Coming off duty that evening, Caleb Andrews went straight home for once. Ordinarily, he would have joined his fireman for a drink in the tavern near Euston station but he chose to avoid the jocular company of other railwaymen. Since they knew of his friendship with Robert Colbeck, some of them were bound to tease him about the Railway Detective's apparent failure and Andrews did not wish to give them that opportunity. He still had faith that Colbeck would prove that a crime had taken place and clear Frank Pike's name in the process.
Even though natural light was fading, Madeleine was still at her easel when he got back. She broke off to give him a welcoming kiss.
'Are you still working this late, Maddy?'
'I enjoy it,' she replied.
'There's not another woman in the whole country who'd look twice at the Round House,' he said, inspecting the painting. He let out a whistle of admiration. 'It's good,' he went on, 'it's very good. Your mother would've been so proud to know our little girl would grow up to be an artist.'
'I'm not a real artist, Father.'
'Yes, you are. You're as good as any of them that hang their paintings in art galleries. This is one of your best,' he went on, still gazing at it. 'I've driven that locomotive more than once and I can see that you've got every single detail right.'
'That's why I've taken so much time over it.'
'I wouldn't mind putting it on the wall in here.'
'There's no chance of that, Father,' she said. 'This is a present for Robert – even though he doesn't know it yet. It was Robert who really made me believe that I had some talent.'
'I was the one who suggested taking you to the Round House,' he reminded her. 'By rights, that painting is mine.'
'If you're so fond of it, I'll do a copy when I've finished this one.'
'Why don't you do a copy for Inspector Colbeck?'
'He deserves the original.'
'So do I, Maddy.'
It was only a token protest. Andrews pulled the newspaper from his pocket and unfolded it. He turned to the relevant page. By way of warning, he rolled his eyes.
'I glanced at this before I left the station,' he said, offering it to her. 'There's a cartoon about Inspector Colbeck.'
It was not a flattering one. Taking the newspaper, Madeleine looked at it with annoyance and concern. The cartoon depicted Colbeck, groping around a railway line in the gloom with a magnifying glass. There was a look of desperation on his face as he said "There must be a crime around here somewhere!" The caption was unkind – The Railway Detective Is Still In The Dark. Madeleine closed the paper angrily and thrust it back at her father.
'It's so spiteful,' she complained. 'This was the newspaper that called him the Railway Detective in the first place. They were full of praise for him then. Have they forgotten all the cases he's solved?'
'Don't get so upset, Maddy.'
'I feel like writing a letter to the editor.'
'He probably wouldn't print it.'
'Someone needs to stand up for Robert.'
'Oh,' said Andrews with a grin, 'I think that Inspector Colbeck can do that for himself. He doesn't need your help, Maddy. The press have thrown stones at him before and they never seem to hurt him.'
'They hurt me,' she said, 'and I don't like it.'
'What I don't like is the slur they're casting on Frank Pike's name. Unless that official report is shown up for the nonsense that it is, Frank will be blamed for the crash. I want the truth to come out.'
Madeleine was positive. 'It will, Father,' she said, 'I'm sure. Robert won't let us down. No matter how long it takes and no matter how much criticism he gets, Robert will carry on with the investigation until everything is brought to light.'
In the circumstances, Victor Leeming was happy to accompany Colbeck back to Scotland Yard. They had substantial progress to report and that would gladden even the flint heart of Edward Tallis. If there was approbation on offer, Leeming wanted his share of it. When the detectives entered the superintendent's office, they were not met by the pungent odour of his cigars. The air in the room seemed fresh for a change. Tallis was standing at the window. He swung round to face them.
'Don't you dare tell me that you've drawn another blank,' he said with quiet menace. 'Bring some cheer into my life.'
'I think we can contrive to do that, sir,' said Colbeck, smoothly.
'Yes,' agreed Leeming. 'We had an interesting day in Brighton.'
'But did you make any arrests?' asked Tallis.
'We have two people in custody.'
'Who are they?'
'Inspector Colbeck will explain.'
'I wish that somebody would. I need to hear good tidings.'
'If you'd care to sit down,' said Colbeck, 'I'll do my best to give them to you.'
After all three of them had taken a seat, Colbeck delivered his report with characteristic aplomb. The superintendent's face was a block of ice that slowly melted into something recognisably human. A fleeting smile actually appeared beneath his moustache.
'You captured the man who tried to shoot Mr Thornhill?'
'Yes,' replied Colbeck. 'Strictly speaking, I was the person that Herr Freytag tried to kill and Victor was the arresting officer. He showed great bravery in tackling an armed man.'
'Well done, Sergeant,' said Tallis.
'Thank you, sir,' said Leeming, savouring the moment.
'As for that rogue, Dick Chiffney, death under the wheels of a locomotive was poetic justice. Now he knows what it's like to be killed in a railway accident.' His gaze shifted to Colbeck. 'I take it that you got full details of the crime from this harlot of his.'
'Not yet,' said Colbeck. 'Josie Murlow was in such a state of hysteria when we arrested her that we could get nothing coherent out of the woman. The only thing she admitted was that she was expecting Chiffney to make a lot of money in Brighton that day.'
'Yes – by shooting the Reverend Follis.'
'Why would anyone want to kill a clergyman?' asked Leeming.
'We'll discover that when we catch Chiffney's paymaster,' said Colbeck. 'As I told you, Victor, we were looking in the wrong direction. We thought that Mr Bardwell or Mr Thornhill had been the target on that express. Instead of looking at business and politics, we should have used a turntable and swung round to examine religion.'
Tallis was perplexed. 'What's this about a turntable?'
'Don't ask me, sir,' said Leeming, helplessly.
