The Railway Viaduct

CHAPTER FOUR

Superintendent Edward Tallis had dedicated himself to his work with a missionary zeal. Faced with what he saw as a rising tide of crime, he put in far more hours than anyone else in the Detective Department in the hope of stemming its menacing flow. With too few officers covering far too large an area, he knew that policing the capital city was a Herculean task but he was not daunted. He was determined that the forces of law and order would prevail. Tallis was not the only man to leave the army and join the Metropolitan Police, but the others had all retained their rank to give their names a ring of authority. The only rank that he used was the one confirmed upon him in his new profession. It filled him with pride. Being a detective superintendent was, for Tallis, like sitting at the right hand of the Almighty.

Accustomed to arrive first at Scotland Yard, he was surprised to find that one of his men was already there. Bent over his desk, Robert Colbeck was writing something in his educated hand. Spotting him through the half-open door, Tallis barged into the room.

'What the devil are you doing here, Inspector?' he said.

'Finishing my report on the Harrison-Clark trial, sir,' replied the other. He turned to face Tallis. 'If you recall, I had to postpone it.'

'You are supposed to be in Liverpool.'

'We came back to London last night.'

Tallis was astounded. 'Are you telling me that the murder was solved in the space of two days?'

'Alas, no,' said Colbeck, rising to his feet, 'but the investigation has reached the stage where our presence is no longer required in Liverpool. To be honest, I'm heartily relieved. It's an unlovely place and Victor Leeming was missing his wife badly.'

'Wives do not exist in the Detective Department,' said Tallis, acidly. 'Duty always comes before any trifling marital arrangements. Leeming knows that. He should have been ready to stay in Liverpool for a month, if called upon to do so.'

'That necessity did not arise, Superintendent.'

'I expected the pair of you to spend more than one night there.'

'So did I, sir,' said Colbeck, 'but events took an interesting turn. You'll find a full explanation in the report I left on your desk earlier on. I also took the liberty of opening a window in your office. When I got here, the stench of cigar smoke had still not dispersed from the room.'

'It's not a stench, man – it's a pleasing aroma.'

'Only to those who create it.'

Tallis glowered at him before stalking off to his office. Colbeck sat down again to finish the last paragraph then he put his pen aside. After blotting the wet ink, he picked up the pages and put them in the right order. When he took the report into the superintendent's office, Tallis was reading about the murder inquiry. Colbeck waited until his superior had finished. The older man nodded.

'Admirably thorough,' he conceded.

'Thank you, sir.'

'Though I'm not sure that it's altogether wise to accept the testimony of an artist at face value. In my experience, they're rather shifty fellows whose imagination tends to get the better of them.'

'I put my trust in Ambrose Hooper unreservedly. Those three witnesses on the barge confirmed everything that was in the painting.'

'Thieves and an artist.' Tallis sucked his teeth. 'Such men are hardly reliable.'

'It was only one member of the Triggs family who kept hold of property that did not belong to him, and he is not what anyone would describe as a thief. Samuel Triggs simply seized an opportunity.'

'That's what villains do,' said Tallis, crisply. 'This fellow stole a jacket and a pair of shoes, thereby impeding the investigation. I trust that you arrested him on the spot.'

'I left that to Constable Praine.'

'You mentioned him in your report.'

'A good policeman, sir – strong, quick-thinking and obedient. I told Inspector Heyford that I would be happy to see Praine in the ranks of the Metropolitan Police. It made the inspector look at the man through new eyes.'

What he did not tell the superintendent was that he had also been able to oil the wheels of Walter Praine's romance. Faced with the threat of losing him, Sidney Heyford had been at his most proprietary, offering all manner of blandishments for the constable to stay. At long last, Praine had been able to broach the sensitive subject of marriage to the inspector's daughter.

'I see that you resorted to the press again,' noted Tallis.

'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'I put the same advertisement in Liverpool and Manchester papers even though the victim is not a local man.'

'How do you know that?'

'Someone would have reported him missing by now, sir. There are not all that many young Frenchmen living in that part of the country, even fewer with this man's income and taste in clothes. We must remember that he was travelling in a first class carriage. Most people on that train settled for second or third.'

