Edward Marston - The railway viaduct

'Whatever brought you here?' he asked.

'We need to settle our account, Sir Marcus.'

'This house is sacrosanct. You're not allowed anywhere near it.'

'I think I am,' said Rogan, pugnaciously.

'And how did you get those bruises?'

'Invite me in and I'll tell you.'

'You're not coming in here.'

Fearing that his wife might see the man, Sir Marcus took him past the stable block at the rear of the house. They went into an outbuilding some distance away so that they could talk without being seen. Rogan told him about the failed attempt on Colbeck's life. The old man was incensed.

'Can't you do anything you're told?' he yelled.

'I got rid of that Frenchman for you,' retorted the other.

'Yes, but you didn't bring that railway to a halt, did you? Nor did you stop the police from finding out your identity, thus putting both our lives in danger. And now – this!'

'Colbeck saw me coming.'

'You swore to me that you'd kill him.'

'I tried, Sir Marcus. How do you think I got these bruises?'

'The worst thing of all is that you come running here, like a snivelling child who's been beaten at school.'

Rogan became truculent. 'I didn't come for sympathy,' he said. 'I came for what's owed to me. Now that I have to get out of London, I need every penny.'

'I'm not paying you for something you didn't do.'

'You have to, Sir Marcus. You gave me your word.'

'I've paid you enough already,' said the old man, 'and the money was not well spent. You blundered. And to cap it all, you have the temerity to disturb me in my own home. That's unpardonable.'

'We're in this together.'

'Our association is ended forthwith.'

'You don't get off the hook that easily, Sir Marcus,' said Rogan, squaring up to him. 'If you don't pay me what's due, I'll write a note to Inspector Colbeck and tell him whose idea it was to kill Gaston Chabal and toss him off that viaduct.'

'You wouldn't dare!' howled Sir Marcus.

'What do I have to lose?'

'You're the man they're after, not me. There's a description of you in the newspapers this morning. If you were so careful, how did the police track you down to your office?'

'Give me the money!'

'No!'

'If I go down, Sir Marcus, you'll come with me.'

There was a silent battle of wills. Sir Marcus glowered at him but Rogan met his gaze with unflinching steadiness. The old man was enraged by the lack of respect he was being shown. Hitherto, Rogan had always been deferential. He was now scornful of their social differences. He would not be cowed. Sir Marcus reached a decision. When he had first employed him, Rogan had been an asset to him. He had now become a liability.

'Who knows that you came here?' he asked.

'Nobody.'

'Are you sure?'

'Quite sure, Sir Marcus.'

'Someone must have brought you from the railway station.'

'I walked.'

Sir Marcus was duly impressed. It was almost two miles to the house. If Rogan had walked all the way, it showed how eager he was to get there. Since the house was in an isolated position, the chances that anyone had seen him coming there were very slim. The only other person who had set eyes on the visitor was one of the servants. Feigning repentance, Sir Marcus nodded his head.

'I am indebted to you,' he conceded. 'There's no denying that.'

'I need my money,' said Rogan.

'You'll get it – on the understanding that you'll go far away from here and never return. Is that agreed?'

'You'll never see me again, Sir Marcus.'

'Do I have your word on that?'

'I won't even stay in the country.'

'In that case,' said the old man, 'I'll get what I owe you and I'll add something more. Wait here until I get back.'

Victor Leeming arrived at the Lamb and Flag to find a tankard of beer waiting for him. Colbeck was sitting at a table. When he saw the inspector's face, Leeming was shocked.

'You look worse than me, sir!' he said.

'I feel it, Victor.'

'What on earth happened?'

'I had a chance meeting with Luke Rogan.'

Leeming sat down in the other chair and listened to the story. He was annoyed that he had left Colbeck alone after their meeting in John Islip Street. He felt guilty.

'I should have made sure you caught a cab,' he said.

'I can look after myself.'

'But you might have been killed, sir.'

'A little shaken up, that's all,' said Colbeck. 'What really upset me was that I tore my coat and muddied my trousers. Luckily, I keep a change of clothing in my office. I'd never have ventured in here otherwise.' He drank some whisky. 'What did you learn?'

'You can cross three of the names off that list, sir.'

'Excellent – that takes us down to single figures. Some of the other men working on the case have been busy as well. They managed to eliminate another eight suspects between them.'

'You may be able to get rid of even more.'

'Why?'

'Because I think I struck gold at the first address.'

'The one in Pimlico?'

'Yes, Inspector,' said Leeming before taking a long drink of beer. 'It's a town house owned by Sir Marcus Hetherington. He's gone back to his estates in Essex so I wasn't able to speak to the gentleman himself, but I talked to a servant.'

'And?'

'Sir Marcus had a long and distinguished career in the army.'

'How old would he be?'

'Well into his seventies, apparently.'

'Then he could be our man.'

'I'm fairly certain of it,' said Leeming. 'When I mentioned the name of Luke Rogan, the servant claimed that he had never heard of him. But I had a strong suspicion that he was lying. He's obviously very loyal to his master.'

'Did you press him in the matter?'

'No, sir. I went away. When I'd visited the other three addresses, I took a cab back to Pimlico and spoke to the same man. This time I showed him that description of Luke Rogan in the newspaper and reminded him that it was a crime to hold back evidence from the police. That rattled him, I could see.'

'Did he buckle?'

'Eventually,' said Leeming. 'He remembered something that had slipped his mind. It seems that a man who called himself Rogan had called at the house only yesterday. That settles it for me, sir.'

'And me,' said Colbeck. 'How quickly can you drink that beer?'

'Why, sir?'

'We're going to catch a train to Essex.'

It was some while before Sir Marcus Hetherington returned and Rogan began to worry. When he stepped outside, however, he saw the old man coming towards him with a small bag in his hand. The sight made him relax. Sir Marcus ushered him back inside and closed the door behind them. Then he held out the bag.

'This is all you get, mind,' he warned. 'Your final payment.'

'Thank you,' said Rogan, snatching the bag.

'Count it out to make sure that it's all there.'

'I will, Sir Marcus.'

There was a little table in the corner. Luke Rogan sat beside it and tipped out the bundle of notes and coins. He began to count the money but did not get far. Taking out a pistol from inside his coat, Sir Marcus shot him in the head from close range. Blood spurted everywhere and stained the banknotes on the table. Rogan slumped forward. Sir Marcus was relieved, convinced that he had just rid himself of the one person who could connect the series of crimes to him. Rogan had deserved what he got. The old man had no sympathy.

Putting the gun aside, he took down an empty sack that was hanging from a nail and used it to cover Rogan's head. Then he opened the door, checked that nobody was about and took hold of the body under the armpits. Rogan was a solid man but Sir Marcus was still strong enough to drag him to the disused well nearby. The corpse plummeted down the shaft and disappeared under the water. The money was soon thrown after Rogan. When he had strewn handfuls of straw down the well, Sir Marcus reclaimed his pistol and went off to change for dinner.