'It's just a metaphor,' explained Colbeck. 'The thing we don't yet have, of course, is the name of the man behind it all. It may be that Chiffney himself didn't know it and neither does Josie Murlow. She swore that she had no idea who employed Chiffney.'
'What about the Reverend Follis himself?' asked Tallis. 'Surely, he knows who his enemies are.'
'He was unable to help us, Superintendent. By the time we'd finished at Brighton station, Mr Follis was in hospital, having the bullet taken out of his shoulder. Because he was in such pain,' said Colbeck, 'they'd used chloroform. I'll speak to him tomorrow though it's not certain that he'll give us the name we want. In his own way, the Rector of St Dunstan's has upset as many people as Mr Bardwell and Mr Thornhill put together. With so many people wishing him ill, he may have great difficulty identifying the right one.'
'In short,' said Tallis, glowering, 'you have absolutely no clue as to who this man might be.'
'That's not true, sir. We have this.' Colbeck opened the leather satchel he was carrying and took out a telescope. 'Chiffney also had a weapon in his possession but it was crushed beneath the train. This, however,' he continued, 'was not damaged. As you can see, it's a fine instrument and hardly the thing that Chiffney would own himself. It must have been loaned to him by his paymaster.' He passed it over to Tallis, who extended it to its full length then inspected it. 'That's the best clue we have, Superintendent.'
'It may be the only one we need,' said Tallis, excitedly. 'It's got his name engraved on the side here – he's a Mr Grampus.'
'With respect, sir,' said Colbeck, taking the telescope back from him, 'Grampus is not the name of a man. It's the name of a ship. Our suspect was in the navy.'
Word of the attempt on Ezra Follis's life spread like wildfire around Brighton. Before he had even recovered from the effects of the chloroform, friends and well-wishers were calling at the county hospital. Sidney Weaver was the first there. Having been at the town hall for the meeting, he felt that he had a more dramatic event to report in the road outside. Ellen Ashmore and Amy Walcott were only two of the women who rushed to the hospital. Other female parishioners also wanted the latest news of their beloved rector. They joined the churchwardens, the verger and many others who tried to get to the victim's bedside. A hospital already filled with survivors of the train crash was now even more overcrowded.
A senior doctor told them that the patient's condition was now stable and that, in spite of a loss of blood, he was in no imminent danger. However, he insisted, Ezra Follis would not be strong enough to see anyone until the morning. Reluctantly, people slowly drifted away. The only person who lingered was the editor of the Brighton Gazette, wanting more detail about the seriousness of the injury so that he could include it in his newspaper report.
Giles Thornhill arrived later in the evening. Because of his status and because he had donated generously to the hospital coffers, his request to see the patient was treated with more respect. When told of his visitor, Follis, though still drowsy, nevertheless agreed to see him. Thornhill came into the ward and felt a pang of sympathy when he observed the clergyman's condition. Heavily bandaged, Follis lay in bed with his face as white as the sheets covering him. He looked impossibly small and fragile. His voice was a mere croak.
'I'm sorry I missed your talk,' he said.
'Half of the audience did so as well,' said Thornhill, resignedly. 'When they heard that someone was firing a gun outside, they got up and fled.' There was the hint of a smile. 'Was it a deliberate trick on your part to interrupt the meeting?'
'Even I wouldn't go to that extreme, Mr Thornhill.'
'How are you?'
'I'm still in pain and feeling very sleepy.'
'Then I won't hold you up,' said Thornhill. 'I just wanted to say how sorry I am that this happened. It's ironic that we have something in common at last.'
'Yes,' said Follis, 'someone tried to kill you as well.'
'The young man is now in custody. Inspector Colbeck set a trap for him and he fell into it. But yours is a very different case,' he went on. 'I was shot at from a distance. From what I gather, you were only yards away from the man who fired at you.'
'Luckily, he was a bad shot. He was aiming at my head but the bullet hit my shoulder.' Follis quivered at the memory. 'It was like a red hot poker going into my flesh.'
'I hope you make a complete recovery.'
'Thank you, Mr Thornhill.'
'Did you recognise the man?'
'I've never seen him before in my life.'
'What possible reason could he have to attack you?'
'I don't know,' said Follis with weary humour. 'My sermons are not that objectionable. It must have been someone with a grudge against religion, I suppose.'
'The man who shot at me was driven by a grudge. It had become an obsession. He could think of nothing else. At least, I know that he's safely under lock and key and has no accomplice. Unfortunately, that's not the situation with you.'
'I don't follow you, Mr Thornhill.'
Well,' said the other, 'if your attacker escaped, he might come back to try again. Or he might have a confederate, sworn to the same foul purpose. Grudges never disappear – they get stronger with the passage of time. Acquire a bodyguard quickly,' he urged. 'You could be in serious danger.'
Follis felt as if the bullet had hit him all over again.
It was not the first time that Josie Murlow had spent the night in a police cell. On previous occasions, however, she had been hauled before a magistrate, fined then released. Legal process would take a very different route this time. Until her trial, she would remain behind bars. She had spent a miserable night, alternately bemoaning her fate and raging against the men who had, in her opinion, driven Dick Chiffney to his grotesque death. Her temper was fiery. When she was given food, she hurled it back at the policeman who had brought it.
Hearing of her conduct from the custody sergeant, Tallis decided to interview her where she was. He and Colbeck were shown to Josie's cell. The superintendent had no time to introduce himself. As soon as she saw Colbeck, she flung herself at the bars and reached a hand through in a vain attempt to grab him.
'You killed Dick Chiffney!' she screeched.
'That's not true,' said Colbeck.
'You're nothing but a murderer!'
