The Excursion Train

CHAPTER EIGHT

Robert Colbeck had always been a light sleeper. Hearing the footsteps coming up the oak staircase with some urgency, he opened his eyes and sat up quickly in bed. There was a loud knock on his door.

'Inspector Colbeck?' said a voice. 'This is Constable Butterkiss.'

'One moment.'

'I have a message for you, sir.'

Colbeck got out of bed, slipped on his dressing gown and unbolted the door. He opened it to admit George Butterkiss who had come to the Saracen's Head at such speed that he had not even paused to button up his uniform properly.

'What's the problem, Constable?'

'I'm sorry for the delay,' gabbled Butterkiss, almost out of breath, 'but they didn't realise that you were in Kent. They sent a telegraph message to London and it was passed on to Scotland Yard. When they found out you were in Ashford, they asked us to get in touch with you straight away.'

'Calm down,' said Colbeck, putting a hand on his shoulder. 'Just tell me what this is all about.'

'There's been another murder, sir.'

'Where?'

'In a train on its way to Maidstone.'

'Do you know who the victim was?'

'The prison chaplain – Narcissus Jones.'

Colbeck felt a pang of regret. 'Where's the body?'

'Where it was found, sir,' said Butterkiss, deferentially. 'They thought you'd want to see it before it was moved.'

'Someone deserves congratulations for that. I hope that the same person had the sense to preserve the scene of the crime so that no clues have been lost. Sergeant Leeming needs to hear all this,' he went on, stepping into the passage to bang on the adjoining door. 'Wake up. Victor! We have to leave at once.'

Leeming took time to come out of his slumber and to adjust to the fact that someone was pounding on the door. He eventually appeared, bleary-eyed and wearing a flannel nightshirt. Colbeck invited him into his own room then asked Butterkiss to give a succinct account of what he knew. It was a tall order for the former tailor. Overwhelmed at being in the presence of two Scotland Yard detectives, albeit it in night attire, he started to jabber wildly, embroidering the few facts he knew into a long, confused, meandering narrative.

'That's enough,' said Colbeck, cutting him off before he had finished. 'We'll find out the rest when we get there.'

Butterkiss was eager. 'Will you be needing my assistance, sir?'

'You've already given that.'

'There must be something that I can do, Inspector.'

'There is,' said Colbeck, glad to get rid of him. 'Arrange some transport to get us to the station as fast as possible.'

'Very good, sir.'

'Only not that cart that stinks of fish,' warned Leeming.

'I'll find something,' said Butterkiss and he rushed out.

'Get dressed, Victor. We must be on our way.'

The Sergeant was hungry. 'What about breakfast?'

'We'll think about that when we reach Maidstone. Now hurry up, will you? They're all waiting for us.'

'What's the rush, Inspector? The chaplain isn't going anywhere.' Leeming put an apologetic hand to his mouth. 'Oh dear! I shouldn't have said that, should I?'

The baker's shop in North Street was among the earliest to open and Winifred Hawkshaw was its first customer that morning. Clutching a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, she was about to cross the high street when she saw two familiar figures coming towards her on a little cart. Gregory Newman gave her a cheery wave and brought the horse to a halt. Seated beside him and swathed in a rug, in spite of the warm weather, was his wife, Meg, a thin, wasted creature in her forties with a vacant stare and an open mouth.

'Good morning,' said Winifred. 'How is Meg today?'

'Oh, she's very well,' replied Newman, slipping a fond arm around his wife, 'aren't you, Meg?' She looked blankly at him. 'It's Win. You remember Win Hawkshaw, don't you?' His wife nodded and gave Win a crooked smile of acknowledgement. 'She's not at her best this time of the morning,' explained her husband, 'but the doctor said that she must get plenty of fresh air so I take her for a ride whenever I can.' He looked up as a few dark clouds began to form. 'We went before work today because it may rain later.'

'You're wonderful with her, Gregory.'

'You were there when I made my marriage vows before the altar. In sickness and in health means exactly what it says, Win. It's not Meg's fault that she's plagued by illness.'

'No, of course not.'

'But how are you? I've been meaning to call in.'

'I'm fine,' said Winifred. 'Well, as fine as I'll ever be, I suppose.'

'What about Emily?'

'She's still the same, I'm afraid. Emily seems to be lost in a bad dream most of the time. I just can't reach her, Gregory.'

'Things will improve soon.'

'Will they?' she asked with a hint of despair. 'There's been no sign of it so far. Emily can go a whole day without even speaking.'