Tallis wrinkled his nose. 'I could never lower myself to either.'

'My hope is that our man was visiting someone in Liverpool without warning. Though he had no face, the description of him is very detailed. If he has friends there, he'll be recognised.'

'He could just have been on his way to the docks.'

'Why?'

'To sail home to France, of course.'

'From Liverpool?' said Colbeck. 'I doubt that, sir. He'd choose one of the Channel ports. No, he had another reason for visiting the place and we need to discover what it was.'

'Why didn't you stay there until someone came forward in answer to your request in the newspapers?'

'Because it might take days and I had no intention of sitting there and twiddling my thumbs. We did not exactly have the most cordial welcome from the local police. They felt – quite rightly – that we were treading on their toes.'

'Supposing that nobody responds to your plea?'

'Oh, I'm fairly certain that someone will, Superintendent.'

'What makes you so confident?'

'A reward was offered,' said Colbeck. 'The railway company is anxious for the crime to be solved as soon as possible. They want to assure their passengers that this is an isolated incident. That's only possible if we catch the killer.'

'Quite so.'

'As long as the man is at large, people will fear that he's likely to strike again even though that possibility is remote.'

'Is it?'

'I believe so. Look at the facts. This murder is unique. It was committed in a particular way and at a particular point on the line. It was at a particular time of day as well – when the express train was running. All of the others stop at the Sankey Viaduct though, rather confusingly, that station was renamed Warrington Junction in 1831. Victor and I changed trains there to get to the canal basin.'

'What this does not explain,' said Tallis, tapping the report in front of him, 'is how the killer came to be sharing the carriage alone with his intended victim.'

'There are two possible answers to that, sir.'

'I fail to see them.'

'They could have been known to each other and travelled as friends. That would have meant that the victim was caught off guard.'

'And the second possibility?'

'That's the more likely one,' said Colbeck. 'The carriage may have been first class but other passengers might have wished to choose it. Had they done so, of course, the murderer would have been foiled. Once his victim had entered the carriage, he had to ensure nobody else did.'

'How could he do that?'

'By posing as someone in authority and turning people away.'

'You mean that he pretended to be a railway employee?'

'No, sir. He was wearing a uniform that would deter other passengers while at the same time reassuring the victim when he joined him in the carriage at the time of departure.'

Tallis was furious. 'Only one uniform would do that.'

'Exactly,' said Colbeck. 'The killer was dressed as a policeman.'

Much as he loved his daughter, there were times when Caleb Andrews found her profoundly exasperating. For the third time in a row, Madeleine had beaten him at draughts, a game in which he had once considered himself invincible. The previous evening, she had trounced him at dominoes. Andrews was not a man who suffered defeat with good grace. He began to wish that he had never taught her how to play the games. It was humiliating for him to lose to a woman.

'Another game?' she suggested.

'No, no, Maddy. I've had enough.'

'Your luck may change.'

'It's not a question of luck,' he said, gathering up the counters and putting them back in their box. 'Draughts is a game of skill. You have to be able to out-think your opponent.'

'I just play it for the pleasure.'

Andrews grimaced. It was even more annoying to be beaten by someone who did not take the game seriously. For him, it was a real contest; for Madeleine, it was simply fun. Seeing that he was so discomfited, she got up, kissed him on the forehead and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. They were in the little house that they shared in Camden. Andrews was a short, wiry man in his fifties with a fringe beard dappled with grey. There was a suppressed energy about him that belied his age. Since the death of his wife six years earlier, his daughter had looked after him with a mixture of kindness, cajolery and uncompromising firmness.

When the tea had been brewed, Madeleine brought the pot into the living room and set it down on the table with a cosy on it. Now in her twenties, she had inherited her mother's good looks and had the same auburn hair, but Madeleine Andrews possessed an assurance that was all her own. As her father had learned to his cost, she also had a quick brain. To stave off the pangs of defeat, he tried to lose himself in his newspaper. One item of news immediately caught his jaundiced eye.

'He should have consulted me,' he said.

'Who?'

'Inspector Colbeck. I work for that railway company. I know every inch of our track.'

