 'It's the only way to stop these jackals from snapping at our heels.'
'Never be upset by press criticism,' advised Colbeck. 'There's a very simple way to avoid it.'
'Is there?'
'Yes, Superintendent – cancel the newspapers.'
Before Tallis could muster a reply, Colbeck bade him farewell and left the office. Victor Leeming was waiting for him in the corridor. Having read one of the morning newspapers, he knew how violently the superintendent would react and was grateful that he had not had to confront him. He was surprised how unruffled Colbeck was.
'What sort of mood was he in?' asked Leeming.
Colbeck grinned. 'Mr Tallis wants us to bring him the head of every journalist who has attacked us,' he said. 'I think he'd like to stick them on poles and throw paper darts at them.'
'I'd throw more than paper darts, Inspector.'
'The most effective missile would be an arrest, Victor.'
Colbeck took the sergeant into his office so that they could talk without interruption. He gave Leeming an abbreviated account of his conversation with Tallis then turned his attention to the day ahead.
'We'll have to catch the Brighton Express,' he said.
'I'm not looking forward to that, sir,' confessed Leeming. 'I'll keep thinking about what happened last Friday.'
'The line has been repaired and the debris removed.'
'You can't remove my memories so easily.'
'No,' said Colbeck, sadly. 'The disaster will be printed indelibly on the minds of many people. Those passengers set out on what should have been a routine journey and ended up in a catastrophe.'
'Thanks to Dick Chiffney.'
'We have to prove that. What's the situation with Josie Murlow?'
'She's vanished, sir,' said Leeming. 'I had a man watching her house but she never returned to it. She and Chiffney have obviously gone into hiding elsewhere.'
'Have you circulated a description of her?'
'Yes, Inspector – every policeman in the area is looking for her. Josie Murlow is a difficult person to mistake, as you saw for yourself. If she does break cover, someone will spot her.'
'Chiffney is the person we really want,' said Colbeck, 'and we lack precise details about his appearance. All we know is that he's very unprepossessing and has a bad squint.'
'I know something else about him, sir,' recalled Leeming, rubbing the back of his head. 'Chiffney hits hard.'
'We must strike back even harder.'
'He won't be able to sneak up on me next time. It's the thing about this investigation that really fires me up – the chance to meet up again with Dick Chiffney.'
'That chance may come sooner than you expect, Victor.'
'I hope so.'
'Who knows?' said Colbeck. 'By the end of the day, you might well have had the satisfaction of snapping the handcuffs on the elusive Mr Chiffney.'
A night in his arms had reconciled Josie Murlow to the fact that Chiffney had been ordered to kill someone. It was not the first time he had been hired by anonymous gentlemen. She knew that he had been paid to assault people in the past and had accepted that without a qualm. Chiffney liked fighting. He might as well make some money with his fists. Murder, however, was another matter and she had been frightened when she first realised what he had been engaged to do. Now that she had grown used to the idea, however, it did not seem quite so unnerving. Indeed, it gave her a perverse thrill.
What still troubled her was her own position. Knowing of his intentions without reporting them to the police meant that she was condoning Chiffney's actions. In law, therefore, she would be seen as an accessory. Josie shuddered to think what would happen if they were ever caught but she consoled herself with the belief that it was almost impossible. Chiffney had convinced her that there was little risk attached to the enterprise. He simply had to strike decisively then withdraw from the scene. Payment would then follow.
Lying in bed, Josie wallowed in the comfortable certainty that they would not be caught. All that she had to do was to trust her man. He had, after all, bought her the necklace out of his first earnings and other gifts would soon come. Abandoning her house did not worry her. She had long ago grown weary of its lack of space and its endless deficiencies. Everything she valued had been taken from the place in a series of midnight visits. As well as bringing all of her clothing and her trinkets, Chiffney had even collected her favourite sticks of furniture. Henceforth, they would share a far better lodging.
As she gazed up at him, Chiffney was reaching for his jacket before slipping it on. On impulse, Josie heaved herself out of bed.
'Let me come with you, Dick,' she said.
'You stay here, my darling.'
'But I'm your woman. I want to be at your side.'
'The police could be out looking for you.'
'They won't be looking for me in Brighton,' she argued. 'If you hail a cab outside the house, nobody will see me going to the station. Now we've got money,' she went on, getting carried away, 'we can travel first class. I've never done that before.'
'This is something I have to do on my own, Josie,' he said.
