The Excursion Train

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was ironic. Robert Colbeck, the assassin's intended target, suffered nothing more than a painful flesh wound in his upper arm whereas Victor Leeming, who just happened to be nearby at the time, collected a whole battery of cuts and bruises when he was hurled from the cart as it overturned. The Sergeant was justifiably upset.

'It's not fair,' he protested. 'All that I expected to do was to ride to Charing to pick someone up. Instead of that, I'm drenched by rain, bored stiff by Constable Butterkiss, beaten black and blue by that vicious cart of his, then flung to the ground like a sack of potatoes.'

'You have my sympathy, Victor.'

'And on top of all that, we came back empty-handed.'

'That was unfortunate,' said Colbeck.

They were in his room at the Saracen's Head, free at last from the inquisitive crowd that had rushed out into the street to see what had caused the commotion. Colbeck's injured arm had now been bandaged and the doctor had then treated Leeming's wounds. Back in dry clothing again, the Sergeant was puzzled.

'Why are you taking it so calmly, sir?' he asked.

'How should I be taking it?'

'If someone had fired at me, I'd be livid.'

'Well, I was annoyed at the damage he did to my frock coat,' said Colbeck, seriously. 'I doubt if it can be repaired. And the blood will have ruined my shirt beyond reclaim. No,' he continued, 'I prefer to look at the consolations involved.'

'I didn't know that there were any.'

'Three, at least.'

'What are they?'

'First of all, I'm alive with only a scratch on me. Luckily, the shot was off target. The man is clearly not as adept with a pistol as he is with a piece of wire.'

'You think that it was the killer?'

'Who else, Victor? He's frightened because we are closing in on him. That's the second consolation. We've made more progress than we imagined. The man is right here in Ashford. He's given himself away.'

'What's the third consolation, sir?'

'He thinks that he killed me,' said Colbeck. 'That's why I fell to the ground and stayed there. Also, of course, I didn't want to give him the chance to aim at me again. Believing I was dead, he ran away. There was no point in trying to chase him because I had this searing pain in my arm. I'd never have been able to overpower him. Much better to give him the impression that his attempt on my life had been successful.'

'He's in for a nasty surprise.'

'Yes, but it does behove us to show additional caution in future.'

'I will,' said Leeming. 'I'll never ride on that blessed cart again!'

'I was talking about the killer. He's armed and ready to shoot.'

'You mentioned a pistol just now.'

'That's what it sounded like,' said Colbeck, 'though I couldn't be sure. It all happened in a split second. One of the first things we need to do is to find the bullet. That will tell us what firearm was used.'

'We'll have to wait until daylight to do that.'

'Yes, Victor. In the meantime, we need to talk to Butterkiss.'

'Keep him away, Inspector! He almost did for me.'

'He tried his best to control that runaway horse.'

'But he still managed to overturn the cart,' said Leeming, ruefully. 'And while I hit the ground and took the impact, Constable Butterkiss simply landed on top of me. He wasn't really hurt at all.'

'Nevertheless, I'd like you to fetch him.'

'Now, sir?'

'If you feel well enough to go. His local knowledge is crucial to us. Give him my compliments and ask if he can spare us some time.'

'I don't need to ask that. If we're not very careful, he'd spare us twenty-four hours a day. The man is so blooming eager.'

'Eagerness is a good quality in a policeman.'

'Not if you have to ride beside him on a cart!' Leeming went to the door. 'Will you come down to meet him, sir?'

'No,' said Colbeck, glancing round, 'this room is more private. And nobody will be able to take a shot at me in here. Be careful how you go.'

'Yes, Inspector.'

'And you might ask him to bring needle and thread.'

'Why?'

'He was a tailor, wasn't he? Perhaps he can repair my coat.'

When the visitor called, George Butterkiss was regaling his wife with the story of how he had fought to control the galloping horse in the high street. He broke off to answer the door and was delighted to hear the summons delivered by Victor Leeming.

'I'll get my coat at once, Sergeant,' he said.

'Talking of coats,' said the other, detaining him with a hand, 'the Inspector has a problem. That bullet grazed his arm and left a hole in his sleeve. He's very particular about his clothing.'

'Inspector Colbeck would be a gift to any tailor.'

'Can you help him?'

'I'll need to see the damage first. A simple tear can be easily mended but, if the material has been shot away, it may be a question of sewing a new sleeve on to the coat.'

Butterkiss ran swiftly up the stairs. When he reappeared soon afterwards, he was back in police uniform even though he only had to walk thirty yards or so to the Saracen's Head. His enthusiasm was quite undiminished as they strolled along the pavement together. The Sergeant found it lowering.

'I haven't told you the good news,' said Butterkiss.

'Is there such a thing?'

'Yes, Sergeant. When I took the horse back and explained what had happened, the owner examined the animal carefully. It had no injuries at all. Isn't that a relief?'

'I'd have had it put down for what it did to me.'

'You can't blame the horse for bolting like that.'

'Well, I'm in no mood to congratulate it, I can tell you.'

'How do you feel now?'

'Vengeful.'

'I thought that we had a lucky escape.'

'What's lucky about being thrown head first from a moving cart?'

Butterkiss laughed. 'You will have your little joke, Sergeant.'

They turned into the Saracen's Head and went up the stairs. When they were let into Colbeck's room, they were each offered a chair. The Inspector perched on the edge of the bed.

'Thank you for coming so promptly, Constable,' he said.

'Feel free to call on me at any hour of the day,' urged Butterkiss.

'We need your guidance.'

'It's yours for the asking, Inspector.'

'Then I'd like you to take another look at these names,' said Colbeck, handing him the petition. 'Are you ready, Victor?'

'Yes, sir,' said Leeming, taking his notebook dutifully from his pocket. 'I'll write down all the relevant details.'

'We drew a blank with the first batch of names. Can you take us slowly through the next dozen or so, please?'

'If I can read their handwriting,' said Butterkiss, poring over the document. 'There are one or two signatures that defy even me.'

'Do your best, Constable.'

'You can always count on me to do that.'

Taking a deep breath, he identified the first name and described the man in detail. As soon as he learnt the age of the person, Colbeck interrupted and told him to move on to the next one. Leeming's pencil was busy, writing down names then crossing them out again. Of the fifteen people that Butterkiss recognised, only seven were deemed to be worth closer inspection.

'Thank you,' said Colbeck. 'Now turn to the women, please.'

Butterkiss lifted an eyebrow. 'The women, sir?'

'As opposed to the men,' explained Leeming.

'But a woman couldn't possibly have committed those murders on the trains nor could one have fired that shot at you, Inspector.'

'You are mistaken about that,' said Colbeck. 'Earlier this year, the Sergeant and I arrested a woman in Deptford who had shot her husband with his army revolver. The bullet went straight through his body and wounded the young lady who was in bed with him at the time.'

'Dear me!' exclaimed Butterkiss.

'Never underestimate the power of the weaker sex, Constable.'

'No, sir.'

He addressed himself to the petition once more and picked out the female names that he recognised. Most were found to be very unlikely suspects but three names joined the Sergeant's list.

'Did you make a note of their details, Victor?' asked Colbeck.

'Yes, Inspector.'

'Good. You can talk to those three ladies tomorrow.'

'What about me?' said Butterkiss.

'I have two important tasks for you, Constable.'

'Just tell me what they are.'

'I want you to find Amos Lockyer for me.'

'I'll do it somehow,' vowed Butterkiss. 'What's the other task?'

Colbeck reached for his frock coat. 'I wonder if you could look at this sleeve for me?' he said. 'Tell me if it's beyond repair.'