'Yes, Father,' she agreed, 'but you're only an engine driver.'

'So?'

'You're not a detective like Robert.'

'I could have helped. I could have made suggestions.'

'I'm sure that he appreciates that,' said Madeleine, tactfully, 'but he had to act quickly. As soon as word of the crime reached him, Robert went straight off to Liverpool. He had no time to contact you.'

'Is that what he told you?'

'More or less.'

It was a white lie to appease her father. Caleb Andrews had been the driver of the mail train that was robbed in the previous year and he had been badly injured in the process. Since he was leading the investigation, Colbeck had got to know both Andrews and his daughter well. A warm friendship had soon developed between the detective and Madeleine and it had matured into something far more. Andrews liked to pretend that Colbeck called at the house to increase his knowledge of the railway system by discussing it with a man who had spent his working life on it. But he knew that it was his daughter who brought the detective to Camden.

'When are you likely to see him again, Maddy?' he asked.

'Soon, I hope.'

'Make a point of telling him about my offer.'

'Robert will be very grateful to hear of it,' she said, fetching two cups and saucers from the dresser. 'At the moment, I'm afraid, he's extremely busy.'

'Not according to this.' Andrews peered at the newspaper. 'It's been five days since the murder took place and they've got nowhere. Inspector Colbeck is making another appeal for someone to help the police by identifying the victim. He was a Frenchman,' he added with a loud sniff. 'Fifty years ago, we'd have cheered anyone who killed a Froggy. Now, we arrest them – if we can find them, that is.'

'Robert will find him in due course,' she said, loyally.

'Meanwhile, he's just sitting on his hands.'

'He'd never do that, Father. While he's waiting for information to come in, he'll be helping to solve crimes here in London. Robert never rests. He works terribly hard.'

'So do I,' boasted Andrews. 'Hard and long. I've been at it for over forty years, man and boy. I could have told Inspector Colbeck exactly what it's like to take a train over the Sankey Viaduct because I've done it. He should have come to me, Maddy.'

'I'll tell him that,' she soothed, removing the tea cosy and lifting up the pot. 'When Robert has a moment to spare.'

Nobody was allowed to rest at Scotland Yard. Superintendent Tallis made sure of that. He kept a watchful eye on what his detectives were doing and cracked the whip over any he felt were slacking. There was never any cause to upbraid Robert Colbeck. He was intensely busy. While awaiting further developments in the murder case, he was reviewing the evidence on a daily basis, giving instructions by letter to Inspector Heyford, deploying his men on other cases, attending meetings within the Detective Department and acting as a legal consultant to his colleagues.

Unlike the majority of those at Scotland Yard, he had not worked his way up through the Metropolitan Police. Colbeck had trained as a barrister and been a familiar figure in the London courts. The murder of someone very dear to him had affected him deeply and made him question the efficacy of what he was doing. He felt that he could make a far better contribution to law enforcement by catching criminals than simply by securing their convictions in court. Fellow detectives made great use of his legal knowledge but Tallis merely envied it. Colbeck's career as a barrister was one more reason why there was so much latent hostility between the two men.

That afternoon began badly. The superintendent's patience was wearing out. After a bruising interview with him – 'You are supposed to be the Railway Detective – prove it!' – Colbeck returned to his office and began to go painstakingly through all the evidence yet again, hoping that there was some hitherto unnoticed detail that might help to illumine the whole investigation. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not hear Victor Leeming enter the room.

'Excuse me, sir,' said the sergeant. 'You have a visitor.'

'Oh.' Colbeck glanced up. 'Thank you, Victor. Show him in.'

'It's a lady and a very handsome one at that.'

'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.

Bolstered by her modest success, Madeleine always tried to find at least some time in a day to work on her latest drawing. When she had cleaned the house, finished the washing-up and been out to do the shopping, she was back at her easel. Sitting near a window in the living room to get the best of the light, she was in the perfect position to see the cab as it drew up outside. When she saw Colbeck alight, she put her work aside and rushed to open the door.

'Robert! How lovely to see you!'

'I need your help,' he said, kissing her on the cheek. 'Is there any chance that you could spare me an hour or two?'

'Of course,' she replied. 'Where are we going?'

