The Excursion Train

CHAPTER TEN

Robert Colbeck escorted her into the Saracen's Head and indicated some chairs. When they sat opposite each other near the window, he beamed at her, still unable to believe that she had come all the way from London to see him. For her part, Madeleine Andrews was delighted to have found him so quickly and to have been made so welcome. She was amused by the look of complete surprise on his face.

'What's the matter, Robert?'

'Did you really take the train by yourself?' he asked.

'My father's an engine driver,' she reminded him. 'I'm well used to the railway, you know.'

'Young ladies like you don't often travel alone. Except, of course,' he added, gallantly, 'that there's nobody quite like you, Madeleine.' She smiled at the compliment. 'You create your own rules.'

'Do you disapprove?'

'Not in the least. But how did you know where to find me?'

'Your name was on the front page of the newspaper. The report said that you were conducting an investigation in Ashford.'

'Ah, well,' he said with a sigh, 'I suppose it was too much to ask to keep my whereabouts secret for long. We'll have a batch of reporters down here in due course, assailing me with questions I refuse to answer and generally getting in my way. I'd hoped to avoid that.' He feasted his eyes on her. 'I'm so pleased to see you, Madeleine.'

'Thank you.'

'Where were you going when I saw you in the high street?'

'To the Saracen's Head.'

'You knew that I was staying here?'

'No,' she replied, 'but I guessed that you'd choose the best place in the town. When I asked at the station where that would be, they directed me here.'

He laughed. 'You're a detective in your own right.'

'That's what brought me to Ashford.'

Mary interrupted them to see if they required anything. Colbeck ordered a pot of tea and some cakes before sending the girl on her way. He switched his attention back to Madeleine again.

'I'm a detective by accident,' she explained. 'I don't know why but, when I saw that Jacob Guttridge's funeral was being held today, I took it into my head to go to it.'

He was stunned. 'You went to Hoxton alone?'

'I do most things on my own, Robert, and I felt perfectly safe inside a church. Unfortunately, there was hardly anyone there for the service. It was very sad.'

'What about Michael Guttridge?'

'No sign of him – or of his wife. That upset his mother.'

'You spoke to her?'

'Yes,' said Madeleine. 'I didn't mean to. I kept out of the way during the ceremony and didn't think that she even knew I was there. But Mrs Guttridge did notice me somehow. She said how grateful she was to see me then invited me back to the house.'

'What sort of state was she in?'

'Very calm, in view of the fact that she'd just buried her husband. Mrs Guttridge must have a lot of willpower. After my mother's funeral, I was unable to speak, let alone hold a conversation like that.'

'I put it down to her religion.'

'She told me that her priest, Father Cleary, had been a rock.'

'Why did she invite you back to the house?'

'Because she wanted to talk to someone and she said that it was easier for her to speak to a stranger like me.'

'So you were a mother-confessor.'

'Mrs Guttridge seemed to trust me,' said Madeleine. 'She didn't admit this but I had the feeling that she was using me to get information back to you. She's not an educated woman, Robert, but she's quite shrewd in her own way. She knew that you only took me to the house because she was more likely to confide in a woman.'

'I'm glad that I did take you, Madeleine,' he said with an admiring glance. 'Extremely glad.'

'So am I.'

'Much as I like Victor, you're far more appealing to the eye.'

'Oh, I see,' she said with mock annoyance, 'I was only there as decoration, was I?'

'Of course not,' he replied. 'I took you along for the pleasure of your company and because I thought that Mrs Guttridge would find you less threatening than a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard.'

'She did, Robert.'

'What did you learn this time?'

'Quite a lot,' said Madeleine. 'After we left the house that day, she prayed for the courage to go into the room that her husband had always kept locked. It was a revelation to her.'

'I took away the most distressing items in his bizarre collection but I had to leave some of his souvenirs behind – and his bottles of brandy.'

'It was the alcohol that really upset her. She only agreed to marry Jacob Guttridge because he promised to stop drinking. She firmly believed that he had. But what disturbed her about that room,' she went on, 'was how dirty and untidy it was. She called it an animal's lair. You saw how house-proud she was. She was disgusted that her husband spent so much time, behind a locked door, in that squalor.'

'Gloating over his mementos and drinking brandy.'

'It helped Mrs Guttridge to accept his death more easily. She said that God had punished him for going astray. When she saw what was in that room, she realised that her husband's life away from her was much more important to him than their marriage. I tried to comfort her,' said Madeleine. 'I told her that very few men could meet the high moral standards that she set.'