Winifred Hawkshaw was on tenterhooks. Whenever she heard a sound from the adjoining bedroom, she feared that her daughter had woken up and was either trying to open the door or to escape through the window. After a sleepless night, she used her key to let herself into Emily's room and found her fast asleep. Putting a chair beside the bed, Winifred sat down and kept vigil. It was an hour before the girl's eyelids fluttered. Her mother took hold of her hand.

'Good morning,' she said, sweetly.

Emily was confused. 'Where am I?'

'In your own bed, dear.'

'Is that you, Mother?'

'Yes.' Winifred rubbed her hand. 'It's me, Emily.'

'I feel strange. What happened?'

'The doctor gave you something to make you sleep.'

'The doctor?' The news brought Emily fully awake. 'You let a doctor touch me?'

'You'd passed out, Emily. When the Inspector brought you down from that tower, you were in a dead faint.'

The girl needed a moment to assimilate the information. When she remembered what she had tried to do, she brought a hand up to her mouth. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. She felt trapped.

'We need to talk,' said Winifred, softly.

'I've nothing to say.'

'Emily!'

'I haven't, Mother. I meant to jump off that tower.'

'No, I can't believe that,' insisted her mother. 'Is your life so bad that you could even think of such a thing? It's sinful, Emily. It's so cruel and selfish and you're neither of those things. Don't hurt us any more.'

'I wasn't doing it to hurt you.'

'Then what made you go up there in the first place?'

'I was afraid.'

'Of what?'

'Everything.'

Emily began to sob quietly and her mother bent over to hug her. The embrace lasted a long time and it seemed to help the girl because it stemmed her tears. She became so quiet that Winifred wondered if she had fallen asleep again. When she drew back, however, she saw that Emily's eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling.

'Promise me that you won't do anything like this again,' said Winifred, solemnly. 'Give me your sacred word of honour.' A bleak silence ensued. 'Did you hear what I said, Emily?'

'Yes.'

'Then give me that promise.'

'I promise,' murmured the girl.

'Say it as if you mean it,' scolded Winifred. 'As it is, the whole town will know what happened yesterday and I'll have to face the shame of that. Don't make it any worse for me, emily. We love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

'Yes.'

'Then behave as if it does.'

'I will.'

Emily sat up in bed and reached out for her mother. Both of them were crying now, locked together, sharing their pain, trying to find a bond that had somehow been lost. At length, it was the daughter who pulled away. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and made an effort to control herself.

'You need more time,' said Winifred, watching her closely.

'You need more time to think about what you did and why you did it.'

'I do.'

'But I'll want the truth, Emily.'

'Yes, Mother.'

'I have a right to know. When something as wicked and terrible as this happens, I have a right to know why. And I'm not the only one, emily,' she warned. 'The vicar will want to speak to you as well.'

'The vicar?'

'Taking your own life is an offence against God – and you made it worse by trying to do it from a church tower. The vicar says that it would have been an act of blasphemy. Is that what you meant to do?'

'No, no,' cried Emily.

'Suicide is evil.'

'I know.'

'We couldn't have buried you on consecrated ground.'

'I didn't think about that.'

'Well, you should have,' said Winifred, bitterly. 'I don't want two members of the family denied a Christian burial in the churchyard at St Mary's. You could have ended up like your father, emily. That would have broken my heart.'

Emily began to tremble violently and her mother feared that she was about to have another fit but the girl soon recovered. The experience she had been through was too frightful for her to contemplate yet. Her mind turned to more mundane concerns.

'I'm hungry,' she announced.

'Are you?' said her mother, laughing in relief at this sign of normality. 'I'll make you some breakfast at once. You need to be up and dressed before he calls.'

'Who?'

'Inspector Colbeck. He was the person who saved your life.'

A long sleep had revived Robert Colbeck and got him up early to face the new day. The stinging sensation in his wound had been replaced by a distant ache though his left arm was still rather stiff when he moved it. Before breakfast, he was outside the Saracen's Head, standing in the position that he had occupied the previous evening and trying to work out where the bullet might have gone. Deciding that it must have ricocheted off the wall, he searched the pavement and the road over a wide area. He eventually found it against the kerb on the opposite side of the high street. Colbeck showed the bullet to Victor Leeming when the latter joined him for breakfast.

'It's from a revolver,' said the Inspector.

'How can you tell, sir? The end is bent out of shape.'

'That happened on impact with the wall. I'm going by the size of the bullet. My guess is that it came from a revolver designed by Robert Adams. I saw the weapon on display at the Great Exhibition last year.'

'Oh, yes,' said Leeming, enviously. 'Because we saved Crystal Palace from being destroyed, you were given two tickets by Prince Albert for the opening ceremony. You took Miss Andrews to the Exhibition.'

'I did, Victor, though it wasn't to see revolvers. Madeleine was much more interested in the locomotives on show, especially the Lord of the Isles. No,' he went on, 'it was on a second visit that I took the trouble to study the firearms because they were the weapons that we would be up against one day – and that day came sooner than I expected.'

'Who is this Robert Adams?'

'The only serious British rival to Samuel Colt. He did not want the American to steal all the glory so he developed his solid-frame revolver in which the butt frame and barrel were forged as a single piece of metal.'

'And this was what they fired?' said Leeming, handing the bullet back to him. 'You thought that it came from a pistol.'

'A single-cocking pistol, Victor. Adams used a different firing mechanism from the Colt. I'm sufficiently patriotic to be grateful that it was a British weapon,' said Colbeck, pocketing the bullet. 'I'd hate to have been shot dead by an American revolver last night.'

'Who would own such a thing in Ashford?'

'A good point.'

'You were right to stay on the ground when you were hit, sir. If it was a revolver, it could have been fired again and again.'

'Adams designed it so that it would fire rapidly. What probably saved me was that the self-cocking lock needed a heavy pull on the trigger and that tends to upset your aim.'

'Unless you get close enough to the target.'

'We'll have to make sure that he doesn't do that, Victor.'

Having finished his breakfast, Colbeck sat back and wiped his lips with his napkin. Leeming ate the last of his meal then sipped his tea. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

'You want me to talk to these three women, then?'

'Ask them why they signed that petition.'

'One of them lives in a farm near Wye.'

'Then I suggest that you don't go there by cart. Take a train from Ashford station. Wye is only one short stop down the line.'

'What will you be doing, sir?'

'Going back to source.'

'Source?'

'I'm going to have a long-overdue talk with emily Hawkshaw,' said Colbeck. 'This whole business began when she had that encounter with Joseph Dykes. It's high time that the girl confided in me. After what happened on the top of that church tower yesterday, I feel that Emily owes me something.'

Caleb Andrews had been driving trains for so long that he knew exactly how long it took him to walk to Euston Station from Camden. He also knew how important punctuality was to a railway company. After a glance at the clock, he got up from the table and reached for his hat.

'I'm off, Maddy.'

'Goodbye,' she said, coming out of the kitchen to give him a kiss.

'What are you going to do today?'

'I hope to finish the painting.'

'One of these fine days,' he said, 'you must come down to Euston and do a painting of me on the footplate. I'd like that. We could hang it over the mantelpiece.'

'I've done dozens of drawings of you, Father.'

'I want to be in colour – like the Lord of the Isles.'

'You are the Lord of the Isles,' she said, fondly. 'At least, you think you are when you've had a few glasses of beer.'

Andrews laughed. 'You know your father too well.'

'Try not to be late this evening.'