'I'll tell you in the cab.'

'Give me a moment.'

Madeleine went back into the house to leave a short note for her father, then she collected her hat and coat. Colbeck was waiting to help her into the cab before climbing up to sit beside her. Their conversation was conducted to the rhythmical clip-clop of the hooves. He told her about his visitor from Liverpool. Madeleine was interested.

'What made you think she was hiding something?'

'When a married woman tells me that she is single, then I know that she is lying to me. Nobody as fetching as Hannah Critchlow could reach that age without having had dozens of proposals.'

'She might have turned them all down,' said Madeleine.

'That was not the impression I got. She not only has a husband,' Colbeck went on, 'but my guess is that he's connected with a railway company in some way – though not the GWR.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because of a criticism she made to me about the broad gauge. It was not the kind of remark I'd expect a woman to make – unless her name was Madeleine Andrews, that is. But then, you have a genuine fascination with railways.'

'It's only natural. Father is an engine driver.'

'Hannah Critchlow is different,' he said. 'When she talks about railways, she sounds as if she's quoting somebody else – her husband, most probably. It was another instance of her concealing something from me. And I didn't believe for a second that she had chanced upon this railway engineer at an art exhibition.'

'Why not?'

'Wait until you meet her, Madeleine.'

'What do you mean?'

'She's a very self-possessed woman with typical English reserve. Such people do not make casual conversation with foreigners. I fancy that she and Gaston Chabal became friends elsewhere. You'd be doing me a huge favour if you could find out the truth.'

'What makes you think that she'd confide in me, Robert?'

'You're a woman. You might be able to break through her defences. It took an enormous effort for her to come forward like this. She must have found Scotland Yard – and me, for that matter – rather intimidating.'

'You're not in the least intimidating,' she said, squeezing his arm affectionately. 'You're always extremely charming.'

'Well, my charm did not work on her, Madeleine – yours might.'

He spent the rest of the journey schooling her in what to say and how to say it. Madeleine was an attentive pupil. It was not the first time he had employed her on an unofficial basis and she had proved extremely helpful in the past. Colbeck knew that he could rely on her to be gently persuasive.

'Does the superintendent know about this?' she said.

'Mr Tallis?' He gave a dry laugh. 'Hardly. You know his opinion of women – they should be neither seen nor heard. If he realised what I was doing, he'd probably roast me over a spit.'

'Even if your methods bring results?'

'Even then, Madeleine.'

They eventually reached their destination in the Strand and pulled up outside a fashionable hotel. He gave her another kiss.

'Good luck!' he said.

It had taken Hannah Critchlow almost a week to gather up enough courage to get in touch with Inspector Colbeck. Now that she had done so, she felt both relieved and anxious. But her overriding emotion was sadness and, no sooner did she return to her hotel, than she burst into tears. It took her a long time to compose herself. When there was a tap on her door, she assumed that it would be a member of the hotel staff. Opening the door, she saw instead that she had a visitor.

'Miss Critchlow?'

'Yes,' said the other, guardedly.

'My name is Madeleine Andrews. I wonder if I might have a private word with you? I'm a friend of Inspector Colbeck.'

'Then why are you bothering me? We've nothing to say to each other. I told the inspector all that I know.'

'That's untrue,' said Madeleine, holding her ground.

'Good day to you.'

'As Hannah Critchlow, you gave him a certain amount of information but, as Mrs Marklew, you may be able to provide more. Why give him one name when you are staying here under another?'

Hannah was suspicious. 'Who are you?'

'I told you. I'm a friend of the inspector. If I explained how he and I came to meet, you'll understand why I'm here.'

Hannah Marklew hesitated. She was unsettled by the fact that her disguise had been so easily pierced and she knew that she could be severely reproached for misleading a detective. At the same time, she found Madeleine personable and unthreatening. There was another telling factor. Her visitor had a sympathetic manner. She was on Hannah's side.

'You'd better come in, Miss Andrews. It is "Miss", I presume?'

'Yes, Mrs Marklew.'

Madeleine went into the room and the other woman shut the door behind them. Hannah indicated a chair but she remained standing when Madeleine sat down.