'Jacob Guttridge went to the other extreme. He executed people on the gallows then gloried in their deaths.' Colbeck chose not to mention the hangman's passion for retaining the clothing of his female victims. 'It gave him a weird satisfaction of some sort. But I'm holding you up,' he said, penitently. 'Do please go on.'

'It was what she told me next that made me come here, Robert. On the day when he hanged Nathan Hawkshaw, his wife expected him home that night. But he never turned up.'

'He was probably too afraid to leave the prison in case the mob got their hands on him. What explanation did he give her?'

'That he was delayed on business.'

'Had that sort of thing happened before?'

'Once or twice,' she said. 'Mrs Guttridge was vexed that, as soon as he got home on the following day, he went straight out again to see some friends in Bethnal Green.'

'He must have been going to the Seven Stars.'

'What's that?'

'A public house where fighters train. As an avid follower of the sport, Guttridge knew it well – though he called himself Jake Bransby whenever he was there. Over a hundred people from the Seven Stars went to that championship contest on the excursion train.'

'How did you find that out?'

'Victor Leeming visited the place for me,' said Colbeck, 'though he was not exactly made welcome.' He flicked a hand. 'However, I'm spoiling your story. I'm sorry.'

'It was what happened afterwards that puzzled Mrs Guttridge,' she said, 'though she thought nothing of it at the time.'

'Of what?'

'That evening – when he got back from Bethnal Green – her husband seemed to have been running and that was most unusual for him. He was out of breath and sweating. For the next few weeks, he never stirred out of the house after dark. He used to go off to these "friends" regularly, it seems, but he suddenly stopped altogether.'

'Did she know why?'

'Not until a few days after her husband had been murdered. One of her neighbours – an old Irish woman – was leaving some flowers on her step when Mrs Guttridge opened the door and saw her there. They'd never talked properly before,' said Madeleine, 'but they'd waved to each other in the street. The old woman lived almost opposite.'

'And?'

'She remembered something.'

'Was it about Guttridge?'

'Yes, Robert. She remembered looking out of her bedroom window the night that he came hurrying back home. A man was following him. He stood outside the house for some time.'

'And Guttridge said nothing to his wife about this man?'

'Not a word. I thought it might be important so I made a point of calling on the old lady – Mrs O'Rourke, by name – when I left.'

'That was very enterprising.'

'She told me the same story.'

'Was she able to describe this man?'

'Not very well,' said Madeleine, 'because it was getting dark and her eyesight is not good. All she could tell me was he was short and fat. Oh, and he walked in this strange way.'

'With a limp?'

'No, he waddled from side to side.'

'Age?'

'Mrs O'Rourke couldn't be sure but the man wasn't young.' She smiled hopefully. 'Was I right to pass on this information to you?'

'Yes,' he said, 'and I'm very grateful. It could just be someone he fell out with at the Seven Stars but, then, a man spoiling for a fight wouldn't have gone all the way back to Hoxton to confront him. He would have tackled Guttridge outside the pub,' he went on, recalling what had happened to Leeming. 'It sounds to me as if this man was more interested in simply finding out where Guttridge lived.'

'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.

'Where's Emily?' she asked.

'I've no idea.'

'She's not in her room – or anywhere else.'

'I didn't see her go out.'

'Have you been here all the time?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Except when I went to buy some tobacco.'

'Emily's run away,' decided her mother.

'That's silly – where could she go?'

'I don't know, Adam, but she's not here, is she? Emily hasn't been out of the house for weeks but, as soon as my back is turned, she's off. Lock up quickly,' she ordered. 'We've got to go after her.'

'She'll come back in her own good time,' he argued.

'Not when she's in that state. I've never known her have a fit like that. There's something very wrong with Emily. Now, hurry up,' she urged. 'We must find her!'

Surrounded by a graveyard in which leafy trees threw long shadows across the headstones, St Mary's Church had stood for four centuries. It was at once imposing and accessible, a fine piece of architecture that never forgot its main function of serving the parish. Emily Hawkshaw attended the church every Sunday with her family and they had always sat in the same pew halfway down the nave. This time, she ignored her usual seat and walked down the aisle to the altar rail before kneeling in front of it. Hands clasped together, she closed her eyes tight and prayed for forgiveness, her mind in turmoil, her body shaking and perspiration breaking out on her brow. She was in a positive fever of contrition.