'I know that, Dick, and I won't get in your way. When the time comes, you simply leave me and go about your business. Afterwards, I could be a help to you.'
'How do you mean?'
'I'm like a disguise,' she explained, grinning away. 'A man and a woman together look respectable. Nobody would give us a second glance. When you're on your own – even in that new suit you bought – people will notice that face of yours and those big, rough hands. You don't look quite so respectable then, Dick.'
He was tempted. 'That's a good point, Josie.'
'Can I come with you, then?'
'He won't like it. He told me to come on my own. If he realises you know more than you ought to, the gentleman might call the whole thing off. No,' he concluded, 'it's too risky.'
'There's no need for him to see me.'
'I'm sorry, my love. You'll have to stay here.'
'I won't be cooped up again,' she said, gazing around with a flash of anger. 'Look at the place – there's hardly room to move since you brought all my things here.'
'You can go downstairs and sit in the kitchen.'
'I want to be with you, Dick.'
He sniffed. 'I can't take that chance.'
'Why not?'
'Because you'd be a distraction,' he said. 'Instead of keeping my mind on what I had to do, I'd be worrying about you. It's no good, Josie. I have to go alone.'
'All right,' she suggested, bargaining with him, 'why don't we both travel to Brighton separately and only meet up afterwards?' he shook his head. 'What's wrong with that?'
Chiffney was blunt. 'It's not going to happen.'
'But I want it to happen, Dick,' she said, stamping a foot. 'We're in this together. I won't be left out all the time.'
'Stop it!' he shouted, temper fraying.
'Don't you yell at me, you noisy bugger!'
'Shut your gob and listen. There's one very good reason why I don't want you anywhere near Brighton today. I have to be alone. I've got a job to do, Josie. I failed yesterday and the gentleman was very annoyed with me. If I let him down again, he may find someone else and I could end up without a single penny. Is that what you want?'
'No,' she said.
'Then that's the end of it.'
Josie sulked in silence. She watched him as he reached under the bed for the rifle then wrapped it in a piece of sacking. He also stuck the pistol in his belt and stuffed ammunition for both weapons in his pockets. Getting back down on his knees, he groped under the bed once more. This time, he brought out a large telescope and hid that in the sacking with the rifle. In spite of the bubbling anger she felt towards him, Josie was curious.
'Who gave you that?'
'He did,' said Chiffney. 'I need to spy out the lie of the land.'
As the train set off from London Bridge station, Victor Leeming braced himself for an uncomfortable journey. Its only virtue was that it would be a relatively short one. The previous investigation had entailed a long train journey to Crewe and back. An even earlier one had forced him to travel to France, undergoing the sustained terror of crossing the Channel by boat before committing himself to the rattling uncertainty of the French railways. All things considered, the Brighton Express was the lesser of many evils. At least he was in the hands of his fellow-countrymen.
'Don't look so anxious,' said Colbeck, seated opposite him in an otherwise empty carriage. 'There's no danger. Lightning doesn't strike twice in one place.'
'Then the accident could happen at another spot on the line.'
'There'll be no accident, Victor.'
'Then why do I feel so unsafe?'
'You simply haven't adjusted to rail travel as yet.'
'I never will, Inspector,' said Leeming, watching the fields scud past. 'I can never understand why you like trains so much.'
'They're passports to the future. Railways are redefining the way that we live and I find that very exciting. The concept of steam power is so wonderfully simple yet so incredibly effective.'
'You should have been an engine driver, sir.'
'No,' said Colbeck, wistfully. 'I know my limitations. I'd love to work on the footplate but I lack the skill needed. I make my own small contribution to the smooth running of the railway system by trying to keep it free of criminals. However, let's not harp on about a subject that tends to unsettle you,' he went on. 'How are preparations for your wife's birthday?'
'They're not going very well, sir.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'Mr Tallis will expect me on duty next Sunday unless we can bring this investigation to a close. And, no matter how much I fret about it, I still can't decide what to buy Estelle.'
'Do you have any ideas at all?'
'I thought about artificial flowers in a glass case.'
'Women always love flowers, Victor – though I think your wife might prefer real ones on her birthday. You could get them at the market.'
'They wouldn't last, sir, that's the trouble. Anyway, that's only one present and I have to buy two – one from me and one from the children. I've been racking my brain for days.' He became tentative. 'I wonder if I might ask you something personal.'
'Ask whatever you wish.'
