Edward Marston - The excursion train

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'Did you find any clues, Inspector?' he asked, agog for news.

'Enough for us to act upon,' replied Colbeck.

'You will call upon us in due course, won't you?'

'If necessary, Constable.'

'How was the chaplain killed?'

'Quickly.'

'We can't discuss the details,' said Leeming, irritated by someone who stood between him and his dinner. 'Inspector Colbeck was very careful what information he released to the press.'

'Yes, yes,' said Butterkiss. 'I understand.'

'We know where to find you, Constable,' said Colbeck, walking past him. 'Thank you for your help this morning.'

'We appreciated it,' added Leeming.

'Thank you!' said Butterkiss, beaming like a waiter who has received a huge tip. 'Thank you very much.'

'By the way,' advised Leeming, unable to resist a joke at his expense. 'That uniform is too big for you, Constable. You should see a good tailor.'

He followed Colbeck into the Saracen's Head and made for the stairs. Before they could climb them, however, they were intercepted. Mary, the plump servant, hurried out of the bar. She subjected Leeming's face to close scrutiny.

'Those bruises are still there, Sergeant.'

'Thank you for telling me,' he said.

'Is there nothing you can put on them?'

'We were caught in the rain,' explained Colbeck, 'and we need to get out of these wet clothes. You'll have to excuse us.'

'But I haven't told you my message yet, Inspector.'

'Oh?'

'The gentleman said that I was to catch you as soon as you came back from wherever it is you've been. He was very insistent.'

'What gentleman, Mary?'

'The one who's taken a room for the night.'

'Did he give you a name?'

'Oh, yes,' she said, helpfully.

Leeming was impatient. 'Well,' he said, as his stomach began to rumble, 'what was it, girl?'

'Superintendent Tallis.'

'What!'

'He's going to dine with you here this evening.'

Suddenly, Victor Leeming no longer looked forward to the meal with quite the same relish.

Gregory Newman finished his shift at the railway works and washed his hands in the sink before leaving. Many of the boilermen went straight to the nearest pub to slake their thirst but Newman went home to see to his wife. During working hours, Meg Newman was looked after by a kindly old neighbour, who popped in at intervals to check on her. Since the invalid spent most of her time asleep, she could be left for long periods. When he got back to the house, Newman found that the neighbour, a white-haired woman in her sixties, was just about to leave.

'How is she, Mrs Sheen?' he asked.

'She's been asleep since lunch,' replied the other, 'so I didn't disturb her.'

'Did she eat much?'

'The usual, Mr Newman. And she used the commode.'

'That's good. Thank you, Mrs Sheen.'

'I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

'I'll take Meg for another ride before I go to work.'

He went into the house and opened the door of the front room where his wife lay in bed. She stirred. Newman gave her a token kiss on the forehead to let her know that he was back then he went off to change out of his working clothes. When he returned, his wife woke up long enough to eat some bread and drink some tea but she soon dozed off again. Newman left her alone. As he ate his own meal in the kitchen, he remembered his promise to Winifred Hawkshaw. After washing the plates and cutlery, he looked in on his wife again, saw that she was deeply asleep and slipped out of the house. The drizzle had stopped.

He knew exactly where he would find Adam Hawkshaw at that time of the evening. A brisk walk soon got him to the high street and he turned into the Fountain Inn, one of the most popular hostelries in the town. The place was quite full but nobody was talking to Hawkshaw, seated alone at a table and staring into his tankard with a quiet smile on his face. Walking jauntily into the bar, Newman clapped Hawkshaw on the shoulder by way of greeting. He then bought some beer for both of them and took the two glasses across to the table.

'I was hoping to catch you, Adam,' he said, sitting down.

'Just in time. I'll have to leave soon.'

'Where are you going?'

'That would be telling.'

Adam Hawkshaw grinned wolfishly then finished the dregs of his own drink before picking up the other tankard. He seemed in good spirits. Raising the tankard to Newman in gratitude, he took a long sip.

'How's business?' asked Newman.

'Bad,' said the other, 'though it did pick up this afternoon. Best day we've had all week. What about you, Gregory?'

'Boiler-making is a good trade. I was never apprenticed to it but those years in the forge stood me in good stead. The foreman is amazed how quickly I've picked things up.'

'Do you miss the forge?'

'I miss chatting to the customers,' said Newman, 'and I loved working with horses but the forge had to go. It was unfair on Meg to make so much noise underneath her bedroom. The new house is much quieter and she can sleep downstairs.'

'How is she?'

'As well as can be expected.' Newman leant over the table. 'But I haven't told you the news yet,' he said with a glint. 'One advantage of working by the railway station is that word travels fast. Our foreman heard it from the guard on a train to Margate. He's dead, Adam.'

'Who is?'

'The prison chaplain.'

'Never!'

'Murdered on a train last night,' said Newman, 'and I'm not going to pretend I wasn't pleased to hear it. Narcissus Jones made your father suffer in that prison.'

'Yes.'

'And someone called him to account.'

Adam Hawkshaw seemed unsure how to react to the tidings. His face was impassive but his eyes were gleaming. He took a long drink of beer from his tankard then wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

'That's great news, Gregory,' he said. 'Thank you.'

'I thought you'd be delighted.'

'Well, I don't feel sorry for that Welsh bastard, I know that.'

'Win ought to be told. It might cheer her up.' Newman sat back. 'I spoke to her early this morning. She said that you wouldn't talk to Inspector Colbeck.'

'Nor to any other policeman,' said Hawkshaw, sourly.

'But he might help us.' The other snorted. 'He might, Adam. We've all tried to find the man who did kill Joe Dykes but we've got nowhere so far. And we have jobs to do, people to support. This detective has the time to conduct a proper search.'

'Keep him away from me.'

'If we can convince him that your father was innocent, we'll get him on our side – don't you see?'

'He thinks we killed that hangman.'

'That doesn't mean we don't use him, Adam.'

'Forget it.'

'Win agrees,' said Newman. 'If we cooperate with this Inspector, he may do us all a favour and help to clear your father's name. You want the man who really killed Joe Dykes to be caught, don't you?'

Hawkshaw gave him a strange look then took another long sip from his tankard. Wiping his mouth again, he got to his feet.

'Thanks for the beer, Gregory.'

'Where are you going?'

'I've got to see somebody.'

Without even a farewell, Adam Hawkshaw walked out of the bar.

Robert Colbeck was sporting a red silk waistcoat when he joined his superior for dinner and Edward Tallis glared at it with unconcealed distaste. Victor Leeming's apparel was far more conservative but he was criticised by the Superintendent for being too untidy. It did not make for a pleasant meal. Tallis waited until they had ordered from the menu before he pitched into the two detectives.

'What the deuce is going on?' he demanded. 'I send you off to solve one railway murder and a second one is committed.'

'We can hardly be blamed for that, sir,' said Colbeck.

'But it happened right under your noses.'

'Paddock Wood is some distance from here and the chaplain was killed somewhere beyond it. We have a rough idea of the location.'

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