Madeleine Andrews had travelled from London to Ashford in a second-class compartment but Colbeck was so happy to see her, and so grateful for the information she brought, that he insisted on buying her a first-class ticket for the return journey. He removed his hat to give her a kiss on the hand then waved her off, standing wistfully on the platform until the train had rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. Deeply moved by her visit, Colbeck felt that it had been more than a pleasant interlude. What she had learnt in hoxton might well serve to confirm his theory about how a man who courted anonymity had been traced to his home. Madeleine's attendance at a funeral had been opportune.

Deciding to call on Emily Hawkshaw again, Colbeck left the station and made for Church Street. He had already resolved to say nothing to his Sergeant about the unheralded visitor. Victor Leeming was too old-fashioned and conventional to believe that a woman could be directly involved in the investigative process. It was better to keep him – and, more importantly, Superintendent Tallis – ignorant of Madeleine's part in the case. The Metropolitan Police was an exclusively male preserve. Robert Colbeck was one of the very few men who even dallied with the notion of employing female assistants.

As he approached St Mary's Church, his mind was still playing with fond memories of taking tea with Madeleine at the Saracen's Head. A loud scream jerked him out of his reverie. Ahead of him, pointing upwards with horror, was a middle-aged woman. The handful of people walking past the church immediately stopped and followed the direction of her finger. Colbeck saw the slim figure at once. Holding one of the pinnacles on top of the tower was a young woman in a black dress, trying to haul herself on to the parapet. It was Emily Hawkshaw.

Recognising her at once, Colbeck broke into a run and dashed into the church, shedding his hat and frock coat as he did so and diving through the door to the tower. He went up the steps as fast as he could, going up past the huge iron bells and feeling a first rush of air as he neared the open door at the top. When he emerged into daylight, he saw that Emily was poised between life and death, clinging to the pinnacle while standing precariously on the parapet. Intent on flinging herself off, the girl seemed to be having second thoughts.

Colbeck inched slowly towards her so that he would be in her field of vision. In order not to alarm her, he kept his voice calm and low.

'Stay there, Emily,' he said, 'I'll help you down.'

'No!' she cried. 'Stay back.'

'I know that you must hate yourself even to think of doing this but you must remember those who love you. Do you really want to hurt your family and your friends?'

'I don't deserve to be loved.'

'Come down from there and tell me why,' he suggested, moving closer. 'Killing yourself will solve nothing.'

'Keep away from me – or I'll jump.'

'No, Emily. If you really meant to do it, you'd have gone by now. But you knew that there would be consequences, didn't you? Others would suffer terribly, especially your mother. Don't you think she's been through enough already?'

'I've been through it as well,' sobbed the girl.

'Then share your suffering with her. Help each other, Emily.'

'I can't.'

'You must,' he said, gently. 'It's the only way.'

'God will never forgive me.'

'You won't find forgiveness by jumping off here. To take your own life is anathema. To do it on consecrated ground makes it even worse. This is a church, Emily. You understand what that means, don't you?'

She began to tremble. 'I just can't go on.'

'Yes, you can. It won't always be like this. Time heals even the deepest wounds. You have a long life ahead of you. Why destroy it in a moment of despair? You're loved, Emily,' he said, taking a small step towards her. 'You're loved and needed.'

The girl fell silent as she considered what he had said and Colbeck took it as a good sign. But she was still balanced perilously on the edge of the parapet. One false move on his part and she might jump. From down below, he could hear sounds of a crowd gathering to watch. Emily Hawkshaw had an audience.

'You know that this is wrong,' he told her, moving slightly closer. 'You were christened in this church and brought up in a God-fearing household. You know that it mustn't end this way. It will leave a stain on the whole family.'

'I don't care about that.'

'What do you care about? Tell me. I'm here to listen.'

'You wouldn't understand,' she said, trembling even more.

'Then come down and talk to someone who would understand.' He ventured another step. 'Please, Emily. For everyone's sake – come down.'

The girl began to weep and cling more desperately to the pinnacle. It was as if she finally realised the implications of what she had intended to do. Suddenly, she lost her nerve and began to panic. Emily tried to turn back but her foot slipped and she lost her hold on the pinnacle. There was a gasp of horror from below as she teetered on the very brink of the parapet, then Colbeck darted forward to grab her and snatched her back to safety.

Emily Hawkshaw fainted in his arms.