'What did Inspector Colbeck tell you about me?' said Hannah.

'That you had provided the name of the murder victim and thereby moved the investigation on to another stage. He also told me how eager you were to see the killer brought to justice.'

'I am, Miss Andrews.'

'Then he needs all the help he can get in order to do that.'

Hannah was still wary. 'How do you know the inspector?'

'The same way that you do,' replied Madeleine. 'As a result of a crime. Somebody I know was attacked on the railway in the course of a robbery and Inspector Colbeck was put in charge of the case. Luckily, the injured man survived but it took him months to recover and he still carries the scars from that assault. Because of Inspector Colbeck's efforts, the villain responsible was eventually apprehended with his accomplices.'

'And who exactly was the victim?'

'My father. He almost died.'

Madeleine spoke with quiet intensity. She explained that her father had been in a deep coma and was not expected to live. More suffering had followed. In a desperate attempt to impede the police investigation, she had been abducted and held in captivity until rescued by Robert Colbeck.

'You can see why I have such faith in the inspector,' she said.

'Yes, Miss Andrews.'

'It's the reason I'm so willing to help him now.'

'But I have nothing else to add.'

'I believe that you do, Mrs Marklew. You came all the way from Liverpool to see Inspector Colbeck in person. That suggests it was a matter of importance to you. Otherwise,' Madeleine pointed out, 'you could simply have informed the local police, or even made contact with Scotland Yard by anonymous letter. The inspector believes that you have a personal reason to see this crime solved.'

Hannah studied her carefully as if weighing her in the balance. It was certainly easier talking to a woman in the confines of a hotel room than discussing the case with a detective inspector in an office. Madeleine, she sensed, was discreet. Also, there was a bond between them. Both had endured great pain as a result of a crime committed on the London and North-West Railway. Hannah wondered if she could ease her pain by talking about it.

'Inspector Colbeck is very perceptive,' she said. 'I did know Gaston Chabal rather better than I indicated, but I did not wish to admit that. It might have caused complications.'

'With your husband?'

'Yes, Miss Andrews.' Hannah sat down. 'I love him very much and I do not want to hurt him in any way. The simple fact is that Alexander – my husband – is somewhat older than me and is always preoccupied with business affairs.'

'The inspector thought that he had a connection with railways.'

'It's more than a connection. He's one of the directors of the London and North-West Railway. That's what seems so cruel. Gaston was murdered on a railway in which my husband is so closely involved.' She hunched her shoulders. 'I suppose that some might see that as an example of poetic justice.'

'How did you first meet M. Chabal?' asked Madeleine.

'It was at a reception in Paris. A major rail link was planned between Mantes and Caen. Since he already has some investments in French railways, my husband was interested in buying shares.'

'And you were invited to go with him?'

'All that I saw was an opportunity to visit Paris,' said Hannah. 'To be candid, I expected the reception itself to be very boring – they usually are. When you get a group of men talking business, you can feel very isolated. Fortunately,' she went on, a wan smile touching her lips, 'Gaston was there. We began talking. A few months later, there was a meeting in London for investors in the project. My husband had to be there, so I made sure that I was as well.'

'Did you meet M. Chabal again?'

'Yes. I suppose that it all sounds a trifle sordid to you. I'm a married woman. I had no right to let a friendship of that nature develop. But the simple fact was that he made me feel unbelievably happy. Gaston reminded me that I was a woman.'

'How did you keep in touch?'

'By letter.'

'So you have an address for him?'

'Yes, Miss Andrews – it's in Mantes. His home was in Paris but he took a lodging in Mantes when they began to build the railway. My letters went there.'

'Inspector Colbeck would like that address, Mrs Marklew.'

'Of course.'

'And any details you have of his life in Paris.' Hannah nodded sadly. 'It must have come as a terrible blow to you when you realised that he was the murder victim on that train.'

'It did. I cried for days.'

'And are you absolutely sure that it was Gaston Chabal?'

'There's no possible room for error, Miss Andrews.'

'How can you be so certain?'

'My husband was away from Liverpool on business,' said Hannah frankly. 'I was waiting at Lime Street station that day to meet the train. Gaston was coming to see me.'