Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘There is another way he might have got into that carriage,’ said Barrett, stroking his chin reflectively. ‘We moved quite slow out of Paddington. He could have jumped on the train then.’

‘That would mean he was a railwayman,’ noted Colbeck. ‘Someone who knew his way around the station and the goods yard. Someone agile enough to leap onto a moving train.’ He distributed a polite smile among the three of them. ‘Thank you,’ he went on. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

‘Can we can take her on to Swindon now, Inspector?’ asked Barrett, hopefully. ‘We’re already half a day behind on delivery.’

Colbeck shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Barrett,’ he said, ‘but I’d like you and the train to stay here a little longer. Sergeant Leeming will be here soon. I want him to take a look at the scene of the crime. A second pair of eyes is always valuable.’

‘I need to get back to my wife,’ said Neale, irritably.

Hawley tapped his chest. ‘So do I. Liza will miss me.’

‘I got no wife myself,’ said Barrett, ‘but I’d still like to be on my way. There’s mechanics waiting for us at Swindon.’

‘You can’t hold us here against our will,’ insisted Neale.

‘This is a murder investigation,’ Colbeck told them, ‘and that takes precedence over everything else. Now, why don’t you all join me for luncheon? I’ve a lot more questions to put to you yet.’

Sergeant Victor Leeming arrived early that afternoon. He was a stocky man in his thirties with the sort of unfortunate features that even his greatest admirers could only describe as pleasantly ugly. Though he was relatively smart, he looked almost unkempt beside the immaculate inspector. Leeming was carrying a well-thumbed copy of Bradshaw’s Guide , the comprehensive volume of public railway timetables that was issued monthly. Colbeck took him aside to hear his report.

‘What did you discover, Victor?’ he asked.

‘That Matthew Proudfoot is well known on this stretch of line,’ replied Leeming. ‘He lived in Reading and travelled up and down to London all the time. He wasn’t a popular man — always trying to find fault with the way that trains were run and stations manned. I wouldn’t like to repeat what a porter at Slough called him.’

‘Did anyone see him as the train passed by yesterday evening?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Who?’

Leeming took out his notebook. ‘Here we are,’ he said, flipping to the right page. ‘He was seen going through Hanwell station, West Drayton, Langley and Maidenhead.’

‘By whom?’

‘Railway policemen, in the first three cases.’

‘And at Maidenhead?’

‘The stationmaster, Mr Elrich.’

‘Are they sure that it was Matthew Proudfoot?’

‘Completely sure, Inspector. By all accounts, he was a very distinctive man. All four witnesses swear that he was sitting in the window of the first-class carriage as Castor went past.’ He tapped his notebook. ‘I even have the approximate times written down. Do you want them?’

‘No thank you, Victor,’ said Colbeck, holding up a hand. ‘You’ve told me the one thing I needed to know. Mr Proudfoot was alive when the train left Maidenhead. I had a feeling that he would be.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because the longest stretch between stations on that line is the one that runs from Maidenhead to Twyford. It’s just over eight miles. Given the speed at which they were travelling, that would allow the killer the maximum time — well over a quarter of an hour — in which to strike.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Leeming. ‘It’s only two miles between Hanwell and Ealing — even less between there and Southall station. He must have waited for open country before he attacked.’

‘Biding his time.’

Leeming put his notebook away. ‘Have you made any progress at this end, Inspector?’

‘A great deal.’

‘Do we have any clues?’

‘Several, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘When a little more evidence has been gathered, we’ll be in a position to make an arrest. Meanwhile, I want the stretch of line between Maidenhead and Twyford to be searched.’

Leeming gaped. ‘All of it?’

‘They can start at Twyford station and work their way back. My guess is that it will be nearer that end of the track.’

‘What will?’

‘The murder weapon. It was thrown from the train.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Would you hang on to a bloodstained knife?’ asked Colbeck. ‘But that isn’t the only item I want to locate. Close by, they should also find the wallet and watch that were stolen from Matthew Proudfoot.’

‘You sound as if you already have the name of the murderer.’

‘Let’s say that I’ve narrowed it down to two people.’

‘Accomplices?’

‘No, I don’t think so somehow.’

‘Who are these men?’

‘I’ll introduce them to you in a moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘First of all, let me tell you what I’ve been up to while you were busy elsewhere.’

Driver Barrett was relieved when he was told that he had permission to take the train on to Swindon. What neither he nor Fireman Neale could understand, however, was why Robert Colbeck insisted on travelling on the footplate with them. They were also mystified to hear that Victor Leeming would be sitting in the first-class carriage. George Hawley was even less pleased with the arrangement. Deprived of a supply of beer, he sat alone in the brake van and moped.

Swindon was over forty miles down the line and they had to time their departure so that they did not interfere with any of the down-trains from London. An able fireman, Neale had gotten up a good head of steam as Castor finally pulled out of Reading station. Colbeck had never been on a moving locomotive before and he was glad that he had given his top hat to Leeming for safekeeping. There was no real protection from the elements on the footplate and, the faster they went, the greater the strength of the wind. Colbeck’s hat would have been blown off his head.

There were other problems he had not anticipated. Dust got into his eyes, noisome fumes troubled his nostrils and he had to brush the occasional hot cinder from his sleeve. The ear-splitting noise meant that speech had to be conducted in raised voices. Nevertheless, Colbeck was impressed by the remarkable running quality of Castor , given greater stability on the broad gauge track.

‘What speed are we doing now?’ he asked.

‘Almost thirty miles an hour,’ said Barrett, who had an instinctive feel for the pace of the train. ‘She can go much faster, Inspector.’

‘Take her up to thirty-five — the speed you were doing yesterday.’

‘Very well, sir.’

Colbeck stood back so that the two men could do their work. He felt a sudden rush of heat as the door of the firebox was opened so that Neale could shovel in more coke. The door was slammed shut again. Smoke was billowing out of the chimney and forming clouds in their wake. Steam was hissing and the locomotive rattled and swayed. Colbeck found it an exhilarating experience but he was not there to enjoy it. As soon as he had got used to the rocking motion of the train, he checked his watch before slipping it back into his waistcoat pocket. Then he stepped back onto the tender and worked his way slowly along its side.

‘What, in God’s name, is he doing?’ cried Neale.

‘Leave him be,’ said Barrett.

‘Where does he think he’s going?’

Colbeck heard him but gave no reply. He needed every ounce of concentration for the task in hand. The second-class carriage was coupled to the tender but it was shaking crazily from side to side. Not daring to look down, Colbeck reached across the void, got a grip on the roof of the carriage and, with a supreme effort, heaved himself up onto it. He needed time to grow accustomed to the roll of the carriage. Getting up off his hands and knees, he remained in a crouching position in the middle of the roof until he felt sufficiently confident to stand up properly. He then made his way gingerly towards the first-class carriage.