The Railway Viaduct

'This is good food,' said Colbeck, 'and the wine is more than passable. Working in France obviously has its compensations.'

'In my opinion,' said Filton, 'they are outweighed by the many disadvantages. Whenever I'm in this country, I'm always afraid that the ground will suddenly shift from beneath our feet.'

'You only had to survive one revolution.'

'It was followed by a coup d' etat last year, Inspector. After the revolution, Louis Napoleon came to power by democratic means. It was not enough for him. He wanted to be Master of France. So he dissolved the Chamber and seized complete control.'

'I remember it well, Mr Filton. The wonder is not that he did it but that he achieved it with so little resistance.'

'The name of Napoleon has immense resonance here,' said Filton, wryly. 'It stands for discipline, power and international renown. That speaks to every Frenchman.'

'One can see why.'

'Yes, but it has not made our work here any easier. When there are upheavals in Paris, the effects spill over on to us.'

'Your immediate problems are not French in origin,' Colbeck reminded him. 'They are essentially British. Or, if I may be pedantic, they are Anglo-Irish.'

'And how long do you think they will continue?'

'Not very long, Mr Filton. We are nearing the end.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I planted Brendan Mulryne in their midst.'

'You did the same with Sergeant Leeming.'

'That was different,' argued Colbeck. 'Victor was only there to watch and listen. He would never be taken fully into anyone's confidence. Also, he's far too law-abiding at heart.'

'Law-abiding?'

'He would never commit a crime, Mr Filton.'

'What relevance does that have?'

'Every relevance,' explained Colbeck. 'Brendan is not held back by the same scruples. To become one of them, he'll do what they do without batting an eyelid. We've already seen evidence of that.'

'Have we?'

'Think of those wagons that were overturned. Unless I'm mistaken, Brendan was involved there.'

Filton was outraged. 'Do you mean that he helped the villains?'

'Yes, sir.'

'That's disgraceful, Inspector. Policemen are supposed to uphold the law not flout it like that.'

'Brendan is a rather unusual policeman,' said Colbeck with an appeasing smile, 'as you'll soon see. Before they would trust him, they put him to the test. Judging from the way that those wagons were toppled, I think that he passed that test.'

'So he'll be in a position to destroy even more of our property,' protested Filton. 'I thought he was supposed to be on our side. All that you've done is to import another troublemaker. How many more delays is he going to inflict on us?'

'None, I suspect. Brendan is one of them now.'

'Bracing himself for another attack, I daresay.'

'No, Mr Filton,' said Colbeck, nonchalantly. 'Waiting for the moment when he can hand the villains over to us on a plate.'

Luke Rogan festered with impatience. Having reached Mantes and spent the night there, he had to wait a whole day before he could speak to the man he had come to see. Until the navvies came off work that evening, Rogan had to cool his heels in a country he despised. Back in England, he could be earning money by working for other clients. Instead, he was compelled to waste valuable time abroad. Sir Marcus Hetherington, however, could not be disobeyed.

Sending a message had been his first priority. After riding to the site on a hired horse, he tethered the animal to a tree and used a telescope to scan the scene. Hundreds of navvies were at work in the blistering sun and it took him a long time to locate the man he was after. Pierce Shannon was part of the team that was raising a high embankment. A boy was taking a bucket of water from man to man so that they could slake their thirst. Rogan kept a close eye on the boy. When he saw the lad run off to draw more water, he realised that there had to be a spring nearby. It did not take him long to skirt the railway and find the spring.

When the boy came back once more, Rogan was waiting for him to make an offer. In return for the promise of money, the boy was very willing to deliver the message. After filling his bucket, he scampered off. Rogan had no worries that his note would be read by anyone else because most of the navvies were illiterate. In any case, the terse message would have been incomprehensible to anyone but its intended recipient. He lurked near the spring until the boy eventually came for some more water.

'I gave it to him, sir,' he said.

'What was his reply?'

'He'll be there.'

'Good lad.'

After handing over the money, Rogan made his way back to his horse and rode away. When evening came, he was punctual. It seemed an age before Shannon actually turned up at the appointed place. Rogan had been waiting near the derelict farmhouse for an hour.

'Sorry to keep you, sir,' said Shannon, tipping his hat.

'Where've you been?'

'I needed a drink or two first.'

'I told you to come just as soon as you could,' said the other, reproachfully. 'Have you forgotten who's paying you?'

'No, sir.'

'Do you want to stay working in this hell-hole forever?'

'That I don't,' said Shannon. 'When you give us the rest of the money, I'll be able to turn my back on this kind of work for good. I'm minded to have a little farm back home in Ireland, you see.' He looked around at the crumbling walls. 'A house about this size would suit me down to the ground.'

'You won't get another penny until the job is done.'

'Oh, it will be, sir. I swear it.'

'Then why has there been no news of any disruption?'

'News?'

'It should have reached the English newspapers by now,' said Rogan, tetchily. 'Yet there hasn't been a single word about it.'

'You can't blame us for that, sir.'

'I can if you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Be warned, Shannon. Cross me and you'll be in deep trouble.'

The Irishman stiffened. 'Don't threaten me, sir.'

'Then do as you were told.'

'We have done,' said Shannon with wild-eyed indignation.

'We've done every fucking thing you suggested and much more. Just because it wasn't in your bleeding newspapers, it doesn't mean that it never happened. The person to blame is Tom Brassey.'

'Why?'

'Because he won't report anything to the French police.'

'Maybe that's because there's nothing to report.'

'Are you calling me a liar?' demanded Shannon, raising a fist.

'Give me a reason not to,' said Rogan, pulling out his gun and pointing it at him. 'Otherwise, the only farmhouse you'll ever spend time in is this one and you'll be doing it on your back.'

'Hey, now wait a minute,' said the other, backing away and holding up both hands in a gesture of conciliation. 'Be careful with that thing, sir. You've no call to point it at me. Pierce Shannon is an honourable man. I've not let you down.'

'Then tell me what you've done.'

'I will.'

Shannon used his fingers to count off the series of incidents that he had contrived, giving sufficient detail of each one to convince Rogan that he was telling the truth. When he heard about the explosion, he lowered his weapon. Shannon and his accomplices had not been idle. There was a whole catalogue of destruction to report back to Sir Marcus Hetherington.

'Now will you believe me?' said the Irishman.

'Yes,' replied Rogan, putting the gun away. 'I was wrong to accuse you. And I can see now why Mr Brassey wants to hide his problems from the French police and newspapers. He'd rather try to sort out the trouble for himself.'

'He even put a spy in the camp. We beat him to a pulp.'

'But you still haven't brought the railway to a standstill.'

'We will, sir. I know exactly how to do it.'

'How?'

'That would be telling,' said Shannon with a grin. 'Stay in France for a day or two and you'll find out what we did. They won't be able to keep our next fucking crime out of the newspapers. It's one thing that even Mr Brassey won't be able to hide.'