'Control yourself, woman!' ordered Tallis in a voice that compelled obedience. 'Do you want to be restrained?' he asked. 'Do you want to spend the rest of your time here in chains? Do you want my officers to hold you down and feed you through a tube? Is that what you want?' Cowering in her cell, Josie shook her head. 'Then let's have no more of this unacceptable behaviour.' He stood to attention. 'My name is Superintendent Tallis and this, as you well know, is Inspector Colbeck.'
'Good morning,' said Colbeck. 'When we brought you back to London on the train, you were in no mood for conversation. That was understandable. Today, however, we must establish certain facts.' He met her withering glare. 'Do you know where Mr Chiffney had been before he came to Brighton station?'
She was surly. 'Dick said he had a job to do.'
'Did he tell you what that job entailed?'
'No – he wouldn't tell me anything.'
'Then let me enlighten you,' Colbeck continued. 'Mr Chiffney was lurking outside the town hall so that he could shoot a clergyman named Mr Follis. He fired a pistol at him from close quarters.'
She was jolted. 'Dick would never do a thing like that.'
'There were several witnesses, Miss Murlow. I was close to the scene myself. That's why I hailed a cab and hurried to the station. We'd seen you waiting there and knew that Mr Chiffney would come.'
'You're wrong,' she said, waving an arm. 'Dick didn't even know that I was in Brighton. He told me to keep away.'
'Why did he do that?' asked Tallis.
'He thought I'd distract him from…what he had to do.'
'And what was that?'
Josie shrugged. 'I don't know, sir.'
'I fancy that you do. You're an accessory to attempted murder.'
'I'm not, sir, I swear it!'
'Who was Mr Chiffney working for?' asked Colbeck.
'He never told me the man's name.'
'But you did know he was being paid by someone?'
'Oh, yes,' she said, 'Dick showed me the money he got for the first job he did though he wouldn't tell me what it was. As for that man's name, I don't think Dick knew it himself.'
'So you're not aware what that "first job" actually was?'
'No – Dick vanished and I thought he'd run out on me. When he came back, he had lots of money. He said there'd be even more when he did something else in Brighton.'
'It's time you learnt what Chiffney did first of all,' said Tallis, 'then you might not hold his memory so dear. Did you know that there was a train crash on the Brighton line last week?'
'Of course – everyone was talking about it.'
'The man who engineered that crash was Chiffney.'
'No!' she exclaimed, refusing to believe it. 'Dick would never cause a train crash. I know him. He liked working on the railway. Why should he want to do something as terrible as that?'
'You've already given us the answer,' said Colbeck. 'He did it for money. He did it because he was out of work. He did it because he was dismissed by the company and wanted to get his own back.' Josie staggered back in horror. 'There seem to be lots of things that Mr Chiffney forgot to tell you, don't there?'
Josie's mind was racing. They had no reason to lie to her. The man she had been mourning had set off to commit murder for their mutual benefit. The thought that he had already caused the deaths of several other people turned him into a complete monster and she quailed as she recalled the intimacies they had shared in the wake of the train disaster. Josie had coupled with the Devil himself. She felt ashamed and corrupted. The sight of Chiffney, carved to pieces on a railway line, no longer enraged her. In the light of his crime, it was a fitting end. She elected to forget Chiffney altogether. He belonged to her past. All she worried about now was saving her own skin.
'It's not very much,' she said, ingratiatingly, 'but I'll tell you all I know.'
Victor Leeming was in good spirits. Now that the investigation was nearing its end, his chances of being at home for his wife's birthday had improved. Despatched to the Navy Office by Colbeck, he had gathered the information they needed and could now return. Before he did so, however, there were still gifts to be bought for Sunday and he might never have such a good opportunity again. It would not take long. If he were caught attending to family business while still on duty, Leeming knew that Superintendent Tallis would suspend him instantly. Colbeck would take a more tolerant view. He realised how much the sergeant loved his wife.
Leeming consulted a list he drew from his pocket. It had been compiled from records at the Navy Office. Somewhere on the list, he believed, was the name of the man who had hired Dick Chiffney to orchestrate a train crash. The consequences had been horrendous. The sergeant had visited the scene with Colbeck. Both men had been shocked by the scale of the disaster. Leeming remembered the sight of the wreckage, the smell from the bonfires and the groans of agony from the remaining victims. Suddenly, the purchase of his wife's birthday presents no longer seemed important. It was put aside until after the arrest of the man who had conceived the tragedy. His capture was paramount.
Leeming hurried away. The investigation took precedence. He and Colbeck had to return to Brighton. Besides, the town did not merely harbour a wanted man. It had shops.
Until he woke up the next morning, Ezra Follis had not realised he had so many friends. Cards, flowers and gifts of all kinds had flooded in from the most unlikely sources and there was an endless queue of people waiting to see him. Since he was still weak, he only agreed to see selected visitors and limited their time at the bedside. The bishop, the dean and the churchwardens were the first to be allowed in. Of the others, only Ellen Ashmore, Amy Walcott and a handful of close friends were permitted a few minutes each.
By late morning, Robert Colbeck arrived and he was conducted straight to the patient. Follis was pleased to see him.
'There's a rumour that you caught the man who shot me,' he said, hopefully. 'Is that true, Inspector?'
'In a manner of speaking,' replied Colbeck. 'Sergeant Leeming and I accosted him at the railway station but he tried to run away. In doing so, he managed to get himself run over by an incoming train.'
Follis shuddered. 'What a gruesome death!'
'I shouldn't waste too much sympathy on him, sir. He was the person responsible for the train crash. He levered a section of line away so that the Brighton Express would be derailed. That's why this hospital is filled to capacity.'
'Who was the villain, Inspector?'
'His name was Dick Chiffney.'
'I've never heard of him,' said Follis, mystified. 'Why should he want to harm so many people in that crash then try to shoot me?'