After another tiring day in the boiler shop, Gregory Newman was eager to get home to Turton Street. As he came out of the railway works, however, he found Adam Hawkshaw waiting to speak to him.

'Good evening, Adam,' he said, cheerily.

'Can you come to the shop?' asked the other. 'Mother wants to talk to you as soon as possible.'

'Why – what's happened?'

'Emily tried to commit suicide.'

'Dear God!'

'She was going to throw herself off the church tower.'

'What on earth made her do that?'

'We don't know, Gregory.'

'Where is Emily now?'

'She's in bed. The doctor gave her something to make her sleep.'

'Did she change her mind at the last moment?'

'No,' said Hawkshaw with a tinge of resentment. 'That Inspector Colbeck went up the tower and brought her down again. We saw him catch her as she was about to fall. It's a miracle she's alive.'

'This is terrible news!' exclaimed Newman.

'Then you'll come?'

'Of course. Let me go home first to take care of my wife then I'll come straight away. How has Win taken it?'

'She's very upset.'

'Emily – of all people! You'd never have thought she'd do anything as desperate as this. Whatever could have provoked her?'

'She took fright when Inspector Colbeck wanted to question her.'

'And did he?'

'No, Emily ran away before he came back. She sneaked out when we weren't looking. We were searching for her when we heard this noise from the churchyard. We got there in time to see it all.'

Newman started walking. 'Tell Win I'll be there directly.'

'Thanks,' said Hawkshaw, falling in beside him.

'Did Emily really mean to go through with it?'

'She didn't say. When she was brought down from the tower, she was in a dead faint. She came out of it later but she refused to tell us anything. Emily just lay on the bed and cried.'

'The doctor was right to give her a sedative.'

'I'm worried, Gregory,' said Hawkshaw, showing a rare touch of sympathy for his stepsister.

'So am I.'

'What if Emily tries to do that again?'

The suicide attempt was also being discussed over a drink at the Saracen's Head. Victor Leeming was astonished by what he heard.

'Why did she do it, Inspector?' he asked.

'I'm hoping that that will emerge in time.'

'A young girl, throwing her life away like that – it's unthinkable.'

'Emily had come to the end of her tether.'

'She must have been in despair even to consider suicide. I mean, it's the last resort. You're only driven to that when there seems to be absolutely no future for you.' He gave a shrug. 'Was she so attached to her stepfather that she couldn't live without him?'

'I don't know,' said Colbeck. 'What is clear, however, is that Emily Hawkshaw is consumed with guilt over something. She's nursing a secret that she's not even able to divulge to her mother.'

'Is there any chance she'll confide in you, sir?'

'I doubt it.'

'But you saved her life.'

'She may resent me for that. I brought her back to the very things she was running away from. We'll have to wait and see, Victor. However,' he went on, as Leeming drank some beer, 'tell me what you discovered. Did you find Constable Butterkiss at all helpful?'

'Very helpful.'

Putting his glass aside and referring to his notebook, Leeming described the people on the petition whom he considered to be potential suspects. Of the ten names that he had written down, six had acquired a tick from the Sergeant. All of the men lived in or near Ashford and had a close connection with Nathan Hawkshaw.

'Did you ask him about Angel?' said Colbeck.

'I did, Inspector, and there certainly is such a man.'

'Would he have been at that fair in Lenham?'

'Definitely.'

Leeming passed on the details given to him by George Butterkiss and argued that Angel had to be looked at as a potential suspect for the murder of Joseph Dykes. The man whose name had first been voiced by Gregory Newman had a long record of criminality. He had been in the right place at the right time to attack Dykes.

'But we come back to the old problem,' said Leeming. 'How could Angel have persuaded Dykes to go to such a quiet part of the wood?'

'He couldn't, Victor – and neither could Nathan Hawkshaw.'

'So how did the victim get there?'

'I can think of only one possible way.'

'What's that, Inspector?'

'Dykes had been drinking heavily,' said Colbeck, 'and probably looked to spend most of the day at the Red Lion. What was the one thing that could get him out of that pub?'

'A knife in his ribs.'

'There was a much easier way. A woman could have done it. When you returned from the scene of the crime, you told me that it was a place where young couples might have gone. I think that someone may have deliberately aroused Dykes's lust.'

'From what I hear, that wouldn't have taken much doing.'

'Once she had lured him to the wood, the killer could strike.'

