Edward Marston - The Railway Detective

‘I see that you haven’t lost your touch,’ said a voice in the gloom.

‘Who are you?’ growled Brendan Mulryne, turning to the man.

‘I was waiting for you to remember.’

Mulryne blinked. ‘Haven’t I heard that voice before somewhere?’

‘You should have. It gave you a roasting often enough.’

‘Holy Mary!’ exclaimed the other, moving him closer to one of the oil lamps so that he could see the stranger more clearly. ‘It’s never Mr Colbeck, is it?’

‘The very same.’

Mulryne stared at him in the amazement. The Black Dog was one of the largest and most insalubrious public houses in Devil’s Acre and the last place where the Irishman would have expected to find someone as refined as Robert Colbeck. The detective had taken trouble to blend in. Forsaking his usual attire, he looked like a costermonger down on his luck. His clothes were torn and shabby, his cap pulled down over his forehead. Colbeck had even grimed his face by way of disguise and adopted a slouch. He had been standing next to Mulryne for minutes and evaded recognition. The Irishman was baffled.

‘What, in God’s sacred name, are you doing here?’ he said.

‘Looking for you, Brendan.’

‘I’ve done nothing illegal. Well,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘nothing that I’d own up to in a court of law. The Devil’s Acre is a world apart. We have our own rules here.’

‘I’ve just seen one of them being enforced.’

Colbeck bought his friend a pint of beer then the two of them adjourned to a table in the corner. It was some time since the detective had seen Mulryne but the man had not changed. Standing well over six feet tall, he had the physique of a wrestler and massive hands. His gnarled face looked as if it had been inexpertly carved out of rock but it was shining with a mixture of pleasure and surprise now. During his years in the Metropolitan Police, Mulryne had been the ideal person to break up a tavern brawl or to arrest a violent offender. The problem was that he had been too eager in the exercise of his duties and was eventually dismissed from the service. The Irishman never forgot that it was Robert Colbeck who had spoken up on his behalf and tried to save his job for him.

A pall of tobacco smoke combined with the dim lighting to make it difficult for them to see each other properly. The place was full and the hubbub loud. They had to raise their voices to be heard.

‘How is life treating you, Brendan?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Very well, sir.’

‘You don’t have to show any deference to me now.’

‘No,’ said Mulryne with a grin that revealed several missing teeth. ‘I suppose not. Especially when you’re dressed like that. But, yes, I’m happy here at The Black Dog. I keep the customers in order and help behind the bar now and then.’

‘What do you get in return?’

‘Bed, board and all the beer I can drink. Then, of course, there’s the privileges.’

‘Privileges?’

‘We’ve new barmaids coming here all the time,’ said Mulryne with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I help them to settle in.’

‘Would you be interested in doing some work for me?’

Mulryne was hesitant. ‘That depends.’

‘I’d pay you well,’ said Colbeck.

‘It’s not a question of money. The Devil’s Acre is my home now. I’ve lots of friends here. If you’re wanting help to put any of them in jail, then you’ve come to the wrong shop.’

‘The man I’m after is no friend of yours, Brendan.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he doesn’t really belong in this seventh circle of hell,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s an outsider, who’s taken refuge here. A gambler who drifted in here to play cards and to lose his money.’

‘We’ve lots of idiots like that,’ said Mulryne. ‘They always lose. There’s not an honest game of cards in the whole of the Devil’s Acre.’

‘He still hasn’t realised that.’

‘Why do you want him?’

‘It’s in connection with a serious crime that was committed earlier today — a train robbery.’

‘Train robbery!’ echoed the other with disgust. ‘Jesus, what will they think of next? There was never anything like that in my time. The only people I ever arrested were beggars, footpads, cracksmen, flimps, doxies, screevers and murderers — all good, decent, straightforward villains. But now they’re robbing trains, are they? That’s shameful!’

‘It was a mail train,’ said Colbeck. ‘A substantial amount of money was also being carried. They got away with everything.’

‘How does this gambler fit into it?’

‘That’s what I need to ask him, Brendan — with your help.’

‘Ah, no. My days as a bobby are over.’

‘I accept that. What I’m asking you is a personal favour.’

‘Is it that important, Mr Colbeck?’

‘It is,’ said the other. ‘I’d not be here otherwise. It’s been a long day and walking through the Devil’s Acre in the dark is not how I’d choose to spend my nights. No offence, Brendan,’ he added, glancing around at some of the sinister faces nearby, ‘but the company in The Black Dog is a little too primitive for my taste.’

Mulryne laughed. ‘That’s why I like it here,’ he said. ‘The place is alive. The sweepings of London come in through that door, looking for a drink, a woman and a fight in that order. I keep very busy.’

‘Could you not spare some time to assist me?’

‘I’m not sure that I can, Mr Colbeck. I’ve no idea what this man looks like and not a clue where to start looking.’

‘I can help you on both counts,’ said the detective. ‘When I finally persuaded his wife that I needed to track him down, she gave me a good description of William Ings. He’s living with a woman somewhere. But the place to start is among the moneylenders.’

‘Why — did he borrow from them?’

‘He must have Brendan. He lost so much at the card table that he had to sell or pawn most of the furniture in his house. The only way he could have carried on gambling was to borrow money — probably at an exorbitant rate of interest.’

‘There are no philanthropists in the Devil’s Acre.’

Colbeck leant in closer. ‘I need to locate this man.’

‘So I see. But tell me this — does that black-hearted devil, Superintendent Tallis, know that you’re here?’

‘Of course not.’

‘What about Sergeant Leeming?’

‘There’s no need for Victor to be told,’ said Colbeck. ‘That way, he can’t get into trouble with Mr Tallis. This is my project, Brendan. You’ll only be answerable to me.’

‘And there’s money in it?’

‘If you can root out William Ings.’

Mulryne pondered. Before he could reach a decision, however, he saw a drunk trying to molest one of the prostitutes who lounged against the bar. When she pushed the man away, he slapped her hard across the face and produced a squeal of outrage. Mulryne was out of his seat in a flash. He stunned the troublemaker with a solid punch on the side of his head before catching him as he fell. The man was lifted bodily and hurled out of the door into the alleyway, where he lay in a pool of his own vomit. The Irishman returned to his table.

‘I’m sorry about the interruption,’ he said, sitting down.

‘You have a living to earn, Brendan.’

‘I do, Mr Colbeck. Mind you, I can always do with extra money. Since I became forty, my charm is no longer enough for some of the girls. They expect me to buy them things as well — as a mark of my affection, you understand.’

‘I don’t care how you spend what I give you.’

‘That’s just as well,’ said Mulryne. ‘Before I agree, promise me there’ll be no questions about any friends of mine here who might accidentally have strayed from the straight and narrow.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I’m not an informer, Mr Colbeck.’