Newman glanced at his wife to show that he had experienced the same problem many times. Win marvelled at the patience he always showed. She had never known him complain about the fact that he had to care for a woman whose mind was crumbling as fast as her body. His example gave Win the courage to face her own domestic difficulties.

'Did an Inspector Colbeck come to see you, Gregory?'

'Yes,' he said with a grin. 'We had a nice, long chat that kept me out of that madhouse of a boiler room for a while. I took him for a shrewd man though he was far too smartly dressed for a town like Ashford.'

'I talked to him as well. Adam refused.'

'That was silly of him.'

'He hates policemen.'

'I don't admire them either,' confessed Newman, 'but I'm ready to accept their help when it's offered. We know that Nathan didn't commit that murder but we still haven't managed to find out who did. I reckon that this Inspector Colbeck might do the job for us. I'll speak to Adam and tell him to talk to the Inspector.'

'I can't promise it will do any good.'

'How is he?'

'Still hurting like the rest of us,' said Winifred, 'but he wants to hurt someone back. It doesn't matter who it is to him. Adam just wants to strike out.'

'Are you still having trouble at the shop?'

'Our custom is slowly drying up. Mr Hockaday won't supply us with meat any more and Bybrook Farm turned us down as well.'

'Bybrook!' he said, angrily. 'That's unforgivable.'

'No, Gregory. It's only natural.'

'Nathan was not guilty of that murder.'

'He was hanged for it – that's enough for them.'

'Let me go to Bybrook Farm and have a word.'

'There's no point.'

'There's every point, Win. You've been buying their meat and poultry for years. It's high time someone told them about loyalty.'

'It's good of you to offer,' she said, reaching up to squeeze his arm, 'but you can't fight all our battles for us. You've done more than enough as it is and we can never repay you.'

'I don't look for repayment. I simply want to see some justice in this world. Think of all the money that Nathan paid to Bybrook Farm over the years – and to Silas Hockaday. They ought to be ashamed.'

'You'd better go. I don't want to make you late for work.'

'We must talk more another time.'

'I'd like that, Gregory.'

'And so would I.' He turned to his wife. 'Wouldn't I, Meg?' She continued to stare unseeingly in front of her. 'One of her bad days, I'm afraid. Meg will be better next time we meet.'

'I'm sure.' She raised her voice. 'Goodbye, Meg.'

'Goodbye, Win,' he said, clicking his tongue make the horse move off again. 'And I won't forget to speak to Adam. He listens to me.'

'Sometimes.'

'He's the man of the house now. He's got responsibilities.'

'Yes,' she murmured, 'that's the trouble.'

After watching the cart rattle on up the high street, she went back to Middle Row in time to find her stepson trying to chalk up some information on the board outside the shop. He wrote in large, laborious capitals.

'Good morning, Adam,' she said. 'You're up early.'

He smirked. 'I didn't sleep at all last night.'

'When was the body actually discovered?' asked Inspector Colbeck.

'First thing this morning,' replied Lugg.

'Why was there such a delay?'

'It was the last train from Paddock Wood and it stayed here all night. When it was due to leave this morning, someone tried to get into this carriage and found the chaplain.'

'Didn't anyone check that the carriages were empty last night?'

'The guard swears that he walked the length of the train and looked through all the windows but, of course, he couldn't see anyone lying on the floor now, could he?'

Colbeck was pleased to encounter Sergeant Obadiah Lugg again but he wished that it could have been in more propitious circumstances. After taking a train from Ashford, the two detectives had changed at Paddock Wood so that they could travel on the Maidstone line. News of the crime had spread quickly through the town and a crowd had gathered at the station to watch developments. Colbeck was relieved to see that Lugg had deployed his men to keep the inquisitive and the purely ghoulish at bay while the Inspector went about his work.

The scene that confronted him was very similar to the one he had found at Twyford, except that the wider gauge of the Great Western Railway had allowed for a carriage with more generous proportions. The prison chaplain was lying on his back, his mouth agape, his eyes wide open as if straining to leave their sockets. Rigor mortis had set in, turning the face into a marble carving of pain. Above his clerical collar was a dark red circle of dried blood. When he knelt to examine the wound, Colbeck saw that something very sharp and unyielding had cut deep into the neck of Reverend Narcissus Jones.

There were signs of a struggle – the victim's clothing was in disarray, his hair was unkempt, the padding on one seat had been badly torn – but it was one that the chaplain had clearly lost. Underneath his head was his Bible, acting as a spiritual pillow. On the floor near his hand was a small button that did not belong to the victim. Colbeck picked it up and saw the strands of cotton hanging from it.