'Yes,' said Leeming, warming to the notion. 'The woman was there to distract the victim. If that's what happened, it's just like those two murders on the train.'

'It's uncannily like them,' agreed Colbeck, 'and it raises a possibility that has never even crossed our minds before. Supposing that all three murders were committed by the same man?'

'Angel?'

'Hardly.'

'Why not?'

'I can accept that he's a legitimate suspect for the murder of Dykes but he had no motive to kill the hangman or the prison chaplain. No, it must be someone else.'

'Well, it absolves Hawkshaw of the crime,' observed Leeming. 'If the same man is responsible for all three murders, Hawkshaw must have been innocent. He couldn't have killed two people after he was dead.'

'There's another fact we have to face,' said Colbeck, taking a sip of his drink as he meditated. 'This is pure speculation, of course, and we may well be wrong about this. But, assuming we're not, then the man who butchered Joseph Dykes in that wood allowed someone else to go to the gallows on his behalf.'

'Then why did he go on to commit those revenge murders?'

'Guilt, perhaps.'

'Remorse over the way that he let an innocent man be hanged?'

'Perhaps. He may be trying to make amends in some perverse way by killing the people whom he feels made Nathan Hawkshaw's last hour on earth more agonising than it need have been.'

'It doesn't add up, sir.'

'Not at the moment, Victor, but it opens up a whole new line of inquiry.' He glanced down at the petition. 'And it suggests that someone on this list needs to be caught very quickly indeed.'

'Yes, he could have killed three victims.'

'Four,' said Colbeck. 'You're forgetting Nathan Hawkshaw.'

'Of course. He had the most lingering death of all. He was made to take the blame for someone else's crime.'

'That's what it begins to look like.' He picked up the petition. 'We must make our first calls this evening. And if we have no success with this part of the list, we must work our way through the rest of it – and that includes the women.'

'Wait a moment, sir.'

'Yes?'

'Would someone who let Hawkshaw go on trial for a murder that he didn't commit then sign a petition for his release?'

'What better way to disguise his own guilt?'

'That's true. Who do we start with, sir?'

'Peter Stelling. He's an ironmonger. We can rely on him to have a ready supply of wire. We'll have to see if his stock contains anything resembling the murder weapon we found near Paddock Wood.'

'Does that mean we cross Angel off the list?'

'For the moment. From what you've told me about him, we'd have the devil's own job tracking him down.'

'We'd need Amos Lockyer to do that, Inspector.'

'Who?'

'He was a policeman here for years,' said Leeming, 'and he helped Constable Butterkiss a great deal. Lockyer was dismissed for being drunk on duty and carrying a loaded firearm. According to Constable Butterkiss, he was a real bloodhound. He was the only person who ever managed to find Angel and arrest him.'

'Where is this man now?'

'Working on a farm near Charing, apparently. At least, that's what Butterkiss told me. He reveres the man though he was amazed to see his name on that petition.'

'I don't recall an Amos Lockyer there,' said Colbeck, studying the document closely. 'Where is he?'

'Right there,' said Leeming, pointing to the illegible squiggle in the first column. 'I couldn't read it either but that's definitely him. Lockyer's father used to be a watchman in the town. That's what got him interested in being a policeman.'

'You never mentioned him earlier.'

'That was because I'd crossed him off my list.'

'Simply because he was once a local constable?'

'No, sir. I'd need a better reason than that. We both know that there are bad apples in police uniform as everywhere else. I only crossed off Amos Lockyer when Butterkiss told me a little more about him.'

'Go on.'

'To start with,' said Leeming, 'he's no spring chicken. And he has a bad leg. A poacher he tried to arrest shot him in the thigh. I can't see him leaping out of a moving train, can you?'

'Yet you say he had great skill in finding people?'

'That's right. Lockyer was famed for it.'

Colbeck thought hard about what Madeleine Andrews had learnt in Hoxton. Jacob Guttridge had been followed by an older man with an unusual rolling gait. It was too much of a coincidence.

'I'll speak to the ironmonger on my own,' he decided.

'What about me?'

'Go back to Constable Butterkiss and tell him that your need his services again.' Leeming pulled a face. 'Yes, I know that he's not your idea of a boon companion, Victor, but this is important.'

'Can't it wait until tomorrow?'

'No. Ask him to drive you to Charing at once.'

'Not another long journey with George Butterkiss!'

'You need him to find the farm where this Amos Lockyer works. And when you do,' said Colbeck, 'I want you to bring the man back to Ashford immediately.'