'I will. By the way,' he said, 'you needn't bother to read the newspaper this morning. There's no mention at all of Inspector Colbeck. Without my help, he's obviously making no progress.'

'I think that he is. Robert prefers to hide certain things from the press. When he's working on a case, he hates having any reporters around him. They always expect quick results.'

'The Inspector had an extremely quick result. As soon as he got to Ashford, someone else was murdered on a train.'

'Father!'

'You can't be any quicker than that.'

'Go off to work,' she said, opening the door for him, 'and forget about Robert. He'll solve these murders very soon, I'm sure.'

'So am I, Maddy. He's got a good reason to get a move on,' said Andrews with a cackle. 'The Inspector wants to get back here and have his painting of the Lord of the Isles.'

Robert Colbeck was pleased with the way that the sleeve of his frock coat had been replaced. George Butterkiss had done such an excellent job sewing on a new sleeve that Colbeck was able to wear the coat again. Looking as spruce as ever, he turned into Middle Row and raised his top hat to a woman who went past. Adam Hawkshaw was displaying joints of meat on the table outside the shop. The Inspector strolled up to him.

'Good morning,' he said, breezily.

'Oh.' The butcher looked up at him, visibly shocked.

'You seem surprised to see me, Mr Hawkshaw.'

'I heard that you'd been shot last night.'

'Who told you that?'

'Everyone was talking about it when I got here this morning.'

'As you can see,' said Colbeck, careful to give the impression that he was completely uninjured, 'reports of the incident were false.'

'Yes.'

'Might I ask where you were yesterday evening?'

'I was at my lodging,' said Hawkshaw. 'On my own.'

'So there's nobody who could confirm the fact?'

'Nobody at all.'

'How convenient!'

The butcher squared up to him. 'Are you accusing me?'

'I'm not accusing anybody, Mr Hawkshaw. I really came to see how Emily was after that unfortunate business at the church.'

'Emily is well.'

'Have you seen her this morning?'

'Not yet.'

'Then how do you know she is well?'

'Emily doesn't want you upsetting her, Inspector.'

'Your stepsister was upset long before I came here,' said Colbeck, firmly, 'and I intend to find out why.'

Before Hawkshaw could reply, the detective went past him into the shop and knocked on the door at the rear. It was opened immediately by Winifred Hawkshaw. She invited him in.

'I was expecting you to call,' she said.

'Really? You can't have heard the rumour then.'

'What rumour?'

'The one that your stepson managed to pick up somehow.'

'I haven't spoken to Adam yet. I've stayed close to Emily.'

'That's understandable,' said Colbeck. 'Yesterday evening, when I was standing outside the Saracen's Head, someone tried to shoot me.'

'Good gracious!'

'Being so close, you must surely have heard the bang.'

'Now that you mention it,' said Winifred, pushing back a wisp of stray hair, 'I did hear something. And there was the sound of a horse and cart, racing down the high street. I was in Emily's room at the time, too afraid to leave her in case she woke up and tried to…well, you know. I stayed there until I was exhausted then went to my own bed.'

'How is Emily?'

'She's still very delicate.'

'She would be after that experience.'

'Emily doesn't remember too much of what happened.'

'Then I won't remind her of the details,' said Colbeck. 'Some of them are best forgotten. Has the doctor been yet?'

'He promised to call later on – and so did the vicar. Emily is unwilling to see either of them, especially the doctor. She begged me to send him away.'

'What about me?'

'I can't pretend that she was keen to speak to you, Inspector, but I told her that she must. Emily needs to thank you.'

'I'm just grateful that I came along at the right time.'

'So are we,' said Winifred, still deeply perturbed by the incident. 'But what's this about a shot being fired at you, Inspector? Is it true?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Someone tried to kill you? That's terrible.'

'I survived.'

'Do you have any idea who the man was?'

'Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw,' he replied, 'but let's not worry about me at the moment. Emily is the person who deserves all the attention. Do you think that you could bring her down, please?'

'Of course.'

'Has she given you any idea why she went up that tower?'

'Emily said that she was afraid – of everything.'

Winifred went off upstairs and Colbeck anticipated a long wait as the mother tried to cajole her daughter into speaking to him. In fact, the girl made no protest at all. She came downstairs at once. When she entered the room, she looked sheepish. Winifred followed her and they sat beside each other. Colbeck took the chair opposite them. He gave the girl a kind smile.

'Hello, Emily,' he said.

'Hello.'

'How are you this morning?'

'Mother says I'm to thank you for what you did yesterday.'

'And what about you?' he asked, gently. 'Do you think I earned your thanks?'

'I don't know.'

'Emily!' reproved her mother.

'I'd rather she tell the truth, Mrs Hawkshaw,' said Colbeck. 'She's probably still bewildered by it all and that's only natural.' He looked at the girl. 'Do you feel hazy in your own mind, Emily?'

'Yes.'

'But you do recall what took you to the church?'

Emily glanced at her mother. 'Yes.'

'It was because you were so unhappy, wasn't it?'

'Yes, it was.'

'And because you miss your stepfather so very much.' The girl lowered her head. 'I'm not going to ask you any more about yesterday, Emily. I know you went up that tower to do something desperate but I think that you changed your mind when you actually got there. However,' he went on, 'what interests me more is what happened all those weeks earlier. You were attacked by a man named Joseph Dykes, weren't you?'

Emily looked anxiously at her mother but Winifred did not bail her out. She gave her daughter a look to indicate that she should answer the question. Emily licked her lips.

'Yes,' she said, 'but I don't want to talk about it.'

'Then tell me what happened afterwards,' invited Colbeck.

'Afterwards?'

'When you came running back here. Who was in the shop?'

'Father.'

'What about your stepbrother?'

'Adam had gone to Bybrook Farm to collect some meat.'

'So you only told your stepfather what happened?'

'Nathan was her father,' corrected Winifred. 'In every way that mattered, he was the only real father that Emily knew.'

'I accept that, Mrs Hawkshaw,' said Colbeck, 'and I can see why Emily should turn to him.' His eyes flicked back to the girl. 'What did your father say when you told him?'

'He was very angry,' she said.

'Did he run off immediately?'

'No, he stayed with me for a while.'

'Nathan said she was terrified,' explained the mother. 'He had to calm her down before he could go after Joe Dykes. By that time, of course, Joe had vanished.'

'Let me come back to your daughter,' said Colbeck, patiently. 'You were not to blame in any way, Emily. The chain of events that followed was not your doing. You were simply a victim and not a cause – do you understand what I'm saying?'

'I think so,' said the girl.

'You don't need to take any responsibility on to your shoulders.'

'That's what I told her,' said Winifred.

'But Emily didn't believe you – did you, Emily?'

'No,' muttered the girl.

'Why not?'

'I can't tell you.'

'Then answer me this,' said Colbeck, probing carefully. 'What happened afterwards?'

'Afterwards?'

'Yes, Emily. When your father got back to the shop after he'd failed to find the man who assaulted you. What happened then?'

A look came into her eyes that Colbeck had seen before. It was a look of sudden fear and helplessness that she had given when she felt that she was going to fall to her death from the church tower. The interview was over because Emily was unable to go on but Colbeck was content. He had learnt much more than he had expected.

Notwithstanding his dislike of rail travel, Victor Leeming had to admit that it was quicker and safer than riding beside George Butterkiss on a rickety cart that gave off such pungent odours. The journey to Wye was so short that he barely had time to admire the landscape through the window of his carriage. It was his third call that morning. Having spoken to two of the women and satisfied himself that they could not have been implicated in the crimes, Leeming was on his way to meet the last person on his list.