'The two events are complementary,' explained Colbeck. 'They were both intended to bring about your death. When the first failed to do so, a more direct approach was taken.'
'This is all about me?' gasped Follis, shaken to the core. 'Was it because of me that people were killed and maimed in that disaster? I find that horrifying. In effect, all that suffering was my fault.'
'No, sir – you were a victim of the crash.'
'But it might never have taken place had I not been aboard that train. Are you certain about this, Inspector?' Colbeck nodded. 'Then I'll have it on my conscience for the rest of my life. I'm beginning to wish that I'd never survived that crash.'
'It's only because you did,' said Colbeck, 'that we're able to get to the truth. Had you perished, we'd never have connected you with the people who committed the crime. The Brighton Express was not chosen lightly, Mr Follis. In the mind of the man who was behind the disaster, it had a great significance. That's what made us believe that an individual passenger was the target.'
Colbeck told him about the evidence that led them to think that Horace Bardwell or Giles Thornhill might be that individual passenger, recounting how both Matthew Shanklin and Heinrich Freytag had been subsequently arrested. Follis was only half-listening. He was still trying to grapple with the fact that he had indirectly brought about so many deaths and injuries. He was eaten up with guilt.
'We need your help, sir,' said Colbeck.
'Haven't I done enough damage already?' moaned Follis.
'Chiffney was hired to kill you. Now that he's dead, we must find his paymaster. That's where you can be of assistance.'
'I fail to see how, Inspector.'
'Do you know of anyone – anyone at all – who had made threats against you or is nursing a deep hatred of you?'
'Yes,' said Follis, 'I could give you several names. The first one is my bishop. He's threatened many times to have me ousted from the rectory and must loathe the very sight of me.'
'I'm being serious, sir.'
'Then the simple answer is that I've offended a lot of people in the course of my ministry but I don't think that any of them would go to such lengths to wreak their revenge.'
'We have one important clue,' said Colbeck. 'We're fairly certain that the man in question has a naval background. Can you think of any sailor who might hold a grudge against you?'
'No,' said Follis, eyelids flickering rapidly, 'I can't.'
Colbeck knew that he was lying.
Ellen Ashmore had been crying. Though she had wiped away the tears and done her best to appear composed, Victor Leeming could tell that the housekeeper had been weeping. When he had introduced himself, she let him into the rectory and they went into the drawing room.
'Mr Follis won't be out of hospital for days,' she said. 'I saw him earlier and he's very poorly.'
'It's you that I came to see, Mrs Ashmore.'
'Oh?'
'I want to ask you a few questions,' said Leeming. 'Shall we sit down?' When they had settled down opposite each other, he tried to reassure her. 'There's no need to look so anxious.
You're not in any kind of trouble.'
'I'm not worried about myself, Sergeant,' she said. 'The only person I'm thinking about at the moment is the rector.'
'That's only right, Mrs Ashmore. You've been his housekeeper for some time now, I hear.'
'I've been here for years.'
'And is Mr Follis a good employer?'
'It's a pleasure to work for him,' she said, brightening for an instant. 'Mr Follis is a wonderful man.'
'Not everyone shares your high opinion, I'm afraid,' observed Leeming. 'Someone was hired to kill him. As it happens, that person later lost his life. But the man who hired him is still at liberty and still poses a threat to the rector.'
She blanched. 'Do you mean that someone else will try to kill him?' she cried. 'Please – you must stop them!'
'Inspector Colbeck is at the hospital now. One of his main concerns will be Mr Follis's safety. He'll organise protection for him. But what I want to ask you is this,' he went on. 'Someone was waiting to ambush the rector outside the town hall. How many people knew that Mr Follis would be going to that meeting?'
'Lots of them,' she said. 'At one point, he was due to replace Mr Thornhill as the speaker. People would have seen his name on the posters. When he was told that he wasn't needed, he insisted on going even though I felt that he should rest. He usually goes to any meeting that Mr Thornhill addresses. Mr Follis can't resist an argument.'
'So people who know the rector would expect him to be there.'
'Yes, they would.'
'Let me ask another question – did you see anything recently that aroused your suspicion?'
'Well, I did see something odd yesterday,' she recalled, 'but I thought nothing of it at the time. There was a man in the churchyard. People come in regularly to leave flowers by a grave or simply to pay their respects. Over the years, I've got to know them by sight. This man was a stranger,' she said. 'When he saw me looking, he bent down as if he was reading the inscription on a headstone.'
'Can you describe him in any way, Mrs Ashmore?'
'I only had a glimpse of him.'
'Was he big or little, old or young?'
'Oh,' she said, 'he was a big man and near your age, I suppose. And there was something else about him,' she added. 'I remember seeing his eyes. He had a squint.'
'It must have been Dick Chiffney,' said Leeming. 'He was the man who shot Mr Follis.'
She was scandalised. 'He was here in the churchyard?'
'So it appears.'
'I should have warned Mr Follis. He'll never forgive me.'
'You weren't to know who the man was or what he had in mind.'
'I feel dreadful.'
'There's no need for you to get upset, Mrs Ashmore,' he told her. 'Nobody could accuse you of putting the rector's life in jeopardy. Inspector Colbeck has told me how well you look after Mr Follis.'
'That's all I want to do,' she said.
'Then let's see if you can help to identify the man who hired Chiffney.' He took a piece of paper from his pocket. 'This is a list of names I'd like you to look at. The Inspector has a copy and will be showing it to Mr Follis. Since you've been here so long,' he continued, handing her the list, 'I'd like you to look at the names as well.'
'Who are these people, Sergeant?'
'They're officers from HMS Grampus. It docked in Portsmouth for repair recently so these men are on leave. We think that one of them may have a connection with St Dunstan's. Do you recognise any of those gentlemen?'