'What did you buy for Miss Andrews when it was her birthday?'
'If you must know,' said Colbeck, laughing, 'I bought her a new easel and some artist's materials. Not very feminine, I know, but that was what Madeleine wanted me to get her. Mind you, there were a few other gifts as well by way of a surprise.'
'Such as?'
'The item that really pleased her was a new bonnet.'
'Now that's just what Estelle needs,' said Leeming in delight.
'There you are – one of the birthday presents is decided.'
'If I let the children give her the bonnet, I could give her a new shawl. It won't be long before autumn is here and she'll need one. Thank you, Inspector. You've taken a load off my mind.'
'If you want more suggestions,' said Colbeck as a memory surfaced, 'you might get them from the Reverend Follis.'
Leeming was baffled. 'What does he know about buying gifts for a wife, sir? You told me that Mr Follis was a bachelor.'
'He is, Victor, but I have a strong feeling that he's a man of vision where women are concerned.'
While he waited, Ezra Follis looked at the books on the shelf. He had given them to Amy Walcott in a particular order so that her reading was carefully controlled. Most were anthologies of poetry and he knew how diligently she had studied them. Amy was an apt pupil. She was happy to let him make all the decisions about her education. He selected a volume and leafed through the pages, an action that was much easier to perform now that both hands had been freed from their bandages. His eye settled on a particular page. After making a note of it, he closed the book again.
He was in Amy's house but he moved around it with easy familiarity. Leaving the drawing room, he went along the corridor and ascended the stairs to the first landing. Follis walked across to the main bedroom and tapped gently on the door.
'May I come in yet, Amy?' he asked.
'I'm not ready,' she said from the other side of the door.
'I've been waiting some time.'
'I know that, Mr Follis.
'The servants will be back before too long.' There was a lengthy pause. 'Perhaps you've changed your mind,' he said, tolerantly. 'That's your privilege. I didn't mean to trouble you, Amy. I'll let myself out and we'll forget all about this, shall we?'
'No, no,' she said in desperation. 'I want you to come in.'
'Are you happy about that?'
'I'm very happy.'
'You have to be certain about this.'
'I am, Mr Follis. I'm ready for you now.'
Turning the knob, he opened the door and stepped into the room. Amy Walcott was standing nervously in the middle of the carpet. Her feet were bare and she was wearing a long dressing gown. Pathetically eager to please, she managed a fraught smile.
'There's no need to be frightened,' he said, moving away so that they were yards apart. 'No harm will come to you, Amy. I wouldn't hurt you for the world – you know that.'
'Yes, Mr Follis, I do.'
'I'll sit here.' He lowered himself on to the ottoman near the window then made a gesture. 'If you feel embarrassed, you can keep the dressing gown on.'
'I don't want to let you down.'
'There's no way that you could do that. The very fact that we're alone here together is a joy to me, Amy. You mustn't feel constrained to do anything that you don't want to do.' He smiled encouragingly. 'You look beautiful enough, as it is.'
'Nobody ever thought I was beautiful before.'
'That's because they don't see you through my eyes. I know the full truth about you. You're a good woman, Amy Walcott, beautiful on the inside and lovely on the outside.'
The compliment made her blush. 'Thank you, Mr Follis.'
'Will you read something to me?'
'In a moment,' she said, finding some confidence at last. 'I want to please you first. I've never done this before so you must excuse me if I don't do it properly.' She screwed up her courage. 'I'm going to take it off for you now.'
Undoing the belt, she opened her dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. She stood there sheepishly in a white nightdress with bows at the neck and sleeves. After feasting his eyes on her, Follis gave her a warm smile of appreciation. Her confidence began to rise.
'What have you chosen for me this time?' she said.
'Keats,' he replied, holding out the book. 'Page sixty-six. It's a beautiful poem for a very beautiful woman to read to me.'
Amy Walcott was suffused with a radiant glow. He loved her.
Josie Murlow was jaded. It was scarcely an hour since Chiffney had gone and she was already chafing with boredom. There was nothing to do and nobody with whom she could talk. Walter, the old man who owned the house, was willing to give them temporary shelter but they were confined to the bedroom and the kitchen. The remainder of the property was reserved for his family. Had she been allowed to go into the garden, Josie might have been less restless. As it was, she was pacing up and down like a tiger in a cage, picking her way through the relics of her old life that had been rescued from her hovel.