Wye was a quaint village with a small railway station at its edge. It took him only ten minutes to walk to the address that Butterkiss had given him. Kathleen Brennan lived in a tied cottage on one of the farms. When he knocked on the door, all that the Sergeant knew about her was that she worked there and brought produce in to Ashford on market days. Butterkiss had not warned him how attractive she was.

When she opened the door to him, he discovered that Kathleen Brennan was a woman in her twenties with a raw beauty that was set off by her long red hair and a pair of startling green eyes. Even in her working dress, she looked shapely. She put her hands on her hips.

'Yes?' she asked with a soft Irish lilt.

'Miss Kathleen Brennan?'

'Mrs Brennan.'

'I beg your pardon. My name is Detective Sergeant Leeming,' he told her, showing her his warrant card, 'and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may.'

'Why?'

'It's in connection with the murder of Joseph Dykes. May I come in for a moment, please?'

'We can talk here,' she said, folding her arms.

'As you wish, Mrs Brennan. You signed a petition, I believe.'

'That's right.'

'Do you mind telling me why?'

'Because I knew that Nathan Hawkshaw was innocent.'

'How?'

'I just did,' she said as if insulted by the question. 'I met him a lot in Ashford. He was a nice man. Nathan was no killer.'

'Were you at that fair in Lenham, by any chance?'

'Yes, I was.'

'And did you witness the argument between the two men?'

'We all did,' she replied. 'It took place in the middle of the square. They might have come to blows if Gregory hadn't stopped them.'

'Gregory Newman?'

'He was Nathan's best friend. He pulled him away and tried to talk sense into him. Gregory told him to go home.'

'But he came back, didn't he?'

'So they say.'

'And he was seen very close to where the murder took place.'

'I know nothing of that, Sergeant,' she said, brusquely. 'But I still believe that they hanged the wrong man.'

'Have you any idea who the killer might be?'

'None at all.'

'But you were shocked when Hawkshaw was found guilty?'

'Yes, I was.'

'Did you go to the execution?'

'Why are you asking me that?' she challenged. 'And why did you come here in the first place? That case is over and done with.'

'If only it were, Mrs Brennan,' said Leeming, 'but it's had so many tragic consequences. That's why Inspector Colbeck and I are looking into it again. Your name came to our attention.'

'I can't help you,' she said, curtly.

'I get the feeling that you don't want to help me.'

Leeming met her gaze. Kathleen Brennan's manner verged on the hostile and he could not understand what provocation he had given her. Without quite knowing why, he was unsettled by her. There was something about the woman that made him feel, if not threatened, then a trifle disturbed. Leeming was glad that they were conversing in the open air and not in the privacy of her cottage.

'You haven't told me if you attended the execution.'

'And I'm not going to.'

'Are you ashamed that you went?'

'I didn't say that I did.'

'But you felt sorry for Nathan Hawkshaw?'

'We all did – that's why Gregory got the petition together.'

'Was he the person who asked you to sign?'

'No,' she said, 'it was Nathan's wife.'

'Did you simply put your name on that list out of friendship?'

Anger showed in her face. 'No, I didn't! You've got no call to ask me that, Sergeant. I did what I believed was right and so did the others. We wanted to save Nathan.'

'Yet you had no actual proof that he was innocent.'

Kathleen Brennan's eyes glinted and she breathed hard through her nose. Leeming could see that his questions had inflamed her. She stepped forward and pulled the door shut behind her.

'I've got to go to work,' she said.

'Then I won't stop you, Mrs Brennan. Thank you for your help.'

'Nathan Hawkshaw was a good man, Sergeant.'

'That's what everyone says.'

'Try listening to them.'

She walked abruptly past him and headed across the field towards the farmhouse on the ridge. Leeming was nonplussed, unsure whether his visit had been pointless or whether he had stumbled on something of interest and significance. As he trudged back to the station, he wondered why Kathleen Brennan had made him so uneasy. It was only when, after a lengthy wait, he caught the return train to Ashford that he realised exactly what it was.

There was an additional surprise for him. As the train chugged merrily along the line, he looked absent-mindedly through the window and saw something that made him sit up and stare. A young woman was riding a horse along the road at a steady canter, her red hair blowing in the wind. The person who had told him that she had to go to work was now riding with some urgency towards Ashford.

Inspector Colbeck was so intrigued by what he had learnt from his meeting with emily Hawkshaw that he took himself to a wooden bench near St Mary's Church and sat down to think. The square tower soared above him and he looked up at it with misgiving, certain that, if the girl really had committed suicide, then the full truth about the murder of Jospeh Dykes would never be known. Emily was young, immature and in a fragile state but he could not excuse her on those grounds. In the light of what he had discovered, he simply had to talk to her again.

Winifred Hawkshaw was unhappy with the idea. When he returned to the shop after long cogitation, she became very protective.

'Emily needs to be left alone,' she claimed. 'It's the only way that she'll ever get over this.'

'I disagree, Mrs Hawkshaw,' said Colbeck. 'As long as she feels such a sense of guilt, there's always the possibility that she'll attempt to take her own life again – and I may not be on hand next time.'

'My daughter has nothing to feel guilty about, Inspector.'

'Is that what she's told you?'

'No,' admitted Winifred. 'She's told me precious little.'

'That in itself is an indication of guilt. If she's unable to confide in the person closest to her, what kind of secret is she hiding? Whatever it is, it won't let her rest. I simply must see her again,' insisted Colbeck, 'and this time, you must leave us alone together.'

'I couldn't do that.'

'I won't get the truth out of her with her mother there.'

'Why not?'

'Because I believe that it concerns you.'

Winifred Hawkshaw was discomfited. It took time to persuade her to summon her daughter but she eventually acceded to his request. There was an even longer delay as she argued with Emily then more or less forced her daughter to come downstairs. The girl was sullen and withdrawn when she came into the room. She refused to sit down.

'Very well,' said Colbeck, settling into a chair, 'you can stand up. I think that you know why I've come back again, don't you?'

'No.'

'I want the full story, Emily. And let me assure you of one thing. Whatever you tell me is in strictest confidence. I'm not going to pass it on to anyone – not even to your mother. She's the one person who must never know, isn't she? At least, that's what you think now.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I think you do, Emily. Did your father commit that murder?'

'No!' she retorted.

'Would you swear to that?'

'On the Bible.'

'But would you confess why you're so certain about it?' asked Colbeck, lowering his voice. 'No, you wouldn't, would you? Because you had a chance to do just that at the trial.' Emily's cheeks were drained of what little colour they possessed. 'The reason you know that he could not possibly have killed Joseph Dykes is that you were with your father at the time.'

'That's not true!' she cried.

'Except that you never saw him as your real father, did you? He was kind to you. He protected you from Adam. He was your friend.' The girl let out a gasp of horror at being found out. 'You loved him as a friend, didn't you, Emily? There's no question that he loved you. Nathan Hawkshaw went to the gallows rather than betray you.'

'Stop!' she implored.

'It has to come out, Emily,' he told her, getting up to stand beside the girl. 'The truth is a poison that must be sucked out of you before it kills you. I'm not here to judge you or to tell you that what you did was wrong. All I want to do is to find the man who did kill Joseph Dykes then went on to murder two other people. Did your mother tell you what happened yesterday evening?'

'No.'

'This man that we're after tried to shoot me, Emily.' She looked at him with dismay. 'Unless we catch him, there'll be other victims. You're in a position to help us. Do you want more people to be killed as a result of what happened that day at Lenham fair?' She shook her head. 'Then tell me the truth. You'll be helping yourself as much as me.'

