The Excursion Train

'As soon as the body is removed,' said Colbeck, 'the train is all theirs, but I'd recommend that they detach that particular carriage. nobody will want to travel in it now, anyway. Can you pass that on, Sergeant Lugg?'

'Yes, Inspector,' replied Lugg, 'and I've got men standing by with a stretcher – and with a blanket. The chaplain deserves to be covered when we carry him past that mob. I'm not having them goggling at Mr Jones. It's indecent.'

'Well, Victor,' said Colbeck as the policeman waddled off, 'have you discovered anything of value?'

'Not really, sir.'

'I thought not.'

'It was getting dark by the time that the train reached Maidstone last night so the guard couldn't see much when he glanced in through the windows. To be honest,' he added, 'I doubt if he even looked. He was too anxious to get home to his supper.'

'What about the stationmaster? Albert someone, I gather.'

'Albert Scranton, crusty old soul. He recognised all the people who got off that train and said that everything looked perfectly normal. He wonders if the murder could have happened during the night.'

'While the train was out of commission?'

'Yes, Inspector – after he'd closed the station.'

'And how did the chaplain come to be in the railway carriage of a train that wasn't going anywhere?'

'That's what I asked him,' said Leeming. 'Mr Scranton reckoned that he could have been tricked into meeting someone here.'

'Impossible,' said Colbeck, dismissing the notion at once. 'There was a ticket in the dead man's pocket showing that he was travelling from Paddock Wood to Maidstone. Since he didn't get off here, he must have been killed during the journey.'

'So where did the murderer get off?'

'Somewhere on the other side of Yalding station.'

Leeming blinked. 'While the train was still moving?'

'Yes, Victor. It's only three miles or so between Paddock Wood and Yalding. The chaplain must have been dispatched shortly after the train left so that the pair of them had time to make their escape.'

'The pair of them?'

'I'm fairly certain that he had an accomplice.'

'You mean that woman?'

'Let's be off,' said Colbeck, using a hand to ease him into a walk. 'I'll give you all the details on the way there.'

'Where are we going, sir?'

'To prison, Victor.'

Henry Ferriday was more apprehensive than ever. Unable to sit still, he paced nervously up and down his office in the vain hope that movement would ease the tension that he felt. A rap on the door startled him and he called for the visitor to identify himself before he allowed him in. It was one of the men on duty at the prison gate, bringing news that two detectives from Scotland Yard were waiting to see him. Minutes later, Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming were escorted to the governor's office. When the Sergeant was introduced to Ferriday, he was given a clammy handshake. All three men sat down.

'This is an appalling business,' said Ferriday, still reeling from the shock. 'Quite appalling.'

'You have my deepest sympathy,' said Colbeck, softly. 'I know how much you relied on the chaplain.'

'Narcissus was vital to the running of this prison, Inspector. He exerted such influence over the inmates. I don't know how we'll manage without him. He's irreplaceable.'

'Is it true that he had a death threat some weeks ago?' Ferriday was taken aback. 'How on earth do you know that?'

'That's immaterial. It was in connection with the execution of Nathan Hawkshaw, wasn't it?'

'Yes, it was.'

'Did you happen to see the note?'

'Of course. Narcissus and I had no secrets between us.'

'Can you recall what it said?'

'Very little, Inspector. Something to the effect of "We'll kill you for this, you Welsh bastard" – only the spelling was dreadful. It was clearly written by an ignorant man.'

'Ignorant men can still nurture a passion for revenge.'

'Did you take the threat seriously?' asked Leeming.

'Yes, Sergeant.'

'And what about the chaplain?'

'Narcissus shrugged it off,' said Ferriday, 'and threw the note away. He refused to be frightened by anything. That was his downfall.'

'Did he take no precautions outside the prison?' said Colbeck.

'He didn't need to, Inspector. Well, you've met him. He was a big man, strong enough to look after himself. And having worked with villains for so long, he had a second sense where danger was concerned.'

'Not in this case,' observed Leeming.

'Do we have any idea what actually happened?' said Ferriday, looking from one to the other. 'All I know is that his body was discovered in a railway carriage this morning. How was he murdered?'

Colbeck gave him a brief account of his examination of the murder scene and told him that the body had now been removed from the train. The governor flinched when he heard about the Bible being placed under the head of the dead man and the verse that had been picked out.

'What kind of vile heathen are we dealing with here?' he shouted.

'A very clever one,' admitted Colbeck. 'This is the second murder that he's committed on a train and he's escaped on both occasions.'

'He must be caught, Inspector!'

'He will be.'

'This is one execution in which I'll take some pleasure,' said the governor, bunching his fists. 'He deserves to hang until every last breath is squeezed out of his miserable body.' He collected himself. 'Narcissus Jones was a great man. The whole prison will mourn him. It's not given to many chaplains to possess such extraordinary gifts.'

'He was a striking individual,' agreed Colbeck.

The governor looked over his shoulder. 'This prison is a sewer,' he said, contemptuously. 'We have the scum of the earth in here.'

'There's no need to tell us that,' said Leeming with a dry laugh. 'Our job is to catch the devils and send them on to places like this.'

'Most of them sneer at authority and go straight back to a life of crime as soon as we let them out. At least,' Ferriday went on, 'that's what used to happen until Narcissus Jones was appointed here. He gave the men a sense of hope and self-respect. He improved them as human beings. That's what made him so popular among the men.'

Colbeck had doubts on that score. 'I take it that the chaplain had a room at the prison?' he said.

'Yes, Inspector. He more or less lived within these walls.'

'But he did venture out?'

'From time to time.'

'What we need to establish is how the killer knew that he would be travelling on that train from Paddock Wood.'

'I can tell you that,' said Ferriday. 'The chaplain was much in demand as a speaker at churches and Christian gatherings. Most of the invitations he received had, of necessity, to be turned down because of his commitments here but he did like to give a talk or take a service somewhere once or twice a month.'

'Events that would have been advertised in a parish magazine.'

'And in the local newspapers, Inspector Colbeck. Our chaplain was a man of some renown. If you go to the church in Paddock Wood where he spoke yesterday, I daresay you'll find that they had a board outside for weeks in advance with details of his talk. It was St Peter's, by the way,' he added. 'They'll be horrified to hear the news.'

'So will everyone else,' said Leeming. 'Killing a man of the cloth is about as low as you can sink. I mean, it's sacrosanct.'

'Sacrilege,' corrected Colbeck, gently.

'I call it diabolical,' said Ferriday.

While they were talking a distant noise had begun inside the prison, slowly building until it became audible enough for them to become aware of it. All three of them looked at the window. The sound got progressively louder, spreading swiftly from wing to wing of the establishment with gathering force. Raised voices could be heard but the dominating note had a metallic quality to it as if a large number of inmates were using implements to beat on the bars of their cells in celebration. In its menacing rhythm, a concerted message was being sent to the governor by the only means at the prisoners' disposal. As the noise rose to a climax, Leeming looked across at the governor.