The Excursion Train

'You'd never give them cause.'

'They love me as their father and do as they're told – some of the time, anyway. If I was to die, they'd be heartbroken. So would Estelle.'

'What if you were to become a public executioner?'

'That would never happen!'

'But supposing it did, Victor. Let me put it to you as a hypothetical question. In that event, would your children stand by you?'

'Of course.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because we're a real family,' said Leeming with passion. 'That's all that counts, sir. Blood is thicker than water, you know. Well, we see it every day in our work, don't we? We've met some of the most evil villains in London and they always have wives and children who dote on them.'

'True.'

'Murderers, rapists, screevers, palmers, patterers, kidnappers, blackmailers – they can do no wrong in the eyes of their nearest and dearest.'

'That's a fair point.'

'Look at that man we arrested last month on a charge of beating a pimp to death with an iron bar. His wife swore that he didn't have a violent bone in his body. She never even asked what he was doing in that brothel in the first place.'

'Guttridge's case is somewhat different.'

'It all comes back to family loyalty,' insisted Leeming. 'Most people have got it. If he had nothing to do with his father for three years, this Michael Guttridge was the odd man out. How could he turn his back on his parents like that? I mean, how could he look at himself in the shaving mirror of a morning?'

'Very easily, Victor. He'd had a miserable childhood.'

'It makes no difference, sir. There are obligations.'

'You were clearly a more dutiful son than Michael Guttridge. The pity of it is,' said Colbeck, drinking some more whisky, 'that it robs us of a valuable line of inquiry. Since he shunned his father all that time, Michael was unable to give me the names of any possible suspects. Come to that, nor was the dead man's wife.'

'We're in the dark, then.'

'Not necessarily. One thing is self-evident. If you supplement your income as a cobbler by hanging people, you are not going to make many friends. Jacob Guttridge must have aroused undying hatred among the families of his various victims.'

'Lots of them will have wanted to strike back at him.'

'Exactly,' said Colbeck with a sigh. 'Our problem is that we may well end up with far too many suspects. Still, you've heard my story. What did you discover at the morgue?'

'Very little beyond the fact that the place scares me.'

'Whom did you speak to?'

'Doctor Keyworth.'

'Leonard's a good man. He knows his job.'

'What he told me,' said Leeming, flicking open the pages of his pad in search of the relevant place, 'was very interesting.'

He gave a halting account of his talk with the doctor, struggling to read his own writing by the light of the gas lamp. Colbeck was not surprised to learn that there had been two earlier attacks on Guttridge. It accounted for the fact that he was armed when he went out in public.

'Doctor Keyworth will have more to tell us when he's finished cutting him up,' said Leeming, closing his book. He opened it again at once. 'By the way, sir, how do you spell asphyxiation?'

Colbeck chuckled. 'Differently from you, I expect.'

'I wrote in "strangling" just to be on the safe side.'

'An admirable compromise, Victor.'

'So where do we go from here?'

'You must go home to your wife and family while I have the more forbidding task of placating the Superintendent. Because it's bound to attract a lot of publicity, Mr Tallis wants a bulletin about this case every five minutes. That's why I suggested that we meet here,' said Colbeck, lifting his glass. 'I felt that I needed a dram before facing him.'

'I'd need a whole bottle of whisky.'

'His bark is far worse than his bite.'

'Both frighten me. Will Mr Tallis still be in his office this late?'

'The rumour is that he never leaves it. Give the man his due – his dedication is exemplary. Mr Tallis is married to his job.'

'I'd prefer to be married to a woman,' confided Leeming with a rare smile. 'When I get back, Estelle will make me a nice cup of tea and tell me what she and the children have been up to all day. Then we'll climb into a warm bed together. Who does all that for the Superintendent?'

''He has his own rewards, Victor.' Colbeck became businesslike. 'Tomorrow, we start the hunt for the killer. You can begin by reviewing the executions that involved Jacob Guttridge. Start with the most recent ones and work backward.'

'That could take me ages.'

'Not really. He was only an occasional hangman, taking over the work that others were unable to tackle. If he'd had a regular income from the noose, Guttridge wouldn't have had to keep working as a cobbler – or to live in such a small house.'

'I'll get in touch with the 'Home Office. They should have details.'

'All they will tell you is who was sentenced to be hanged, the nature of the crime and the place of execution. You must dig deeper than that. Find out everything you can about the individual cases. I'm convinced that that's where we'll track down our man.'

'And woman, sir.'

'What?'

'You thought he had a female accomplice.'

'It's a strong possibility.' Colbeck drained his glass. 'Get a good night's sleep, Victor. You need to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to make a start.'

'What will you be doing, sir?'

'Learning more about the mysterious Jacob Guttridge.'

'And how will you do that?'

'By talking to the man who has been the hangman for London and Middlesex for over twenty years.'

'William Cathcart?'

'He's the only person really qualified to talk about Guttridge in his professional capacity. 'Hangmen are an exclusive breed. They cling together. Cathcart will tell me all I need to know about the technique of executing a condemned prisoner.' Colbeck's eyes twinkled. 'Unless you'd rather talk to him, that is.'

'No, thank you,' replied Leeming with a shiver.

'It might be an education for you, Victor.'

'That's what I'm afraid of, sir.'

'In a sense, he is a colleague of ours. We provide his customers.'

'I wouldn't want to get within a mile of a man like that. Think how much blood he's got on his hands. 'He's topped dozens and dozens. no, Inspector, I'll leave Mr Cathcart to you.'

Word of any disaster travelled with amazing speed among railwaymen. Whenever the boiler of a locomotive burst, or a train came off the track or someone was inadvertently crushed to death between the buffers, news of the event soon reached those who worked in the industry. Caleb Andrews was employed by the London and North Western Railway, one of the fiercest rivals of the GWR, but he had heard about the murder at Twyford by mid-evening. It was the main topic of discussion among the drivers and fireman at Euston. To learn more about what had occurred, he was up even earlier than usual so that he could walk to the newsagent's to collect a morning paper. When he got back home, he found breakfast waiting for him on the table. 'His daughter, Madeleine, who lived alone with her father and who ran the household, was as anxious for detail as he was.

'What does it say, Father?' she asked.

'I haven't had time to read it yet,' said Andrews, taking a leather case from his inside pocket. 'Let me put my glasses on first.'

'A murder on a train! It's terrifying.'

'First one I've ever come across, Maddy.'

'Do they tell you who the victim was?'

Sitting at the table, Andrews put on his spectacles and squinted through the lenses at the front page of the newspaper. 'His eyebrows shot up and he released a whistle of surprise through his teeth.

'Well,' pressed Madeleine, looking over his shoulder. 'What was the man's name?'

'Jacob Guttridge,' he replied. 'The Jacob Guttridge.'

'Am I supposed to have heard of him?'

'Every criminal in London has, Maddy. 'He's a Jack Ketch.'

'A hangman?'

'Not any more. 'He's not as famous as Mr Cathcart, of course, but he's put the noose around lots of guilty necks, that much I do know. It says here,' he went on, scanning the opening paragraph, 'that he was on an excursion train taking passengers to a prizefight.'