'Let me see.' She ran her eye down the list and stopped at the last name. 'This one,' she said, pointing to it. 'Alexander Jamieson.'
'And is Mr Jamieson a parishioner?'
'It's Captain Jamieson and he's away at sea a great deal. But his wife used to worship at St Dunstan's regularly.' She looked up. 'We haven't seen her for some time.'
Dorothea Jamieson could not believe what had happened to her. Ten days earlier, she had been living in a large house with servants at her beck and call. She was a handsome woman in her late thirties, noted for her elegance and widely respected in the community. All that now seemed like a dream. Instead of enjoying the comforts of her home, she was locked in a filthy, evil-smelling outhouse with only mice and spiders for company. An old mattress had been dragged in, a rickety chair had been provided and – the greatest humiliation of all – a wooden bucket stood in a corner for when she had to answer the calls of nature.
There was no hope of escape. The door was securely locked, and the narrow windows, set high in the wall, were barred. Even with the help of the various implements stored there, she could not force a way out. The only saving grace was that it had not rained during the time of her incarceration or the holes in the roof would have let in the water. As it was, she had had to endure stifling heat on most days. Nights alone in the dark had been terrifying.
Hearing footsteps approach in the courtyard, she stood up and waited tremulously. A key turned in the lock and the heavy door swung open. Dorothea shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight that poured in. Her husband stepped into the outhouse and shut the door behind him. He looked at her with disgust. The beautiful young woman he had married almost twenty years ago looked haggard and unappealing. Her hair was tousled, her skin blotched and her dress crumpled from having been slept in.
'How much longer is this going to go on, Alexander?' she asked.
'As long as I choose,' he replied.
'I'll do anything to win back your good favour.'
'You're doing it, Dorothea – by suffering.'
'You can't keep me here forever.'
'I can do whatever I like with you.'
'But I'm your wife,' she pleaded.
'Oh, you've remembered that, have you?' he said with sarcasm. 'You always do when I come ashore. It's a pity you don't remember it when I'm away at sea.'
'But I do – I'm proud that Captain Jamieson is my husband.'
'My name is simply a shield behind which you hide.'
She spread her arms. 'What am I supposed to have done?'
'You know quite well what you did and, until you confess it, you'll stay locked up here like an animal. I want to hear you tell me the truth, Dorothea. I want to know what happened.'
'Nothing happened!' she wailed.
'Don't lie to me!'
He raised his hand to strike her then held back at the last moment. Dorothea cringed in front of him. She looked wretched. Her time in the outhouse had robbed her of her good looks, her dignity and her confidence. Jamieson felt no compassion for her. As he stroked his beard and gazed down at her, his only emotion was a deep hatred. He would keep her locked up indefinitely.
'I prayed that you'd come home safely from your voyage,' she said, 'but, when you did, you flew into such a rage. I've been trapped in here for over a week now. It's cruel, Alexander. My only sustenance has been bread and water.'
'That's all you deserve.'
'Do you despise your wife so much?'
'What I despise,' he said, 'is the woman who's been posing as my wife while acting as someone else's mistress.'
Dorothea backed away. She knew that he had a temper but she had never been its victim before. She still had the bruises on her arms where he had grabbed her before pulling her across the courtyard to the outhouse. Confronted with his accusations, she had thought it best to say nothing for fear of stoking his rage. Dorothea had hoped that her husband might calm down as the days passed and even allow her back into the house. If anything, his fury had intensified.
'I suspected something the last time I was home,' he said, 'but I was unable to prove anything. Before I sailed, I engaged a private detective to keep an eye on you.'
'That was an appalling thing to do,' she said with as much indignation as she could gather. 'What sort of husband stoops to spying on his wife?'
'One who fears that he's being cuckolded, Dorothea. It was, alas, no groundless fear. When I saw the report about you, I refused to accept it at first. Then I read the damning evidence.'
'What evidence, Alexander? Am I not entitled to defend myself against it? Will you really accept someone else's word against mine?'
'The evidence concerned Thursday of every week.'
'I went up to London to see some friends,' she explained.
Jamieson sneered. 'One particular friend,' he said.
'I always came back late in the evening – ask the servants.'
'I did ask them but they were ready to lie on your behalf. That's why I dismissed them and why there's nobody in the house to hear your cries for help. They said that you always came back home,' he continued, 'but the man following you is certain that you spent the night at a certain address on a number of occasions.'
'I missed the train, that's all.'
'A woman like you never misses a train, Dorothea.'
'I remember now,' she said, lunging at the first excuse that came to mind. 'The weather was inclement. I was forced to stay over.'
'On every single occasion?'
'Yes, Alexander.'
'And always in the same house?'
'My friend, Sophie, pressed me to stay. Why not ask her?'
'Because I'm sure that she'd lie on your behalf as readily as the servants,' he said. 'Besides, she doesn't live in that house. It's owned by the Reverend Ezra Follis.'
'That's right,' she said, changing her tack. 'He offered me shelter on those nights when the weather turned nasty. Yes, that's what really happened. Why not speak to Mr Follis himself?'
'I never want to exchange another word with that philanderer. The man is a disgrace to the cloth,' he said, contemptuously. 'I'm sure that he made you feel that you were special to him but the hideous truth is that you were just the next in line, Dorothea. You shared a bed that had already been tainted by other women.'
'I didn't share a bed with anybody.'
'Then you must be the only one of his victims who didn't. The detective I hired was very thorough. He gave me all their names. He even tracked down Marion Inigo.'
She was stunned. 'Mrs Inigo, who used to be his housekeeper?'
'Yes, Dorothea,' he replied, 'except that she was never actually married. Marion Inigo used to spend Thursday night at that very same house with the Rector of St Dunstan's. She lives in London now, bringing up their child in the cottage he bought her.'