During the long reaches of the night, when she and Chiffney were entwined in carnal lust, everything had seemed perfect. They would have enough money to flee London and set up a home in another city where they were unknown. It would be a new departure for both of them, an affirmation of their commitment to each other. The fact that it would be bought with blood money, and that a man had to be murdered first, was never discussed.
In daylight, alone and feeling sorely neglected, Josie began to see it all differently. She would be sharing her life with a killer, a man who was on the run. If the police ever caught Chiffney, they would catch her, too, and she would suffer the same fate as him. There was also a new fear. She had never been afraid of Chiffney before, knowing how to handle him and bend him to her will. What would happen if they fell out? A man who had killed once would not hesitate to do so again. Josie had traded blows with him in the past but the fights had always ended in a drunken reconciliation. Chiffney might end the next one in a more final way.
But it was too late now. She had to trust him. The police were searching for her as well as Chiffney. It never even crossed her mind to inform against him. Her whole life had been spent in skirting the law. Josie could simply not side with the police for any reason. What she really wanted was to be with Dick Chiffney, to enjoy a day in Brighton where she could walk freely by the seaside. She also wanted to know exactly what he was doing there. Who was paying him to kill another man and what crime had Chiffney already committed in order to get the money to pay for her necklace and his new suit?
Spending another day in self-imposed solitary confinement was anathema to her. Josie Murlow was a gregarious woman. She thrived on company. Without it, she was lost. Chiffney had left her money to send out for drink and she also had her own not inconsiderable savings, retrieved from a hiding place in her house. Reaching into her purse, she took out a handful of sovereigns and let them fall through her fingers on to the bed. It was ironic. With all that cash at her disposal, she was nevertheless unable to buy the human company she craved. It was insufferable.
She looked around the room with something akin to despair. Then she noticed something draped over a chair beside the wardrobe. Josie's manner changed in an instant. Perhaps there was a way to get what she wanted without putting herself and Chiffney in danger. Perhaps she had a means of fulfilling her desire to go to Brighton, after all. She had the money, the urge and the perfect disguise. Josie doubted if Chiffney himself would recognise her. All it required from her was the courage to implement the plan. The prospect of escape was too tempting to resist. She made the decision in a second and let out a whoop of joy.
Josie Murlow began to tear off her clothes as fast as she could.
Victor Leeming was so over-awed by the opulence of the mansion that he was tongue-tied. The marble-floored hall of Giles Thornhill's house was larger than the whole area of the sergeant's modest dwelling. He had never seen so many sculptures before and the wide, curved staircase seemed to sweep up to eternity. Valise in one hand, he stood there and marvelled. When he and Colbeck eventually went into the library, Leeming was still open-mouthed.
Thornhill was seated at the table with a decanter of sherry and a half-filled glass in front of him. He did not bother to get up as they came in. When Colbeck introduced his companion, Leeming was given only a cursory glance.
'I'm pleased to see that you took my advice, sir,' said Colbeck.
'Against my better judgement,' remarked Thornhill.
'Apart from the man at the gate, there were no other guards and I caught no glimpse of the mastiff either. He'd frighten anybody away.'
'That was the intention, Inspector.'
'We drove past the town hall,' Leeming put in. 'We saw your name on the poster outside.'
'I'll not be displaced by the Rector of St Dunstan's.'
'Why is that, sir?'
'The man is a thorough nuisance, Sergeant,' said Thornhill, nastily. 'He's caused no end of trouble to me and to many others in the town. If there's anything I loathe, it's a turbulent priest.'
'The Reverend Follis looked harmless enough to me.'
'I believe that Mr Thornhill was referring to Thomas a Becket,' said Colbeck, stepping in. 'As well as being Archbishop of Canterbury, he was Chancellor, the equivalent of today's Prime Minister. Becket then fell out with Henry II and was duly exiled. When he returned to England, the people welcomed him but the king did not. "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" the king is supposed to have cried. Four knights responded by murdering Becket in Canterbury Cathedral.' He turned to Thornhill. 'Am I misinterpreting you, sir?'
'Not at all,' said Thornhill. 'Becket's story showed the idiocy of combining Church and State. It's a fatal compound. Politics and religion should be kept separate. Unfortunately, nobody seems to have told that to Ezra Follis.'
'Even if they did,' said Colbeck, 'he'd probably ignore them.'
'The fellow is a law unto himself. He's a renegade priest.'