Emily stared up at him with a fear that was tempered with a wild hope. Colbeck could see that she was wrestling hard with her demons. The guilt that had been oppressing her for weeks was now bearing down like a ton weight.

'You won't tell Mother?' she whispered.

'That's something that only you should do, Emily.'

'I feel so ashamed.'

'I think that your father – your friend, I should say – deserved to bear the greater shame. You were too young to understand what was happening. He was much older – he knew.'

'I loved him.'

'And he loved you, Emily, but not in a way that a stepfather should. It cost him his life.' She shuddered. 'I'm sure that he repented at the last. He took the sin upon himself. You don't have to go through life with it hanging over you forever.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Why?'

Emily was not able to tell him yet. She was still shocked and frightened by the way that he seemed to have looked into her mind and discerned her secret. It was unnerving.

'How did you know?' she asked.

'There were clues,' he explained. 'When you were attacked by Dykes, you didn't turn to your mother for help. In fact, you pulled away from her. And, at the very time when you should have been drawn closer as you mourned together, you shut her out.'

'I had to, Inspector.'

'You lost the person you really loved and you felt that you couldn't live without him.'

'I caused him to die.'

'No, Emily.'

'If he hadn't been with me that day, he'd be alive now.'

'And what sort of life would it have been?' asked Colbeck. 'The two of you were lying to your mother and lying to each other. It could never have gone on like that, Emily. It was only a matter of time before you were found out. Think what would have happened then.'

'I hated all the lies and deceit,' she admitted.

'You went along with them out of love but it was never a love that you could show to the world. You asked me how I knew,' he went on, 'and it wasn't only because of the way you treated your mother. There was your fear of the doctor as well.' His inquiry was gentle. 'Are you with child, Emily?'

'I don't know – I may be.'

'If that's the case, then you tried to kill two people when you went up that church tower. That makes it even worse. You must have been in despair to do that.'

'I was. I still am.'

'No, Emily. We're drawing that poison out of you. It's going to hurt but you'll feel better for it in the end. You have to face up to what you did instead of trying to run away from it. Most important of all,' he stressed, 'you mustn't take all the blame on your own shoulders.'

'I can't help it, Inspector.'

'You were led astray by your stepfather.'

'That isn't how it was.'

'He admitted his guilt by giving his life to save yours.'

'It was not like that,' she told him, her eyes filling with tears.

'Joe Dykes did touch me in that lane but that was all he did. I only pretended that he did much more than that. Before I ran back here, I even tore my dress. I wanted Nathan to comfort me. That's how it all started,' she said with a sob in her voice. 'I just wanted him.'

By the time he got back to the inn, Victor Leeming had decided that his visit to Wye had not been in vain at all. He had something to report. To his disappointment, however, he did not find Colbeck at the Saracen's Head. In the Inspector's place were George Butterkiss and a complete stranger. The Constable leapt up at once from his chair and came across to Leeming.

'I found him, Sergeant,' he declared, as if expecting a reward.

'Who?'

'Amos Lockyer. Come and meet him.'

He took Leeming across to the table and introduced him to his friend. The two of them sat down opposite Lockyer, a short, fleshy man in his late fifties with an ugly face that was redeemed by a benign smile. His hand was curled around a pint of beer and, from the way he slurred his words, it was clearly not his first drink of the day.

'How did you track him down, Constable?' asked Leeming.

'I remembered the Romney Marshes.'

'Why?'

'Because I once told George that I'd like to retire there,' said Lockyer, taking up the story. 'I had an uncle who was on his last legs and he promised to leave his cottage to me. I got word of his death when I was working at Leeds Castle. That was no job for me,' he told them with disgust. 'I wasn't born to fetch and carry for my betters because I don't believe that they were any better than me.' He gave a throaty chuckle. 'So, after I'd buried Uncle Sidney, I decided to retire.'

'That's where I found him,' said Butterkiss. 'At his new home.'

'You did well,' conceded Leeming.

'Thank you, Sergeant. But how have you got on?'

'The first two ladies on that list could be discounted at once, but I'm not so sure about the third. What can you tell me about Kathleen Brennan from Wye?'

'Nothing beyond what I told you before.'

'There was something very odd about Mrs Brennan.'

'You should have asked me about her,' said Lockyer, helpfully. 'What's odd about Mrs Brennan is that she's the only woman I know who wears a wedding ring without having been anywhere near a husband.' He grinned amiably. 'A husband of her own, that is.'

'She's not married?'

'No, Sergeant, and never has been.'

'How do you know her?'

'From the time when she used to serve beer at the Fountain,' recalled the older man. 'This was before your time, George, so you won't remember Kathy Brennan. She was very popular with the customers.'

'That was the feeling I had about her,' said Leeming. 'She was too knowing. As if she was no better than she ought to be.'

'Oh, I don't condemn a woman for making the most of her charms and Kathy certainly had those. They were good enough to start charging money for, which was how she and I crossed swords.'

'You mean that she was a prostitute?' asked Butterkiss.

'Of sorts,' said Lockyer, indulgently. 'And only for a short time until she saw the dangers of it. I liked the woman. She always struck me as someone who wanted a man to love her enough to stay by her but she couldn't find one in Ashford. What made her change her ways was that business with Joe Dykes.'

'I don't remember that,' said Butterkiss.

'What happened?' prompted Leeming.

'Joe was in the Fountain one night,' said Lockyer, 'and he took a fancy to Kathy. So off they go to that lane behind the Corn Exchange. Only she's heard about his reputation for having his fun then running off without paying, so she asked for some cash beforehand.'

'Did he give it?'

'Yes, Sergeant. But as soon as Joe had had his money's worth up against a wall, he attacked the poor woman and took his money back from her. Kathy came crying to me but, as usual, Joe had made himself scarce. He was cruel.'

'In other words,' said Leeming, realising that he had just been given a valuable piece of information, 'Kathleen Brennan had a good reason to hate Dykes.'

'Hate him? She'd have scratched his eyes out.'

It was at that point that Robert Colbeck returned to the inn. Seeing the three of them, he came across to their table. As soon as he had been introduced to Lockyer, he took over the questioning.

'Did you follow Jacob Guttridge to his home?'

'Yes,' replied Lockyer, uncomfortably.

'Then you are an accessory to his murder.'

'No, Inspector!'

'Amos didn't even know that he was dead,' said Butterkiss, trying to defend his former colleague. 'The first he heard about the murder – and that of the prison chaplain – was when I told him about them.'

'It's true,' added Lockyer, earnestly. 'I was stuck on a farm, miles from anywhere. You don't get to read a newspaper when you're digging up turnips all day. When George told me what's been going on, I was shaken to the core.'

'Yet you admit that you followed Guttridge,' noted Colbeck.

'That's what I'm good at – finding where people live.' He took a long sip of his beer. 'I knew he'd lie low in Maidstone prison after the execution so I stayed the night there and waited at the station early next morning. Mr Guttridge caught the first train to Paddock Wood then took the train to London from there. Unknown to him, I was right behind him all the way.'

'Like a shadow,' said Butterkiss, admiringly.

'Not exactly, George, because he walked much faster than me. This old injury slows me right down,' he said, slapping his thigh. 'He almost gave me the slip in Hoxton. I saw the street he went down but I didn't know which house was his. So I waited on the corner until he came out again and I followed him all the way to Bethnal Green.'

'To the Seven Stars,' said Colbeck.