'I don't believe this,' she said, abandoning all pretence of innocence. 'Ezra would never look at a woman like Marion Inigo. He got rid of her because she was becoming too familiar.' She wrinkled her nose. 'She was nothing but a servant.'
'That servant is the mother of his son.'
'It's impossible.'
'I have incontrovertible proof.'
She was distraught. 'Can this be true?'
Jamieson relished her pain. 'Would you like the names of his other conquests?' he taunted.
Dorothea reeled as if from a blow. Her romance with Ezra Follis had rescued her from long, lonely months when she was on her own. She had taken immense pains to be discreet. Yet not only had her infidelity been exposed, she now discovered that the man who claimed to love her had seduced a string of women before her. It was crippling.
'Goodbye, Dorothea,' said her husband, opening the door. 'I'm going to London myself today so you'll have to manage without any food until tomorrow. If,' he added, 'I decide to bring you any, that is.'
'Where are you going, Alexander?'
'I intend to look at his house for myself. I want to see where my marriage was ruined and make sure that no other trusting husband is cuckolded there.'
She grabbed his arm. 'You won't hurt Ezra, will you?'
'I'll do exactly that,' he said, flinging her aside. 'When I've destroyed his house, I'll destroy him.'
Jamieson went out, slammed the door and locked it. Dorothea lay on the ground where she had fallen and wept. Her situation was hopeless. All that she could think of doing was to pray for forgiveness.
Seated in the hansom cab, Colbeck and Leeming were driven towards the house owned by Captain Alexander Jamieson. They felt that they at last had the evidence they required.
'When I read out the names on that list,' said Colbeck, 'Mr Follis denied having heard of any of them. He even stuck to his denial when I showed him the telescope. Then you turned up at the hospital with a positive identification from Mrs Ashmore and that forced him to tell the truth. He did know Captain Jamieson.'
'Why did he lie so stubbornly to you, Inspector?'
'The rector had something to hide.'
'If this Captain Jamieson is a suspect,' said Leeming, 'you'd have thought that Mr Follis would volunteer his name at the start.'
'I'm sure he had good reason to deceive us,' said Colbeck. 'I'll be interested to discover exactly what it is.'
The cab pulled up outside a big, white, detached Regency house standing on an acre of land. After ordering the driver to wait, Colbeck got out. Leeming followed him up the steps to the front door. They rang the bell several times but to no effect. Telling the sergeant to stay at the front of the property, Colbeck went around to the side. He peered over the fence into the garden.
'Is anyone there?' he shouted, cupping his hands. 'We're looking for Captain Jamieson. Is he at home?'
There was no response from the house itself but he heard a cry from the outhouse on the other side of the courtyard. The voice was too indistinct for him to hear the exact words but he could tell that a woman was in distress. He called Leeming and the sergeant bent down so that Colbeck could step on to his back and jump over the fence. Running to the outhouse, he tried the door and found it locked.
'Who's that inside?' he asked.
'I'm Mrs Dorothea Jamieson,' she answered.
'My name is Detective Inspector Colbeck and I was hoping to speak to your husband. Is he here?'
'No, Inspector – can you get me out?' she begged.
'Stand back from the door.'
After trying to kick it open, he put his shoulder to the timber but it still would not budge. Colbeck looked around and saw a plank of wood nearby. Picking it up, he used it like a battering ram to pound away at the door. After resisting for a short while, the lock suddenly snapped and the door was flung back on its hinges.
Crouching in the corner by the mattress was the pathetic figure of Dorothea Jamieson. She looked up with a fear that was tempered with relief. Someone had rescued her at last. Bursting into tears, she got up and hurled herself into Colbeck's arms.
He caught the first available train to London even though it stopped at various stations on the way. Finding an empty carriage near the front, Captain Jamieson sat down and opened the newspaper he had just bought. It was not merely something to divert him on the journey. It would act as kindling when he burnt down Ezra Follis's house and destroyed the scene of his wife's betrayal. Once that was done, he could seal the clergyman's fate by hiring a more reliable killer. Only when his wife wept over Follis's dead body would his vengeful feelings be appeased.
The signal was given, the locomotive started up and the train moved slowly along in a series of jangling harmonies. Jamieson was happy to be on his way to exact retribution. What he did not realise was that two men had just run along the platform beside the moving train and leapt into the last carriage.
'That was dangerous,' said Victor Leeming, breathlessly, as he sat down. 'If I'm forced to travel by train, I at least expect it to be standing still when I get on it.'
'We had to catch this one,' said Colbeck, 'whatever the risk.'
'How can you be sure that he's on it?'
'You heard what his wife told us. Captain Jamieson left only minutes before we arrived. He'd have got to the station not long ahead of us. Since I've been travelling up and down to Brighton so much, I learnt the timetable by heart. This was the first possible train he could have caught.'
'I bet he didn't wait until it was moving,' said Leeming.
The carriage was largely empty. Their only companion was an elderly man trying to read a book through his monocle. He ignored them studiously. Leeming leant in close to whisper to Colbeck.
'Why do you think he locked his wife up, sir?'
'I don't know, Victor,' replied the other, 'but I wouldn't advise you to do it to Estelle by way of a birthday present. It could never compete with a pretty new bonnet and shawl.'
The train chugged on until Hassocks Gate station came into sight. It gradually slowed down and ran beside the platform until stopping with a jerk. Colbeck got out alone, leaving the sergeant at the rear of the train to cut off any escape attempt by their quarry. Walking along the platform, Colbeck glanced into each carriage, searching for the bearded man whose description he now had. Since additional passengers had just joined it, the train was half-full. There were lots of faces to check. Colbeck saw a couple of men with beards but they were the wrong age and the wrong shape to be Alexander Jamieson.
