The Excursion Train

'Do you think that he might be the killer?'

'It's possible, Madeleine, but unlikely.'

'Why?'

'A short, fat man with a strange walk doesn't strike me as someone who could overpower Jacob Guttridge, not to mention Narcissus Jones. I shook hands with the prison chaplain. He was a powerful man.'

'Then who do you think this person was, Robert?'

'An intermediary,' he decided. 'Someone who found out where the hangman lived and who established that he'd be on that excursion train. He could be the link that I've been searching for,' said Colbeck, 'and you've been kind enough to find him for me.'

'Ever since you took me to Hoxton, I feel involved in the case.'

'You are – very much so.'

Mary arrived with a tray and set out the tea things on the table. She stayed long enough to pour them a cup each then gave a little curtsey before going out again. Colbeck picked up the cake stand and offered it to Madeleine.

'Thank you,' she said, choosing a cake daintily, 'I'm hungry. I was so anxious to get here that I didn't have time for lunch.'

'Then you must let me buy you dinner in recompense.'

'Oh, I can't stay. I have to get back to cook for Father. He likes his meal on the table when he comes home of an evening.' She nibbled her cake and swallowed before speaking again. 'I made a note of the train times. One leaves for London on the hour.'

'I'll come to the station with you,' he promised, 'and I insist that you take the rest of those cakes. You've earned them, Madeleine.'

'I might have one more,' she said, eyeing the selection, 'but that's all. What a day! I attend a funeral, go back to Hoxton with the widow, talk to an Irishwoman, catch a train to Ashford and have tea with you at the Saracen's Head. I think that I could enjoy being a detective.'

'It's not all as simple as this, I'm afraid. You only have to ask Sergeant Leeming. When he went to the Seven Stars in Bethnal Green, he was beaten senseless because he was asking too many questions.'

'Gracious! Is he all right?'

'Victor has great powers of recovery,' Colbeck told her. 'And he's very tenacious. That's imperative in our line of work.'

'Is he here with you in Ashford?'

'Of course. At the moment, he's questioning one of the local constables and he'll stick at it until he's found out everything that he needs to know.'

'Let's start with the names at the top of the list,' said Victor Leeming, showing him the petition. 'Do you know who these people are?'

'Yes, Sergeant.'

'Begin with Timothy Lodge.' He wrote the name in his notebook. 'Does he live in Ashford?'

'He's the town barber. His shop is in Bank Street.'

'What manner of man is he?'

'Very knowledgeable,' said George Butterkiss. 'He can talk to you on any subject under the sun while he's cutting your hair or trimming your beard. What you must never do is to get him on to religion.'

'Why not?'

'Timothy is the organist at the Baptist church in St John's Lane. He's always trying to convert people to his faith.'

'We can forget him, I think,' said Leeming, crossing the name off in his notebook. 'Who's the next person on the list?'

'Horace Fillimore. A butcher.'

'That sounds more promising.'

'Not really, Sergeant,' contradicted Butterkiss. 'Horace must be nearly eighty now. Nathan Hawkshaw used to work for him. He took the shop over when Horace retired.'

Another name was eliminated from the notebook as soon as Leeming had finished writing it. The two men were in an upstairs room above the tailor's shop where Butterkiss had once toiled. Having sold the shop, he had kept the living accommodation. Even in his own home, the constable wore his uniform as if to distance himself from his former existence. Pleased to be involved in the murder investigation again, he described each of the people on the list whose signatures he could decipher. One name jumped up out him.

'Amos Lockyer!' he exclaimed.

'Who?'

'Right here, do you see?'

'All I can see is a squiggle,' said Leeming, glancing at the petition. 'How on earth can you tell who wrote that?'

'Because I used to work alongside Amos. I'd know that scrawl of his anywhere. He taught me all I know about policing. He left under a cloud but I still say that this town owed a lot to Amos Lockyer.'

'Why was that?'

'He was like a bloodhound. He knew how to sniff out villains.'

'Yet he's no longer a policeman?'

'No,' said Butterkiss with patent regret. 'It's a great shame. Amos was dismissed for being drunk on duty and being in possession of a loaded pistol. There were also rumours that he took bribes but I don't believe that for a second.'

'Why were you surprised to see his name on the list?'

'Because he doesn't live here any more. Amos moved away a couple of years ago. The last I heard of him, he was working on a farm the other side of Charing. But the main reason that I didn't expect to see his name here,' said Butterkiss in bewilderment, 'is that I'd expect him to side with the law. how could he call for Nathan Hawkshaw's release when the man's guilt was so obvious?'

'Obvious to you, Constable,' said Leeming, 'but not to this friend of yours, evidently. Or to everyone else on that list.'

'How many more names do you want to hear about?'

'I think I have enough for the time being. You've been very helpful, especially as you've been able to give me so many addresses as well.' he closed his notebook. 'Inspector Colbeck wanted to know if you'd ever heard of a man called Angel.'

'Angel?' Butterkiss gave a hollow laugh. 'everyone in Kent has heard of that rogue.'

'There is such a person then?'

'Oh, yes. As arrant a villain as ever walked. Nothing was safe when Angel was around. He'd steal for the sake of it. He made Joe Dykes look like a plaster saint.'

'We were told that he may have been at the Lenham fair.'

'I'm sure that he was because that's where the richest pickings are. Angel loved crowds. He was a cunning pickpocket. At a fair in Headcorn, he once stole a pair of shire horses.'

'Someone had those in their pocket?'

'No, no,' said Butterkiss, unaware that he was being teased. 'They were between the shafts of a wagon. When the farmer got back to the wagon, the horses had vanished. Angel had gypsy blood and gypsies always have a way with animals.'

'Did you ever meet him?'

'I tried to arrest him once for spending the night in the Saracen's Head without paying. The nerve of the man!'

'What happened?'

'It was raining hard and he needed shelter. So he climbed in, as bold as brass, found an empty room and made himself at home. Before he left, he stole some food from the kitchen for breakfast.'

'The fellow needs locking up for good.'

'You have to catch him first and that was more than I managed to do. Angel is as slippery as an eel. The person who can really tell you about him is Amos Lockyer.'

'Why?'

'Because he had a lot of tussles with him,' said Butterkiss. 'Amos managed to find him once and put him behind bars. Next morning, when he went to the cell, the door was wide open and Angel had fled. The next we heard of him, he was running riot in the Sevenoaks area.'

'How would he have got on with Joseph Dykes?'

'Not very well. Joe was just a good-for-nothing, who stole to get money for his beer. Angel was a real criminal, a man who turned thieving into an art. He boasted about it.'

'Was he violent?'

'Not as a rule.'

'What if someone was to upset Angel?'

'Nobody would be stupid enough to do that or they'd regret it. He was a strong man – wiry and quick on his feet.'

'Capable of killing someone?' said Leeming.

'Angel is capable of anything, Sergeant.'

Winifred Hawkshaw was so concerned about her daughter that she went to call the doctor. Occupied with other patients, he promised to call later on to see the girl. The anxious mother went straight back to Middle Row and up to Emily's bedroom. To her dismay, it was empty. After searching the other rooms, she rushed downstairs where Adam Hawkshaw was starting to close up the shop for the day.