The Railway Viaduct

'I'm not interested in what newspaper reporters think,' said the other. 'They don't understand the complexity of the case. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll take Victor back home then make arrangements to return to France.'

'No,' said Tallis, pounding the desk. 'You stay in London.'

'I must insist, Superintendent.'

'You are overruled. Nothing on earth would induce me to send you gallivanting off on another pointless French adventure. You belong to the Metropolitan Police not to the Surete.'

'It looks as if I belong to neither, sir,' said Colbeck, rising to his feet with dignity. 'Since you refuse me permission to go as a member of the Detective Department, then I'll do so as a private individual.'

'Don't talk nonsense, man!'

'I'm quite serious, Superintendent. I feel very strongly that this case can only be solved in France and I mean to go back there on my own account, if necessary. Give me a few minutes,' he said, as he walked to the door, 'and you shall have my resignation in writing.'

'You can have mine, too,' added Leeming, getting out of his chair with difficulty. 'Inspector Colbeck is right. If you do not have faith in our judgement, then I'll leave the Department at once.'

'Wait!' yelled Tallis.

He could see the futility of blustering. The two of them were in earnest. The loss of Victor Leeming would be a blow but he could be replaced by promoting someone from below. Robert Colbeck, however, was quite irreplaceable. He not only had an unrivalled record of success as a detective, he had a comprehensive knowledge of railways that was founded on a deep love of steam transport. Whenever serious crimes occurred on a railway, the company involved always asked for Colbeck to investigate. If he were to leave Scotland Yard, a huge vacuum would be created. Superintendent Tallis would have to explain to the commissioner why he had forced his best officer to resign, and he could imagine the withering reprimand that he would get in return. It was time to give ground.

'How long would you need in France?' he growled.

'As long as it takes,' replied Colbeck, going back to the desk to pick up the cigar box. 'Perhaps I can offer you one of these, sir?' he said, holding it out. 'It might stimulate your thought processes while I compose my letter of resignation.'

Madeleine Andrews was preparing a meal in the kitchen and musing on the changes that had come into her life since she had met Robert Colbeck. He had not merely urged her to develop her artistic talent to the point where she had actually managed to earn money from it, he had enlarged her world in every way. Until she had met him, Madeleine was happy enough looking after her father and educating herself by means of books, magazines and lectures. It had never crossed her mind that she would one day assist a detective inspector in a murder investigation and become – albeit unofficially – the first woman to have a role at Scotland Yard. Colbeck had brought love, interest and excitement into the house in Camden. Entertaining fond thoughts of him made the most menial chores seem pleasant. When she worked on, there was a smile on her face.

Madeleine had just finished peeling the potatoes when she heard the rasp of wheels pulling up outside the house. Only one person would call on her in a hansom cab. Tearing off her apron, she wiped her hands dry in it then cast it aside. As she rushed to the front door, she adjusted her hair. She flung the door open. When she let Colbeck in, she was enfolded in a warm embrace.

'I was just thinking about you, Robert,' she confessed.

'Good.'

'I had no idea that you were back in England.'

'Only briefly,' he told her. 'I'll be sailing across the Channel again this evening.'

'Why? What's happened? Do you know who the killer is?'

'Stop firing questions at me and I'll tell you what we've managed to find out so far.' He kissed her then led her to the sofa. 'Sit down.'

Holding her hand, he gave her a concise account of the visit to France and made her gasp when he revealed that Gaston Chabal was married. Madeleine recalled her interview at the hotel.

'Mrs Marklew was certain that he was single,' she said.

'I suspect that that's what she wanted to believe.'

'He deceived her cruelly.'

'In two ways,' said Colbeck, sadly. 'He not only enjoyed her favours by posing as a bachelor. Chabal seems to have entered into the liaison for the prime purpose of getting her to persuade her husband to invest in the railway. The French government provided much of the capital required, but private investors were desperately needed. Given the volatile political situation in France, very few people from this country were prepared to risk their money.'

'How callous of him!'

'He'd probably have seen it as a piece of clever engineering.'

Colbeck finished by telling her about the savage beating sustained by Victor Leeming when posing as a navvy. The information made her sit up in alarm.

'Do be careful, Robert!' she exclaimed.

'I always am.'

'I feel so sorry for Sergeant Leeming.'

'His time as a navvy was not wasted, Madeleine. He unearthed a lot of useful intelligence. It's a pity that it had to end this way.'

'I hope that you are not thinking of taking his place.'

'If only I could,' said Colbeck, wryly, 'but it's impossible. With a face like mine, I could never pass as a navvy. Victor could. He looked the part – though he could never have lived that sort of life.'

'Was the work too hard?'

'I think it was the sleeping arrangements that upset him.'

'His wife must have been shocked by what happened.'

'That's why I went into the house first,' said Colbeck. 'I felt that it would be considerate to prepare Estelle beforehand. In fact, she took it very well. She went straight to the cab and helped Victor out. She's been a policeman's wife for years now. It's toughened her.'

'Will the sergeant be replaced?' asked Madeleine

'Not from the Detective Department.'

'Who else would you take to France?'

'Someone who will fit more easily into the scene than Victor,' he told her. 'The last I heard of him, he was working as a dock labourer so I fancy that a trip to France might appeal to him.'

'Who is he, Robert?'

'The genuine article.'

Nature seemed to have destined Aubrey Filton to be the bearer of bad news. He had a face that could transform itself instantly into a mask of horror and a voice that rose by two octaves when he was really disturbed. His arms semaphored wildly.

'It's happened again, Mr Brassey!' he cried.

'Calm down, Aubrey.'

'We must have lost thousands of bricks.'

'How?'

'Somebody carried them to one of the ventilation shafts and dropped them down into the tunnel,' said Filton. 'The bricks were smashed beyond repair and the line has been blocked.'

'When did this happen?' asked Thomas Brassey.

'In the night, sir. They chose a shaft that was furthest away from the camp so that nobody heard the noise. When they'd unloaded the wagon that carried the bricks, they smashed it to pieces. There's no sign of the horse that pulled it.'

Brassey did his best to remain calm, but exasperation showed in his eyes. He was in his office with Filton. On its walls were the maps and charts drawn as a result of various surveys. Had work proceeded at the stipulated pace, they would have been ahead of schedule and Brassey could have marked their progress on one of the charts. Instead, they were hamstrung by the sequence of interruptions. The latest of them was particularly irksome.

'We needed those bricks for today,' said Brassey.

'I've sent word to the brickyard to increase production.'

'It's security that we need to increase, Aubrey. How was anybody able to steal so many bricks without being seen?'

'I wish I knew, sir,' answered Filton, trembling all over. 'How were they able to light that fire, or damage the track in the tunnel, or steal that gunpowder or blow up the wagons? We're dealing with phantoms here, Mr Brassey.'