It was a long train at a short stop. Before the inspector had checked every carriage, it began to move again. He trotted alongside it, peering into the few remaining carriages. When he spotted the man with the black beard, he knew that he had found his suspect. Pulling open the door, Colbeck dived in and closed it behind him.
'Captain Jamieson?' he asked.
'Who the devil are you?' demanded the other.
'My name is Inspector Colbeck and I've come to arrest you.'
Jamieson's reaction was immediate. He threw a punch that caught Colbeck on the chin and dazed him for a moment. Trying to get away, Jamieson opened the door to jump down on to the line, only to find that another train was coming towards them. In desperation, he instead climbed upwards on to the roof of the carriage, hoping to work his way back along the train so that he could leap off at the next station while Colbeck was still in the carriage near the front.
Having spent most of his life at sea, Jamieson had a sailor's nimbleness and sense of balance. He felt secure on the roof of a moving train and safe from any pursuit. He had not taken account of the detective's resolve and agility. Removing his hat, Colbeck followed him through the door and got a firm grip before pulling himself up on to the roof. Jamieson was already two carriages away from him but his movement was hampered by the luggage that had been stored on top of the train. Colbeck, too, had to clamber over trunks, valises and hatboxes while maintaining his balance on the swaying roof. Jamieson was amazed to see that he was being followed.
'Give yourself up, Captain Jamieson,' advised Colbeck, getting closer all the time. 'There's no escape. I have another man on the train to help me. You can't elude the both of us.'
'We'll see about that,' snarled the other.
'We're trained detectives, sir, well used to arresting violent suspects. We're not a defenceless woman like your wife whom you can lock up in your outhouse.'
Jamieson was startled. 'How do you know about that?'
'We know everything about you. We know what you paid Dick Chiffney to do and why you hate the Reverend Follis. You can either surrender while it's safe to do so,' said Colbeck, 'or risk being thrown off onto the rails. Which is it to be?'
'Neither,' said Jamieson, walking towards him and snatching up a leather trunk. 'Goodbye, Inspector.'
He hurled the trunk with all his strength. Had it struck him, Colbeck would have been knocked off the train altogether. As it was, he ducked beneath the missile and let it go past his head. Before Jamieson could pick up another piece of luggage, Colbeck leapt on to the next carriage and tackled him around the legs. As he fell backwards, Jamieson's head struck the edge of another trunk and he was momentarily stunned. Colbeck seized his advantage, getting on top of him and pummelling away with both fists. The black beard was soon stained with blood.
Jamieson fought back, writhing and bucking until he managed to dislodge Colbeck. The two of them were now perilously close to the edge of the roof, grappling wildly as they tried to get the upper hand. Jamieson was strong, doing all he could to force Colbeck off the train and send him to certain death. For his part, the detective wanted to capture his man alive. He had already lost Chiffney under the wheels of a locomotive. He was determined that a train would not rob him of another arrest.
As they wrestled among the items of luggage, some of them were knocked off the roof and bounced on the adjacent track. Colbeck did not wish to join them. Jamieson went for his neck, using both thumbs to press down hard in an effort to strangle him. Colbeck responded at once, getting a hand under the other man's chin and pushing it up with all his energy until Jamieson's head was forced so far back that he had to release his grip on Colbeck's neck.
Before he could get another hold on his adversary, Jamieson was thrown sideways by Colbeck then swiftly mounted. Though he punched him time and again in the face, Colbeck could not subdue him completely. He chose another way to bring the encounter to a decisive end. Rising to his feet, he grabbed a trunk and lifted it high with both hands. When Jamieson tried to get up, Colbeck brought the heavy object crashing down on his head. It knocked him senseless. Jamieson did not feel the handcuffs as they were put on his wrists.
The fight had taken place during the short journey to Burgess Hill station. When the train lurched to a halt, Leeming got out and came running along the platform. He was astounded to see Colbeck standing on the roof of the train with Jamieson lying beside him.
'Ah, there you are, Victor,' said Colbeck, gratefully. 'I'm glad you came. I need a hand with this luggage.'
Captain Harvey Ridgeon accepted that he had made a serious error. As soon as he heard the news, he took a cab to Scotland Yard. Colbeck and Leeming were in the superintendent's office to hear the Inspector General of Railways offer a gracious apology. It was accepted by Tallis without even a tinge of bitterness.
'We have one consolation, Captain Ridgeon,' he said. 'The villain served in Her Majesty's navy – at least he was not an army man!'
'Soldiers can also make terrible mistakes,' admitted Ridgeon. 'I happen to be one of them. Unlike Captain Jamieson, however, I'm able to learn from it.' He turned to Colbeck. 'I think I can guarantee that I'll never again question the judgement of the Railway Detective.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Colbeck.
'I shall be writing to Mrs Pike to make it clear that her husband was in no way responsible for that crash.'
'I think she'll appreciate that, sir.'
'Yes,' said Tallis, 'but I doubt if she'll be pleased to learn that the real cause of that disaster lay in the sexual peccadilloes of the Rector of St Dunstan's. He seems to have led endless women astray.'
'Captain Jamieson's wife was one of them,' noted Colbeck. 'The lady spent the night with him in London then returned on the Brighton Express the following day. It's the reason why that particular train occupied Jamieson's mind. He knew that Mr Follis travelled on it every Friday, returning from his latest adventure in London. Since the express had come to symbolise his wife's infidelity, Jamieson wanted to destroy both the train and one of its passengers.'
'With no thought for all the others on that train,' said Leeming.
'Captain Jamieson will have an appointment with the hangman,' decreed Tallis. 'If it were left to me, a certain clergyman should dangle beside him. The rector should not go unpunished.'