'How is she now, Win?' asked Gregory Newman, his face pitted with concern. 'I was shocked when Adam told me what she tried to do.'

'We all were,' said Winifred Hawkshaw. 'It was terrifying to see her up on that church tower. Thank heaven she was saved! The doctor gave her some pills to make her sleep. Emily won't wake up until the morning.'

'Make sure that she doesn't slip out again.'

'I'll lock the door of her room. It's dreadful to treat my own daughter like a prisoner but it may be the only way to keep her alive.'

They were sitting in the room at the rear of the butcher's shop. Though he had been home to see to his wife, Newman had not bothered to change out of his work clothes or to have a meal. The crisis required a swift response and he had run all the way to Middle Row. Winifred Hawkshaw was deeply grateful.

'Thank you, Gregory,' she said, reaching out to touch him. 'I knew that I could count on you.' She gave a pained smile. 'You must be so sick of this family.'

'Why?'

'We've brought you nothing but trouble.'

'Nonsense!'

'Think of all those arguments we had with Adam when he was younger. You were the one who stepped in and found him somewhere else to live. Then came Nathan's arrest and all the horror that followed it. And now we have Emily trying to kill herself.'

'Is that what she really did, Win?'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm wondering if she was just trying to frighten you.'

'Well, she certainly did that,' admitted Winifred. 'I was scared stiff when I saw her up there. And I do believe she meant to jump. Why else would she have climbed up on that ledge? It was so dangerous.'

'Do you have any idea what made her do it?'

'Only that she's been very unhappy for weeks – but, then, so have we all. Emily is no different to the rest of us.'

'Adam said that Inspector Colbeck wanted to question her.'

'That's right. He called here earlier for the second time today. I sent him away. I pretended that she was asleep so that I could warn her that she'd have to talk to a policeman from London.'

'What did she say to that?'

'Well, she wasn't very pleased,' replied Winifred. 'Emily seemed to be afraid of talking to anyone. Then I mentioned the petition again. When I asked her why she didn't sign it, she had this sudden fit. It was like the kind of seizure that my mother sometimes has.'

'Emily needs to be looked at properly by the doctor.'

'I know, Gregory. After I'd calmed her down, I told Emily that I couldn't let her go on like this any longer. But she begged me not to call in the doctor again.'

'Why not?'

'She wouldn't say. Emily just cried and cried.'

'It's been weeks since the execution now,' said Newman, running a hand through his beard. 'I'd have expected her to be over the worst. It's not as if she was actually there, after all.'

'No, I made her stay away.'

'How did she sneak out today?'

'Eventually,' she said, 'I went out to call the doctor and Adam was busy elsewhere. Emily must have picked her moment and gone. As soon as I realised she wasn't here, we went off in search of her. Then we heard all the noise coming from the churchyard.'

'It must have been dreadful for you,' he said, getting up to put an arm around her. 'To lose a child is bad enough for any parent, Win, but to lose one in that way would have been unbearable.'

'Yes,' she whispered, nestling against his body.

'I just can't believe it. Emily was always so trustworthy.'

'Not any more, Gregory.' She pulled back to look up at him. 'I'll be afraid to take my eyes off her from now on. I dread to think what might have happened if Inspector Colbeck hadn't gone up that tower after her.'

'What did he do exactly?' he said, standing away from her.

'He talked to her very quietly and made her change her mind. When she tried to get down again, she slipped and almost fell. Honestly, Gregory, my heart was in my mouth at that moment.'

'But the Inspector grabbed her just in time?' She nodded. 'We all owe him thanks for that. I could see that even Adam was upset and he's never got on well with his stepsister.' He resumed his seat. 'You said that Inspector Colbeck called earlier today.'

'Yes, he wanted to question Adam.'

'What about?'

'That murder the other night.'

'It had nothing to do with Adam,' he said, staunchly.

'I know but the stationmaster remembers someone who looked like him, taking a train to Paddock Wood that same night.'

'Lots of people look like Adam. There are two or three young men at the railway works who could be taken for his twin. Did the Inspector have anything else to say?'

'A great deal. He came in here to see me.'

'Why?'

'It was rather upsetting, Gregory,' she said, wrapping her arms around her body as if she were cold. 'Out of the blue, he asked me what happened to my first husband. He wanted to know how Martin died.'

'That was an odd thing to ask.'