'Wait a moment, sir,' said Leeming, entering the debate. 'I thought that you wanted to close all the shops and public houses on a Sunday.'
'I have been involved in drafting an early version of the Sunday Trading Bill,' admitted Thornhill. 'That's quite true, Sergeant.'
'You just told us that politics and religion should be separate.'
'I stand by that.'
'Then why do politicians want to interfere with Sunday?'
'We're not interfering with it – we want to protect it. We believe that the Lord's Day should be properly observed.'
'But that's religion, sir,' Leeming contended.
'It's a political decision.'
'Yet you want to take it for religious reasons.'
'It's a valid point, Victor,' said Colbeck, cutting the argument short, 'but this is perhaps not the ideal time to discuss the matter. We have more immediate concerns.' He indicated the valise. 'The sergeant has brought a change of clothing with him, Mr Thornhill. Is there somewhere for him to put it on?'
Thornhill got up and crossed to the bell rope. Shortly after it had been pulled, a servant appeared. In response to his orders, he led Victor Leeming out of the library.
'Your sergeant is unduly argumentative,' said Thornhill. 'To be candid, I really don't know why either of you is here. I still have the strongest reservations about this whole business.'
'We're here to save your life, sir.'
'When there are only two of you? How can you possibly do that?'
'Watch us,' said Colbeck.
Having checked to see how many people were on guard at the gate, he walked around the perimeter of the estate to find the point of access he had used before. After climbing a fence, he was confronted by a high, thick hedge and had to go along it before he found the gap. Once through it, he moved stealthily in the direction of the house, stopping from time to time to look round and listen. He saw nobody patrolling the grounds and sensed that he was in luck. Emboldened, he crept on through the undergrowth with the rifle slung across his back. He felt certain of success this time.
The secret lay in meticulous preparation. Hiding the rifle behind a yew tree, he went on unencumbered until the house finally came into view. Approaching it from the rear, he used his telescope to view the terrace where Giles Thornhill had been sitting before the first attempt on his life. The window shattered by the bullet had now been boarded up and the myriad glass fragments swept away. Whichever exit Thornhill chose from the house, it would not be that one.
He worked his way around to the front of the house in a wide circle. There was good cover among the trees and bushes. It allowed him to get within seventy yards of the front entrance. He peered through the telescope again. Outside the portico with its matching fluted columns, he had expected at least one armed guard but the house seemed unprotected. The only person he could see was a gardener, ambling across the forecourt with a wooden wheelbarrow. The man vanished behind some shrubs. Buttered by the sun, Giles Thornhill's mansion looked serene and majestic.
If he left by the front door, as was most likely, Thornhill would be taken by his private carriage to the hall where he would be speaking. The stable block was off to the right. When the vehicle drew up outside the portico, Thornhill would be obscured as he came out of the door. It was when he stepped up into the open carriage that he would present a target. That moment was crucial. The man simply had to fire with deadly accuracy and the job was done.
He moved from place to place before he settled on the exact spot from which he would shoot. Shielded by thick bushes, he had an excellent view of the forecourt. There were hours to go yet. He was able to retrieve his rifle, take it to his chosen position and settle down. Since there would be a long wait, he had brought bread and cheese to eat. In case his nerve faltered, he had a small flask of brandy but he did not think it would be required.
It was early evening before there was any sign of movement. The doors of the stable block were opened and a horse was led out. It had already been harnessed. Two men pulled out a landau from the stable and fitted the shafts into the harness. One of the men disappeared for a minute then emerged again in a frock coat and top hat. He climbed up onto the driving seat and picked up the reins, flicking them and calling out a command to the horse. The landau headed towards the house. The gardener, now weeding a flowerbed, waved to the driver.
Watching it all from his vantage point, the man held his weapon ready. His heart was pumping and sweat was starting to break out on his forehead. As his hands trembled a little, he felt that he needed the brandy, after all, and gulped it swiftly down. It gave him courage and stiffened his resolve. His moment had finally come. Raising the weapon, he put the butt into his shoulder, crooked his finger around the trigger and took aim. After rumbling across the gravel, the landau pulled up outside the house.
There was a momentary wait then the front door opened and a tall figure stepped out, one arm in a sling. He opened the door of the carriage and took a firm grip so that he could pull himself up with his other hand. In that instant, with Giles Thornhill completely exposed, the man tried to control the tremble that had come back into his hands and pulled the trigger. His victim collapsed in a heap.