The Railway Viaduct

'Did she say what her business was?'

'No, sir. The only person she wishes to see is you.'

Colbeck got to his feet. 'Then you'd better bring her in.'

Moments later, a tall, stately woman in her thirties came into the office and waited until the door had been closed behind her before she yielded up her name.

'Inspector Colbeck?'

'That's correct.'

'My name is Hannah Critchlow,' she said, 'and I've come in response to the request you inserted in the Liverpool Times.'

He was curious. 'You've come all the way from Liverpool?'

'This is not something I wished to discuss with the local police. I had other reasons for being in London, so I decided to speak directly to you. I hope that I can rely on your discretion.'

'Completely,' he said. 'Do sit down, Mrs Critchlow.'

'Miss Critchlow,' she corrected.

'I beg your pardon.'

Hannah Critchlow lowered herself into a chair and he resumed his seat behind the desk. Colbeck was surprised to hear that she was unmarried. She had a sculptured beauty that was enhanced by her costly attire. She also had a distinct poise about her and would never go through life unnoticed by members of the opposite sex. Without being told, he knew that she had travelled by train to London in a first class carriage. Colbeck felt a quiet excitement. Given the trouble she had taken to see him, he believed that she would have something of value to impart.

'Before we go any further,' she said, 'there is one thing that I must make clear. I am not here in search of any reward.'

'But if you can provide information that will lead to the arrest of the murderer, the railway company will be very grateful to you.'

'I don't want their gratitude.'

'What do you want, Miss Critchlow?'

'The satisfaction of knowing that this villain is caught. From the reports in the newspaper, it seems to have been an appalling crime. The culprit should not be allowed to get away with it.'

'He won't,' said Colbeck, levelly. 'I can assure you of that.'

'Good.'

While he had been appraising her, she had been sizing him up and she seemed pleased with what she saw. It encouraged her to confide in him. After clearing her throat, she leaned slightly forward.

'I believe that they call you the Railway Detective,' she said.

'My nickname is immaterial. The only name that interests me at this point in time is that of the murder victim.'

'When I tell you what it is, Inspector, you will see that your nickname is not at all irrelevant. The gentleman who was thrown from the Sankey Bridge was – if I am right – a railway engineer.'

'Does he have a name, Miss Critchlow?'

'Yes.' There was a long pause. 'Gaston Chabal.'

'What makes you think that?'

'I happen to know that he was coming to England around this time to take a closer look at our railway system. He had an especial interest in the London and North-West Railway so that would account for his presence on the train in question.'

'Gaston Chabal.'

'Yes, Inspector – if I am right.'

'I have a feeling that you are,' he said, writing the name down on a piece of paper in front of him. 'Would it be impertinent of me to ask how you come to know this gentlemen?'

'Not at all,' she replied, adjusting her skirt. 'My sister and I visited Paris earlier this year. In a small way, we are art collectors. We attended the opening of an exhibition one afternoon. M. Chabal was one of the guests.'

'Could you describe his appearance?'

'He was very much like you, Inspector.'

'Me?'

'Yes. M. Chabal was not what I had expected a railway engineer to be any more than you are what I envisaged as a detective. I mean that with the greatest of respect,' she went on. 'Most policemen I've encountered have had a more rugged look to them. As for Gaston – for M. Chabal – he seemed to be far too modish and fastidious to be involved in work on the railways.'

'He was French. They pay attention to their appearance.'

'Yes,' she murmured. 'He was very French.'

'Did he live in Paris?'

'I believe so.'

'You have no address for the gentleman?'

'It was only a casual encounter, Inspector,' she said, 'but I do know that he was an admirer of our railway system. It's much more advanced than the one in France. He felt that he could learn useful lessons by studying it.'

'To some extent, that's true,' said Colbeck, 'but our system has many vices as well as virtues. We do not have a standard gauge on our railways, for a start. That causes immense problems.'

'I would blame the Great Western Railway for that. Mr Brunel insists on using the broad gauge instead of coming into line with the others. And we have too many companies competing with each other to serve the same towns and cities.'

'You seem to know a lot about railways, Miss Critchlow.'

'I've spent a lot of time travelling on them.'

'So have I,' said Colbeck. 'To come back to M. Chabal, do you happen to know if was married or not?'

Her reply was prompt. 'He was a bachelor.'

'Nevertheless, he'll have had a family and friends who need to be informed of his death, not to mention his employers. Have you any idea how we might contact them?'

'No, Inspector.'

'Do you know if he was engaged on any particular project?'

'Yes,' she replied, a finger to her chin. 'He did mention that he would be working with a British contractor in northern France, but I can't remember exactly where.'

'It must be the railway between Mantes and Caen. It's the only large project in that part of the country. Thomas Brassey is in charge of its construction. Yes, that must be it,' decided Colbeck. 'Thank you, Miss Critchlow. At least I know where to start looking now.'

'I hope that I've been able to help your investigation.'

'Without question. You've cleared up one mystery for us. Is there anything else you can tell me about Gaston Chabal?'

'I'm afraid not. I only met him that once.'

'Was he a handsome man? Did he speak good English?'

'Most people would have thought him handsome,' she said, choosing her words with care, 'and his English was faultless. He once gave a lecture here in London on railway engineering.'

'Bold man. That's rather like carrying coals to Newcastle. Do you know when and where he delivered this lecture?'

'No, Inspector.'

'A pity. It might have been another way to track him.'

'If it really is the man I think.' She rose to her feet. 'Well, I won't take up more of your time, Inspector Colbeck. I've told you all I can so there's no point in my staying. Goodbye.'

'I'll see you out,' he insisted, getting up to cross to the door. 'Are you staying in London?'

'Only until tomorrow.'

'Then permit me to call a cab for you, Miss Critchlow. And if you are an art collector, allow me to recommend the name of a British painter – Ambrose Hooper. I think very highly of his work.'

He opened the door to let her go out first then followed her down the corridor. When they left the building, he hovered on the pavement until an empty cab came into sight. Flagging it down, Colbeck assisted her into the vehicle and made sure that he heard the name of the hotel that she gave to the driver. The man flicked his reins and the horse set off at a steady trot in the direction of Trafalgar Square. Colbeck did not return to his office. Hannah Critchlow had given him a crucial piece of information, but he was much more interested in what she was concealing than in what she had actually divulged. When the next empty cab came along Whitehall, therefore, he put out an arm to stop it.

'Where to, guv'nor?' asked the driver.

'Camden.'

Madeleine Andrews had always been fond of drawing but she did not know that she possessed a real talent until Robert Colbeck had come into her life. Not for her a rural landscape, or a jolly scene at a fair or even a flattering portrait of her sitter. Like her father, her passion was for locomotives and she had sketched dozens of them over the years, honing her skills without even realising that she was doing it. With Colbeck's encouragement, she had shown some of her sketches to a dealer and actually managed to sell two of them.