'He did apologise when I told him I didn't want to talk about that. So he turned to Emily instead. The Inspector was interested to know what she said to me after she was attacked by Joe Dykes.'

'But you weren't here at the time, were you?'

'No, I was over in Willesborough. She spoke to Nathan.'

'And – like any father – he went charging off after Joe. I remember him telling me about it afterwards,' said Newman. 'He said that this fierce anger built up inside him and he couldn't control himself. It was just as well that he didn't catch up with Joe that day.'

'But it helped to hang him all the same,' she said, grimly. 'Going off in a temper like that. There were half a dozen witnesses who couldn't wait to stand up in court and talk about the way they'd seen him running down the street with a cleaver.'

'I'd have done no different if Emily had been my daughter.'

'I suppose not.'

'Joe Dykes was a menace to any woman.' He sat back in his chair. 'So what did you tell Inspector Colbeck?'

'The truth – that Emily wouldn't talk to me about it.'

'She confided in Nathan.'

'Yes, and he told me what she said but it was not the same. I wanted to hear it from my daughter's own lips. And there was another thing that worried me at the time, Gregory.'

'What was that?'

'Well,' she said, 'Nathan and I had always been very honest with each other. Yet when I tried to talk to him about Emily, and what she'd said when she came running back here that day, I had the feeling that he was holding something back. I only ever got part of the story.'

It took Colbeck less than two minutes to establish that Peter Stelling was not the killer. Since he had a business to run, and a wife and four children to look after, the ironmonger would not have had the necessary freedom of movement. In addition, Stelling was such a mild-mannered man that it was difficult to imagine him working himself up into the fury symbolised in the slaughter of Joseph Dykes. The second name on Colbeck's list did not keep him long either. As soon as he learnt that Moses Haddon, a bricklayer, had been in bed for a week after falling from a ladder, he was able to remove his name from the list. In the case of both men, however, he took the trouble to ask if they could describe Amos Lockyer for him. Each man spoke well of the former policeman and said that he was short, stout and well into his fifties. They confirmed that the wound in his leg had left him with a rather comical waddle.

He owed a debt of gratitude to Madeleine Andrews for providing a possible link between Lockyer and Jacob Guttridge, and it gave him his first surge of optimism since they had arrived in Ashford. Relishing the memory of Madeleine's surprise visit to the town, he went on to question the next person, wearing a broad smile on his face.

She was in the kitchen when she heard the front door open and shut.

'Where have you been?' she asked, chastising her father with her tone of voice. 'Your dinner is getting cold.'

'I was held up, Maddy,' said Caleb Andrews, coming into the kitchen to give her a conciliatory kiss. 'We got talking about the murder of that prison chaplain and time just flew by.'

'Helped along by a couple of pints of beer no doubt.'

'A man is entitled to a few pleasures in life.'

Madeleine served the meal on to two plates and set them on the table. She sat opposite her father and passed him the salt. He shook a liberal quantity over his food.

'They all agreed with me, you know,' he said.

'You mean that they didn't dare to disagree.'

'The killer was someone who served time in Maidstone prison.'

'I'm not so sure, Father.'

'Well, I am,' he asserted, stabbing the air with his knife. 'For two pins, I'd give you the money to take a train to Ashford so that you can tell Inspector Colbeck what I said. He'd know where to look then.'

'Oh, I fancy that he can manage without your help.'

'I have this feeling in my bones, Maddy.'

'Save it for your workmates,' she advised. 'Robert is a trained detective. He knows how to lead an investigation and it's not by relying on suggestions from every Tom, Dick and Harry.'

'I'm not Tom, Dick or Harry,' he protested. 'I'm your father and, as such, I've got connections with this case. I told them all that Inspector Colbeck had come calling here.'

'Father!'

'Well, it's true, isn't it?'

'I don't want you and your friends gossiping about me.'

'What am I supposed to tell them – that you've taken the veil?'

'Don't be silly.'

'Then stop pretending that you and the Inspector are not close. You're like a locomotive and tender.' He swallowed a piece of meat. 'Well, maybe not that close.' He winked at her. 'Yet, anyway.'

Her gaze was steely. 'You're doing it again, aren't you?'

'It's only in fun, Maddy.'

'How would you like it if I stopped cooking your meals for you and told you it was only in fun?'

'That would be cruel!'

'At least, you'd know how I feel.'