'Oh,' said Colbeck, 'I think you'll find that he's been adequately punished, sir. His ministry is over and he'll leave Brighton with his reputation in tatters.'
'Don't forget that he was shot as well,' Leeming reminded them. 'His shoulder will never be the same again.'
'That's only a physical wound, Victor. The mental scars will never heal. Mr Follis was stricken with guilt when he realised the pain and misery his actions had indirectly caused. Imagine how he must feel about the way that Mrs Jamieson was treated by her husband,' Colbeck went on. 'That was Mr Follis's doing and he's accepted the full blame.'
'How ever did he attract so many women?' wondered Leeming.
'Let's have no crude speculation, Sergeant,' warned Tallis. 'This case is revolting enough without adding salacious details.' He sat back in his chair and eyed his cigar box 'Now that Captain Ridgeon has tendered his apology, I should like to talk to him alone. You and the inspector are free to go.'
Sensing that the two men were about to trade reminiscences of army life, Colbeck opened the door and left the room. Leeming was on his heels. 'There's one good thing to come out of this,' he said, happily. 'Now that we've solved the case, I'll be able to spend Sunday at home, after all.'
'Not necessarily, Victor.'
'Surely you don't expect me to work on Estelle's birthday, sir?'
No,' said Colbeck, 'but I suggest that you might not wish to stay at home.' He took something from his pocket. 'The railway company was so delighted with our efforts that they gave me these – four first class return tickets for the Brighton Express on Sunday. Overcome your dislike of rail travel,' he urged, handing the tickets to Leeming. 'Give your dear wife an additional birthday present and take the whole family to the seaside for the day.'
Knowing that he would call that evening, Madeleine Andrews had taken the trouble to put on her best dress. There was no danger that her father would interrupt them. Now that the Railway Detective had been vindicated, Andrews could go for a drink after work and lord it over those who had dared to criticise his friend. He would not be back for hours. Madeleine listened for the sound of a cab but it never came. Instead, she heard, in due course, an authoritative knock on the front door. When she opened it, Colbeck was beaming at her.
'I thought you'd come by cab,' she said, ushering him in.
'I did,' he replied, taking her in his arms to kiss her. 'It dropped me off at the Round House. I wanted to take a look inside it before I came on here. I walked the rest of the way.'
'Then you've come from one Round House to another. I finished my painting of it earlier today so you'll be able to compare it with the real one.'
Colbeck crossed to the easel. One arm around her waist, he gazed intently at her work, admiring its colour and its completeness. A locomotive was in the process of being turned in the way he had just seen happen in real life. Madeleine's painting had the accuracy of a photograph combined with an artistic vitality that was striking.
'It's remarkable,' he said, seriously, 'quite remarkable.'
'Do you really mean that?'
'You must have been inspired.'
'I was, Robert,' she replied. 'I drew inspiration from the fact that it's going to a very good home.'
'Why – have you sold it already?'
'It's a gift to one of my patrons. I hope you enjoy looking at it.'
Colbeck gaped. 'It's for me?' he said, laughing in delight. 'Thank you so much, Madeleine. I'll cherish the gift. It's a pity that I didn't have this turntable with me in Brighton. It might have prompted me to solve the case much sooner.'
'I don't see how.'
'There's no need why you should. All you need to know is that I'm thrilled with the painting. I've had so much pleasure looking at the picture of the Lord of the Isles you gave me. I see it every day.' He gestured at her latest work. 'This is another wonderful example of what you can do when you pick up a paint brush.'
'There is one condition, Robert,' she warned.
'What sort of condition?'
'You can have your turntable in the Round House if I can have an explanation of why you weren't surprised that the Reverend Follis asked me to read a particular passage from the Bible.' She crossed to the bookshelf. 'Shall I find it for you?'
'There's no need Madeleine,' he said. 'Leave your Bible where it is. I know that chapter from Corinthians very well. "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." Did I get it right?'
'You quoted it word for word.'
'That depends on the translation you use because one of those words is the key to the entire chapter. The word is "charity". Change it to its true meaning of "love" and you'll perhaps understand why Mr Follis wanted it read to him by a beautiful young woman.'
Madeleine was uneasy. 'I'm not certain that I like that.'
'Don't worry,' he said, 'I'm sure that he had no impure thoughts inside his church. He reserved those for elsewhere. Instead of treating the word in its widest sense, embracing all forms of love, the rector saw only its more physical aspects. When I confronted him about his transgressions, he told me that they were crimes of passion.'
'I'm surprised that you left me alone with the man.'
'You were in no danger, Madeleine,' he said, 'especially when you were on consecrated ground. And at that point, of course, I was unaware of how unholy his private life actually was. I took you to Brighton to confirm my suspicion that Ezra Follis was far more interested in women than someone in his position ought to be.'
'I wish you'd told me that beforehand, Robert.'
'It was better if you had no preconceptions. That's why I was so interested to see what your reaction to him was.'
'Well,' she said, 'it's taught me one lesson. I'll be a lot more careful when somebody asks me to read from the Bible again.'
He smiled broadly. 'Does that include me?'
'You're the exception, Robert,' she said, kissing him softly. 'I'll read anything you ask me.'
'I was hoping you'd say that,' he told her, taking a gold-edged card from his inside pocket. 'I'd like you to read this.'
She was amazed. 'It's an invitation to the opening of an exhibition at the National Gallery,' she said, reading the card and gasping with joy. 'I'll be able to meet some famous artists.'
'I'll have the most accomplished one of all on my arm,' said Colbeck, proudly. He lifted the painting off the easel. 'How many of them could bring a steam locomotive to life like this? Precious few, I daresay.' He regarded the painting with a fond smile. 'Perhaps we should take it along with us to show them how it's done.'