'That's right, Inspector. How did you know?'

Leeming was bitter. 'We know all about the Seven Stars,' he said. 'If you went there, you must have discovered that Guttridge was going to be on that excursion train to watch the big fight.'

'It was the only thing that people were talking about,' explained Lockyer. 'The landlord was making a list of all those who were going to support the Bargeman. Jake Guttridge was one of the first to put himself forward, though he gave a different name. I don't blame him. The Seven Stars wasn't the place to own up to being a hangman.'

'What happened afterwards?'

'I trailed him back to Hoxton. The trouble was that he spotted me and broke into a run. I had a job to keep up with him but at least I got the number of his house this time. I earned my money.'

'From whom?'

'The person who paid me to find his address.'

'And who was that?'

'Inspector,' pleaded Lockyer, 'I had no idea that he intended to kill Guttridge. I swear it. He said that he just wanted to scare him. If I'd known what I know now, I'd never have taken on the job.'

'Give me his name, Mr Lockyer.'

'I was a policeman. I'd never willingly break the law.'

'his name,' demanded Colbeck.

'Adam Hawkshaw.'

Inspector Colbeck took no chances. Aware that Hawkshaw was a strong young man in a shop that was filled with weaponry, he stationed Leeming and Butterkiss at either end of Middle Row to prevent any attempt at escape. When he confronted the butcher in the empty shop, Colbeck was given a sneer of contempt.

'What have you come for this time?' said Hawkshaw.

'You.'

'Eh?'

'I'm placing you under arrest for the murders of Jacob Guttridge and Narcissus Jones,' said Colbeck, producing a pair of handcuffs from beneath his coat, 'and for the attempted murder of a police officer.'

'I never murdered anybody!' protested the other.

'Then why did you pay Amos Lockyer to find the hangman's address for you?' Hawkshaw's mouth fell open. 'I don't think it was to send him your greetings, was it? What you sent him was a death threat.'

'No,' said Hawkshaw, defiantly.

'You'll have to come with me.'

'But I'm innocent, Inspector.'

'Then how do you explain your interest in Jacob Guttridge's whereabouts?' asked Colbeck, snapping the handcuffs on his wrists. 'How do you account for the fact that you were seen taking a train to Paddock Wood on the night of the chaplain's murder?'

'I can't tell you that.'

'No, and you probably can't tell me where you were yesterday evening, can you? Because I don't believe that you were in your lodging. You were cowering in a doorway opposite the Saracen's Head, waiting for me to come out so that you could shoot me.'

'That's not true,' said Hawkshaw, struggling to get out of the handcuffs. 'Take these things off me!'

'Not until you're safely behind bars.'

'I had nothing to do with the murders!'

'Prove it.'

The butcher looked shamefaced. Biting his lip, he grappled with his conscience for a long time. Eventually, he blurted out his confession.

'On the night of the chaplain's murder, I did take a train to Paddock Wood,' he said, the words coming out slowly and with obvious embarrassment, 'but it was not to go after him. I went to see someone and I took the train over there again last night.'

'Can this person vouch for you?'

'Yes, Inspector, but I'd rather you didn't ask her.'

'A lady, then – a young lady, I expect. What was her name?'

'I can't tell you that.'

'Is that because you just invented her?' pressed Colbeck.

'No,' rejoined the other, 'Jenny is real.'

'I'll believe that when I see her, Mr Hawkshaw. Meanwhile, I'm going to make your mother aware of your arrest then take you back to London.'

'Wait!' said Hawkshaw in desperation. 'There's no need for this.' He swallowed hard. 'Her name is Jenny Skillen.'

'Why couldn't you tell me that before?'

'She's married.'

'Ah.'

'Her husband is coming back today.'

Colbeck knew that he was telling the truth. If he had a witness who could absolve him of the murder of Narcissus Jones then he could not be responsible for the other killings.

'Why did you pay Amos Lockyer to find that address?' he asked.

'I wanted revenge,' admitted Hawkshaw. 'When I saw the way that he made my father suffer on the scaffold, I just wanted to tear out his heart. I didn't say that to Amos. I told him that I just wanted to give the man a fright. He agreed to find his address for me, that was all. When he came back, he told me that Guttridge would be at a prizefight in a few weeks' time.'

'So you decided to go on the same excursion train?'

'No, Inspector – I give you my word. If I'm honest, I thought about it. I even planned what I'd do when I caught up with him. But I don't think I could have gone through with it.'

'Did you discuss this with anyone else?'

'Yes,' said Hawkshaw, 'and he talked me out of it. He told me that I couldn't bring back my father by killing the man who hanged him. He made me see how wrong it would have been and got me to promise that I'd forget all about it. He stopped me.'

'Who did?'

'Gregory – Gregory Newman.'

There were tears in his eyes as he stood beside the bed and looked down at his wife. Meg Newman had not woken all day. She lay in a sleep so deep that it was almost a coma. On the rare occasions when she did open her eyes for any length of time, she inhabited a twilight world of her own in which she could neither speak, move nor do anything for herself. Her husband gazed down at her with a mixture of love and resignation. Then he bent down to give her a farewell kiss that she never even felt.

'You once begged me to do this,' he said, 'and I didn't have the courage to put you out of your pain and misery. I have to do it now, Meg. Please forgive me.'

Gregory Newman put the pillow over her face and pressed down hard. It was not long before his wife stopped breathing.

Having released his prisoner, Colbeck went marching off to the railway works with Leeming and Butterkiss. As a precaution, he deployed them at the two exits from the boiler shop before he went in. When he found the foreman, he had to shout above the incessant din.

'I've come to see Gregory Newman again,' he yelled.

'You're too late, Inspector.'

'What do you mean?'

'He left half an hour ago,' replied the foreman. 'Someone brought word that his wife had taken a turn for the worse. I let him go home.'

'Who brought the message?'

'A young woman.'

Colbeck thanked him then hurried outside to collect the others. When he heard what had happened, Leeming was able to identify the bearer of the message.

'Kathleen Brennan,' he said. 'I think she came to warn him.'

'Let's go to his house,' ordered Colbeck.

They hurried to Turton Street and found the door of the house wide open. The blind had been drawn on the downstairs front window. Colbeck went quickly inside and looked into the front room. Weeping quietly, Mrs Sheen was pulling the sheet over the face of Meg Newman. She looked up in surprise at Colbeck.

'Forgive this intrusion,' he said, removing his hat. 'We're looking for Mr Newman. Is he here?'

'Not any more, sir. He told me Meg had passed on and he left.'

'Where did he go?'

'I don't know,' said Mrs Sheen, 'but he had a bag with him.'

'Thank you. Please excuse me.'

Colbeck came back out into the street again. Butterkiss was keen.

'What can I do, Inspector?' he volunteered.

'Nothing at all. He's made a run for it.'

'I just can't believe that Gregory is involved in all this. He's such a kind and considerate man. Look at the way he cared for his sick wife.'

'He won't care for her anymore.'

'I think I know where he may have gone,' said Leeming.

'Where's that, Victor?'

'To the place where his female accomplice lives.'

'Who is she?'

'Kathleen Brennan. We need to get to Wye straight away.'

'How do you know that this woman is his accomplice?'

'Because I saw her riding towards Ashford earlier on,' said Leeming, 'and now I realise why. I never expected to hear myself say this, Inspector, but I think that we should take a train.'

Kathleen Brennan bustled around the tiny bedroom and gathered up her belongings. She put them in a large wicker basket, threw her clothes over her arm then went down the bare wooden stairs. Gregory Newman was sitting in a chair, brooding on what he had done. Putting everything down on the table, Kathleen went over to comfort him.