'Maddy!' She picked at her own food and he watched her for a moment. 'Look, I'm sorry. I let my tongue run away with me sometimes. I won't say another word about him. I promise you.' He sliced up his beans. 'What have you been doing with yourself all day?'

'Oh, I had a very quiet time,' she said, determined to conceal from him where she had been. 'I cleaned the house then read for a while.'

'Did you work on the painting?'

'A little.'

'When are you going to give it to him?'

'When it's ready, Father. And,' she told him, pointedly, 'when you're not here to embarrass me.'

'I wouldn't embarrass you for the world.'

'You've done it already since you walked through that door.'

'Have I? What did I say?'

'I'd rather not repeat it. Let's talk about something else.'

'As you wish.' He racked his brain for a new subject. 'Oh, I know what I mean to tell you. When you read the paper this morning, did you see that Jake Guttridge was being buried today?'

'Really?'

'I bet he was there as well.'

'Who?'

'The killer. The man who strangled him on that excursion train. I'd bet anything that he turned up at the funeral just so that he could get in a good kick at the coffin. It's exactly the sort of thing that he'd do.'

Madeleine ate her dinner, not daring to say a word.

Because they had been asked to bring someone back with them, Victor Leeming and George Butterkiss travelled in the cart that had taken them to Lenham on their first journey together. This time it smelt in equal proportions of fish, animal dung and musty hay. The potholes made an even more concerted assault on the Sergeant's buttocks and he was glad when they finally reached Charing, a charming village on the road to Maidstone. His aches and pains increased in intensity when he learnt that they had gone there in vain. The farmer for whom Amos Lockyer had worked told them that he had sacked the man months earlier for being drunk and unreliable.

Hearing a rumour that Lockyer had taken a menial job on the staff at Leeds Castle, they rode on there, only to be met with another rebuff. After only a short time in service at the castle, Lockyer had failed to turn up for work and vanished from his lodging. Nobody had any idea where he could be. George Butterkiss drove his unhappy passenger back towards Ashford. The road seemed bumpier than ever.

'Why is the Inspector so keen to speak to Amos?' asked Butterkiss.

'I don't know,' said Leeming.

'Does he want him to help in the investigation?'

'Possibly.'

Butterkiss beamed. 'It will be wonderful to work alongside him once again,' he said. 'Amos Lockyer, me and two detectives from the Metropolitan Police. A quartet like that is a match for any villain.'

Conscious that he would have to listen to his zealous companion all the way back, Leeming gritted his teeth. When rain began to fall, he swore under his breath. It was the last straw.

'We'll be soaked to the skin,' he complained.

'I know what Amos would have done at a time like this,' said Butterkiss, remaining resolutely cheerful. 'Never let things get on top of you – that was his motto. If Amos was sitting where you are, Sergeant, do you know what he'd suggest?'

'What?'

'That we sing a song to keep up our spirits.'

'Don't you dare!' warned Leeming, turning on him. 'I don't want my spirits kept up after this wild goose chase. If you sing so much as a single note, Constable Butterkiss, you'll be walking all the way home.'

Adam Hawkshaw waited until it was quite dark before he opened the door of his lodging and peeped out. The rain was easing but it was still persistent enough to keep most people off the streets that evening. When he saw that nobody was about, he pulled down his hat, stepped on to the pavement and pulled the door shut behind him. Hands in his pockets, he walked swiftly off into the gloom.

Robert Colbeck was beginning to get worried. He had expected Leeming and Butterkiss to be back hours earlier with the man they had sought. Charing was no great distance from the town, miles closer than Lenham. Even if they had had to go to an outlying farm, they should have returned by now. The combination of rain and darkness would slow them down but not to that extent. Colbeck wondered if they had encountered trouble of some sort. He sat near the window of his bedroom for what seemed like an age before he finally heard the rattle of a cart below.

Hoping that they had at last come back, he went downstairs and hurried to the door, ignoring the rain and stepping out from under the portico. By the light of the street lamps, to his relief, he saw a wet and disgruntled Victor Leeming, seated on the cart beside an equally sodden George Butterkiss. There was no third person with them. Before he could even greet them, however, Colbeck was aware of sudden movement in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. A pistol was fired with a loud bang. The noise frightened the horse and it bolted down the high street with the driver trying desperately to control it. Taken by surprise, Leeming was almost flung from the cart.

Robert Colbeck, meanwhile, had fallen to the ground with a stifled cry and rolled over on to his back. Satisfied with his work, the man who had fired the shot fled the scene.