Edward Marston - The iron horse

His major source of unease, however, was only feet away. For reasons the sergeant did not understand, Colbeck had placed the hatbox between the two beds so that each of them would be sleeping cheek by jowl with incontrovertible evidence of foul play. Leeming was by no means squeamish but the proximity of the severed head unnerved him. Yet it seemed to have no effect on the inspector. When they retired to their beds for the night, Leeming voiced his thoughts.

'Why would anyone do it?' he wondered.

'Do what?'

'Carry a human head in a hatbox.'

'I can think of a number of reasons,' said Colbeck.

'Such as?'

'It could be a trophy, something which signalled a victory.'

'Who would want to keep such a grisly item as that?'

'There's no accounting for taste, Victor.'

'What else could it be?'

'A gift.'

Leeming started. 'A weird sort of gift, if you ask me.'

'I agree but we may be dealing with a weird mind. Don't forget that case we had last year. A young woman was dismembered and pieces of her body were returned one by one to the bereaved family.'

'I remember it only too well, Inspector. The killer worked at Smithfield – a butcher in every sense.' He glanced down at the hatbox. 'Do you have a theory about this crime, sir?'

'One is slowly forming in my brain, Victor.'

'Well?'

'I fancy that it's a warning,' said Colbeck. 'Look how far it's travelled. Would somebody bring it all that way without a specific purpose? My belief is that it was going to be delivered to someone by way of a dire warning. Think what an appalling shock it would have given as the lid was opened.'

'I'm scared stiff when the lid is closed.'

'Only because you know what's inside the box.'

'The one consolation is that we'll soon catch the villain.'

'I wish that I shared your confidence.'

'You must do, sir,' argued Leeming. 'The man was kind enough to put his name on the ticket – Mr D Key. What does that initial stand for, I wonder – David, Donald, Derek perhaps? We had a census only three years ago so his name will be somewhere in the list of London residents. All we have to do is to work our way through them.'

'That would be a complete waste of time.'

'Why?'

'Because we have no proof that the person we want lives in London. All we know for certain is that the train was boarded there. As for the name, I'll wager every penny I have that it's a false one. Who would be stupid enough to attach his real name to a hatbox that contained a human head? Besides,' Colbeck added, 'the person who brought it to Crewe might have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder. He might simply have been a delivery boy.'

'It's not a job I'd have taken on,' confessed Leeming with a shudder. 'Nothing on God's earth would have persuaded me to get on a train with something like that.'

'You'll be doing so tomorrow, Victor.'

'That's different, sir. Now it can be classed as evidence.'

'Vital evidence – that's why we mustn't let it out of our sight.'

'Does it have to spend the night with us?'

'Most certainly.'

'Why not leave it at the railway station?'

'Because the man who lost the hatbox might well try to retrieve it,' Colbeck pointed out. 'We can't allow that, can we? Imagine what Superintendent Tallis would say if something as important as this was stolen from under our noses.'

'Do you really think that someone will come back for it?'

'It's highly likely.'

'Then shouldn't a watch be kept on the stationmaster's office?'

'Of course. I took the precaution of speaking to Constable Hubbleday on the matter and he agreed to patrol the area throughout the night. There's no point in our losing sleep when we have a uniformed policeman at our disposal, is there? He leant over to give the hatbox a companionable pat. 'This chap is perfectly safe with us,' he went on before reaching up to turn off the gaslight. 'Good night, Victor – and sweet dreams.'

Sergeant Leeming gurgled into his pillow.

It was well past midnight before Constable Royston Hubbleday began to tire. Eager to impress a detective from Scotland Yard, he had been delighted when Colbeck asked him to keep a close eye on the railway station that night. Hubbleday was a hefty young man with a fondness for action and a desire to move to a large city where he might find plenty of it. Nothing appealed to him more than the notion of joining the Metropolitan Police Force and, if he could make a significant arrest while assisting two members of it, he felt that it would help him to fulfil his ambition.

The night was humid, the sky dark and Crewe passenger station was no more than a shadowy outline. Having circled it time and again, he paused to remove his top hat so that he could wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. It was a grave mistake. Before he could replace his hat, something struck him hard on the back of his head and sent him sprawling forward into oblivion. After checking that the policeman was unconscious, his attacker stepped over the body and trotted off in the direction of the stationmaster's office.

When he reached the door, he used a powerful shoulder to smash it open then stepped inside. Having studied the office earlier through the window, he knew where to find the oil lamp and lit it at once, moving it so that it illuminated the large cupboard in the corner. Pulling a knife from inside his jacket, he inserted it in the gap beside the lock and jiggled it violently until the door suddenly flipped open. It took him a split-second to realise that the item he was after was no longer there. He thrust the knife angrily back into its sheath.

'Damnation!' he swore.

Then he ran off swiftly into the darkness.

Ever since the death of her mother, Madeleine Andrews had looked after her father and willingly taken on the roles of housekeeper, cook, nurse, maidservant and companion. She was an intelligent woman in her twenties, vigorous, decisive and self-possessed, with attractive features framed by auburn hair parted in the middle. In spite of her domestic commitments, Madeleine had taken the trouble to educate herself way beyond what might be expected of an engine driver's daughter and to develop her artistic talent. In a busy life, she had somehow managed to strike a good balance between her household duties and her leisure pursuits.

Working the late shift, Caleb Andrews had not returned home to the modest house in Camden until after his daughter had gone to bed the previous night. Unable to pass on his news, therefore, he was keen to do so when a new day dawned. As he came downstairs, there was a jauntiness in his gait and a twinkle in his eye. He went into the back room to find Madeleine ladling porridge into two bowls.

'Breakfast is ready,' she said.

'Thank you, Maddy – you spoil me, you know.'

'That's what I'm here for, Father.'

'I don't think I could manage without you,' he said, taking a seat at the table. 'Though I suppose that I'll have to sooner or later.'

'Now, don't play that little game,' she warned.

He feigned innocence. 'What game?'

'You know quite well. Robert and I are close friends but I won't be teased on that account. Eat your breakfast.'

'I'm not teasing anybody. It's a father's duty to safeguard his daughter and to make sure that nobody takes advantage of her. I have your best interests at heart, Maddy.' He gave a sly grin. 'I also have a surprise for you.'

She sat opposite him. 'I don't like surprises this early in the morning,' she said briskly. 'Save it until later.'

'You'd never forgive me if I did.'

'Why not?'

'It concerns Inspector Colbeck.'

'Robert?' Her face ignited with pleasure. 'What about him?'

He shrugged. 'I'll tell you after breakfast.'