'It had to be done,' she said, 'and it was what your wife wanted.'

'I know, Kathy, but it still hurt me.' He gave a mirthless laugh. 'Strange, isn't it? I killed three people I hated and all I felt was pleasure and satisfaction. It's only when I smother someone I loved that I feel like a murderer.'

'It was no life for her, Gregory. It was a blessed release.'

'For Meg, maybe – but not for me.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because I feel so guilty.'

He put his head in his hands. Kneeling beside him, Kathleen coiled an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the temple. After a while, he looked up and tried to shake off his feelings of remorse. He pulled her on to his lap and embraced her warmly.

'Thank you, Kathy,' he said.

'This is what we both wanted, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'You always said that we'd be together one day and now we are.'

'I didn't expect it to happen like this,' he said. 'I thought that Meg would have died long ago but she clung on and on. It would have been so much easier if she could have passed away by now.'

'I had to warn you,' she insisted. 'Sergeant Leeming frightened me with his questions. How on earth did he know that I was involved?'

'He didn't but he found his way out here somehow. That was a danger signal, Kathy. You were right to come to me.

'He mentioned an Inspector Colbeck.'

'Damn the man!' said Newman. 'He's behind all this. He dug away until he unearthed things that I never thought he'd find. Because he was getting closer all the time, I shot him last night. I hoped I'd killed him.'

'It didn't sound like it.'

'Then we must get far away from here, Kathy. It's only a matter of time before they work out that I murdered Joe Dykes and the others.'

'Joe got his deserts for what he did to me,' she said, harshly. 'If you'd given me that cleaver, I'd have killed him myself.' She grinned. 'You should have seen the look in his eye when I brought him out of the Red Lion. By the time we got to the wood, he was panting for me.'

'Making him undress like that made such a difference,' he recalled. 'All that I had to do was to carve him up.' He kissed her full on the lips. 'I couldn't have done it without you, Kathy.'

'Or without Nathan.'

'He was just where we needed him.'

'When I saw what he was doing, I had no qualms about letting him take the blame. I looked on her as my own daughter and Nathan was-'

'Yes, yes,' she interrupted. 'You paid him back.'

'I paid them all back,' he said, proudly.

'And now we can be together at last.'

As they hugged each other again, Robert Colbeck opened the door. He doffed his hat and he stepped into the room. They sprang apart.

'You shouldn't leave the windows open,' warned Colbeck.

'It only encourages eavesdropping.'

'What are you doing here?' gasped Newman, getting to his feet.

'I've come to arrest the pair of you.'

'I thought that I shot you.'

'You tried to, Mr Newman, but your aim was poor. You'll pardon me if I don't turn my back and let you have a second attempt with a piece of wire. I know that's your preferred method.' He looked at Kathleen. 'My name is Inspector Colbeck. I believe that you met my Sergeant earlier.'

'Kathy is nothing to do with this,' insisted Newman.

'Then why did she ride to Ashford to warn you?' asked Colbeck. 'Sergeant Leeming saw her from the train. Your foreman told me that a young woman with red hair came for you in the boiler shop.' He saw Newman eyeing the open door. 'And before you decide to bolt again, I should warn you that the Sergeant is outside with Constable Butterkiss.'

Kathleen was dazed. 'How did you get here so quickly?'

'By train.'

'And you heard us through the window?'

'I'd worked out some of it beforehand,' said Colbeck. 'Once I knew that Nathan Hawkshaw could not possibly have committed that crime, it narrowed the search down. The one thing I would like clarified is what happened to Hawkshaw's coat.'

'Gregory stole it,' said Kathleen.

'Be quiet!' he snapped.

'I think I can guess the circumstances in which it was taken,' said Colbeck, seizing on the detail. 'It was lying there with the rest of his clothing, wasn't it – and with the meat cleaver that he'd brought?'

'How did you know about that?' asked Kathleen, open- mouthed.

'I think you'll be surprised what we know, Miss Brennan.' He produced the handcuffs again. 'We'll spare you the indignity of these,' he said, 'but Mr newman is another matter. Shall we, sir?'

Gregory Newman heaved a massive sigh and held out his wrists. As soon as Colbeck tried to put the handcuffs on him, however, he pushed the Inspector away, grabbed Kathleen by the hand and ran through the door. Constable Butterkiss tried to stop him but was buffeted aside by a powerful arm. Newman ran to his cart and lifted Kathleen up into the seat, intending to whip the horse into a gallop and get free. But he became aware of an insurmountable problem.

'We took the liberty of taking your horse out of the shafts,' said Colbeck, pointing to where the animal was grazing happily, 'in case you tried to escape.' Newman leant over to grab his bag from the back of the cart and thrust his hand into it. 'I also took the precaution of removing this,' said Colbeck, taking out the revolver from beneath his coat. 'Unlike you, I know how to fire it properly.' Newman slumped forward in his seat. 'Are you ready for these handcuffs now, sir?'

They had never seen Superintendent Tallis in such a euphoric mood. He normally smoked cigars in times of stress but this time he reached for one by way of celebration. Colbeck and Leeming stood in his office at Scotland Yard and basked in his approval for once. Cigar smoke curled around their heads like a pair of haloes.

'It was a triumph, gentlemen,' he said. 'You not only solved two murders that occurred on trains, you exonerated Nathan Hawkshaw from a crime that he didn't commit.'

'Too late in the day,' said Leeming. 'He'd already been hanged.'

'That fact has caused considerable embarrassment to the parties involved and I applaud that. Where a miscarriage of justice has taken place, it deserves to be exposed. It will be a different matter for that monster, Gregory Newman.'

'Yes, sir. He's as guilty as sin.'

'So is that she-devil who helped him,' said Tallis, thrusting the cigar back between his teeth. 'They may have disposed of one hangman but there'll be another to make them dance at the end of a rope. When I was a boy,' he went on, nostalgically, 'over two hundred offences bore the death penalty and it frightened people into a more law-abiding attitude. Only traitors and killers can be executed now. I maintain that the shadow of the noose should hang over more crimes.'

'I disagree, Superintendent,' said Colbeck. 'To hang someone for stealing a loaf of bread because his family is starving is barbaric in my view. It breeds hatred of the law instead of respect. Newman and his accomplice deserve to hang. Common thieves do not.'

Tallis was almost jovial. 'I'll not argue with you, Inspector,' he said, 'especially on a day like this. I know that you'll win any debate like the silver-tongued barrister you once were. But I hold to my point. To impose order and discipline, we must be ruthless.'

'I prefer a combination of firmness and discretion, sir.'

'That's the way we solved the railway murders,' said Leeming.

'Yes,' said Colbeck with amusement. 'Victor was firm and I was discreet. We made an effective team.'

Colbeck's discretion had been shown in abundance. He tried to protect those who would be hurt by certain revelations. Though he told the Sergeant about his long interview with Emily Hawkshaw, he had suppressed the facts that he knew would scandalise him. Edward Tallis had been told nothing about the relationship between the girl and her late stepfather. Colbeck had not deemed it necessary. The evidence to convict Gregory Newman and Kathleen Brennan was irresistible. There was no need to release intimate details that would be seized on by the press and turn an already unhappy home into an unendurable one.

'How did the widow receive the news?' asked Tallis.

'Mrs Hawkshaw was in a state of confusion, sir,' said Colbeck. 'She was delighted that her husband's name had been cleared but she was shocked that Gregory Newman was unmasked as the killer and the man who sent those death threats. She had trusted him so completely.'

'He must have hated her to let her husband die in his place.'

'I think that he loved her, sir, and felt that Hawkshaw was unworthy of her. In his own twisted way, he thought that he could please her by killing two of the people who had inflicted needless pain on her husband. Yes,' he said, anticipating an interruption, 'I know that there's a contradiction there. How can a man allow someone to go to the gallows in his stead and then avenge him? But it was not a contradiction that troubled Gregory Newman.'

'His life was full of contradictions,' said Leeming. 'He pretends to care for his wife and yet he goes off to see Kathleen Brennan whenever he can. What kind of marriage is that?'

'One that imposed immense strain on him, Victor.'

'You're surely not excusing him, are you?' asked Tallis. 'I'm no proponent of marriage, as you know, but I do place great emphasis on sexual propriety. In my opinion, Newman's relationship with his scarlet women is in itself worthy of hanging.'

'Then there'd be daily executions held in every town,' said Colbeck, bluntly, 'for there must be thousands of men who enjoy such liaisons. If you make adultery a capital offence, sir, you'd reduce the population of London quite markedly.' Tallis bridled. 'No, the problem with Gregory Newman was that he had too much love inside him.'

'Love! Is that what you call it, Inspector?'

'Yes. He was a man of deep passion. When his young wife was taken so tragically ill, that passion was stifled until it began to turn sour. We saw it again in his strange devotion to Win Hawkshaw. We did, Superintendent,' he went on as Tallis scowled. 'He cared for her enough to want to rescue her from an undeserving husband even if it meant sending that husband to the scaffold. Love turned sour is like a disease.'

'It infected him and his doxy,' said Tallis. 'If I had my way, she'd be paraded through the streets so that all could see her shame. The woman deserves to be tarred and feathered.'

Colbeck was glad that he had not confided details of the more serious irregularity that he had uncovered. The Superintendent would have been outraged, insisting on the arrest of Emily Hawkshaw on a charge of withholding vital evidence at the trial of her stepfather. Colbeck saw no gain in such an action. The girl had already punished herself far more than the law would be able to do. Before he left Ashford, she had confided one piece of reassuring news to Colbeck. She was not pregnant. No child would come forth from her illicit union to make her shame public. Colbeck had left the girl to work out her own salvation. Thoroughly chastened by all that had happened, she seemed ready to take a more positive attitude to past misdemeanours.

'The rest,' declared Tallis, 'we can safely leave to the court.'

'That's what everyone felt at Hawkshaw's trial,' said Leeming.

'Don't be impertinent, Sergeant.'

'No, sir.'

'Our work is done and – thanks to you, gentlemen – it was done extremely well. I congratulate you both and will commend you in my report to the Commissioners. You have cleansed Ashford of its fiends.'

'We did get some assistance from Constable Butterkiss,' remarked Leeming, ready to give the man his due. 'He found Amos Lockyer for us.'

'That reflects well on him.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, smiling inwardly as he thought of Madeleine Andrews, 'our success is not solely due to our own efforts, sir. We had invaluable help from other sources.'

The last bit of paint was still drying on the paper when she heard the sound of the hansom cab in the street outside. Madeleine Andrews was flustered. Certain that Robert Colbeck had come to see her, she was upset to be caught in her old clothes and with paint all over her fingers. She grabbed the painting and hid it quickly in the kitchen, swilling her hands in a bucket of water and wiping them in an old cloth. There was a knock on the front door. After adjusting her hair in the mirror, Madeleine opened the door to her visitor. He was holding a posy of flowers.

'Robert!' she said, pretending surprise.

'Hello, Madeleine,' he said, 'I just wanted to thank you for the help that you gave us and to offer this small token of my gratitude.'

'They're beautiful!' she said, taking the posy and sniffing the petals. 'Thank you so much.'

'You deserve a whole garden of flowers for what you did.'

'I'm so glad that I could help. But you are the only true Railway Detective. You are on the front page of the newspaper once again.'

'Yes, Superintendent Tallis was pleased with that. He feels that our success should be given wide publicity to deter other criminals.'

'He's right.'

'I have my doubts, Madeleine. It only serves to warn them to be more careful in future. If we reveal too much about our methods of detection in newspaper articles, we are actually helping the underworld.'

'Be that as it may,' she said, 'won't you come in?'

'Only for a moment.' He stepped into the house and she closed the door behind them. 'I'm on my way to Bethnal Green to honour a promise I made to Victor Leeming.'

'Oh, yes. You told me that he was set upon at the Seven Stars.'

'That's why I'm letting him lead the raid. I'll only be there in a nominal capacity. We're going to close the place down for a time by revoking the landlord's licence.'

'On what grounds?'

'Serving under-age customers, harbouring fugitives, running a disorderly house. We'll think up plenty of reasons to close the doors on the Seven Stars. And however random they may seem,' he went on, 'I can assure you that those reasons will all have a solid foundation. In his brief and bruising visit there, Victor noticed a number of violations of the licensing laws.'

'And that's where Jacob Guttridge used to go?'

'Only when disguised under a false name.'

'Who was the man who followed him that night?'

'Amos Lockyer,' he replied. 'A policeman from Ashford who was dismissed for being drunk on duty and who took on the commission to make some money. In fairness to him, it never crossed his mind that such dire consequences would result from his work.'

'I'm thrilled that I was able to help you.'

'It will encourage me to call on you again, perhaps.'

Madeleine beamed. 'I'm at your service, Inspector,' she said. 'But while you're here, I have a present for you – though it isn't quite dry yet.'

'A present for me?'

'Close your eyes, Robert.'

'You're the one who deserves a present,' he said, closing his eyes and wondering what she was going to give him. 'How long must I wait?'

'Only a moment.' She took the posy into the kitchen and returned with the painting. Madeleine held it up in front of him. 'You can look now, Robert.'

'Good heavens! It's the Lord of the Isles.'

'I knew that you'd recognise it.'

'There are two things you can rely on me to recognise, Madeleine. One is a famous locomotive in all its glory.'

'What's the other?'

'Artistic merit,' he said, scrutinising every detail. 'This really is a fine piece of work. Quite the best thing you've ever done.'

'Then you'll accept it?'

'I'll do more than that, Madeleine. I'll have it framed and hung over the desk in my study. Then I'll invite you and your father to come to tea one Sunday and view it in position.'

'That would be wonderful!'

Madeleine had never been to Colbeck's house before and she felt that the invitation marked a step forward in their relationship. He had been careful to include her father but she knew that he was giving her a small but important signal. Her own signal was contained in the painting and he could not have been more appreciative.

'Thank you, thank you,' he said, unable to take his eyes off the gift. 'It's quite inspiring.'

'Father was very critical,' she said.

'He is inclined to be censorious. I find no fault in it at all.'

'It was my choice of locomotive that upset him. Mr Gooch built the Lord of the Isles for the Great Western Railway. Since he works for another railway company, Father thinks that I should have done a painting of one of their locomotives.'

'Mr Crampton's Liverpool, for instance? A splendid steam engine. That was built for the London and North Western Railway.'

'Lord of the Isles has a special place in my heart,' she said. 'As I was painting it, I recalled that magical day we spent together at the Great Exhibition. That's when I first saw it on display.'

'I, too, have the fondest memories of that occasion,' he told her, looking across at her with affection. 'When the painting has been hung, bring your father to take a second look at it.' He gave her a warm smile. 'Perhaps we can persuade him that you did make the right choice.'

It was the clearest signal of all. Madeleine laughed with joy.