'He managed to tear this from his attacker by getting a hand behind him,' said Colbeck. He indicated the gash in the padding. 'That could well have been caused by the heel of his shoe when he was threshing about.'

'The chaplain wouldn't give up without a fight, Inspector.'

'Unfortunately, he was caught off guard.'

'How?' said Lugg. 'If there are only two of you in a carriage, it's hard for one man to surprise the other.'

'Not if a third person distracts the victim.'

'A third person?'

'A woman, for instance,' explained Colbeck. 'When I spoke to the stationmaster at Paddock Wood, he remembers a woman on the platform though he didn't see her board the train.'

'Very few women travel alone at that time of the evening.'

'Exactly. That's why this one interests me.'

'I've talked to our own stationmaster,' said Lugg, keen to show that he had not been idle, 'and he recalls that the train was two-thirds empty when it reached Maidstone. Albert knew most of them by name because he's been here for years. No stranger got off that train, he swears to that. Only regular travellers on the line.'

'The killer and his accomplice – if there was one, that is – would never have stayed on the train until it reached here. My guess is that the murder took place shortly after they left Paddock Wood because the killer could not take the risk that someone might get into the same carriage when they stopped at Yalding.'

'In that case,' concluded Lugg, 'he must have strangled the chaplain to death then made his escape at the station.'

'No, Sergeant.'

'Why not?'

'Because someone might have seen him getting off the train,' said Colbeck. 'And if, as I believe, there was a woman with him, they would surely have been noticed by the railway staff.'

Lugg was baffled. 'Then where and how did they get off, sir?'

'I can't give you a precise location but it's somewhere the other side of Yalding. The train slows down well short of the station and there's a grassy bank that runs along the side of the line.'

'You think that the killer jumped off?'

'That's what I'd have done in his place, wouldn't you?'

'Well, yes,' said Lugg, wrinkling his brow in concentration. 'I suppose that I would, sir. Except that I'm a bit old for anything as daring as leaping out of a moving train.'

'Approaching the station, it only goes at a snail's pace but it would still take some agility to get off. That tells us something about the killer.'

'What about this woman you mentioned?'

'She, too, must be quite athletic.'

'Younger people, then?'

'We'll see, Sergeant, we'll see.'

'Two people, leaping from the train,' said Lugg, rubbing his chin as he meditated. 'Surely, some of the other passengers would have spotted them doing that.'

'Only if they happened to be looking out of the window at the time. This, as you can see, is near the end of the train. There are only two carriages and a guard's van behind it. Naturally,' he went on, 'we'll speak to all the passengers who were on that train last night but, since there were so few of them, I doubt that we'll find a witness.'

'No, Inspector. If someone had seen people hopping off the train, they'd have reported it by now. The killer obviously chose the point to jump off very carefully.'

'Someone who knows this line well.'

Colbeck continued with his meticulous examination of the body and the carriage while Lugg looked on with fascination. After searching the dead man's pockets, Colbeck lifted the head so that he could slip the Bible out from under it. He opened it at the page with the marker in it and read the text.

'Amazing how his head came to rest on that, isn't it?' said Lugg with his characteristic chuckle. 'Almost as if God's hand was at work.'

'It was the killer's hand, Sergeant,' announced Colbeck. 'He put the Bible there deliberately so that he could leave us this message.'

'Message?'

'St Paul's Epistle to the Romans – chapter 12. He's Crossed out verse 19 in order to make his point.'

'And what's that?'

'Something that every Christian knows – Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' He closed the Bible and put it aside. 'It seems as if someone is determined to do the Lord's work for Him.'

Victor Leeming had been efficient. having taken statements from the guard and the stationmaster, he had located a handful of passengers who had travelled on the train the previous evening and spoken to them as well. When he saw Colbeck coming down the platform towards him with Sergeant Lugg, he went swiftly forward to meet the Inspector.

'One of the managers of the South Eastern Railway is here, sir,' He said. 'He wants to know when the service can be resumed – so do all the people you see queuing outside the ticket office.'

'As soon as the body is removed,' said Colbeck, 'the train is all theirs, but I'd recommend that they detach that particular carriage. nobody will want to travel in it now, anyway. Can you pass that on, Sergeant Lugg?'

'Yes, Inspector,' replied Lugg, 'and I've got men standing by with a stretcher – and with a blanket. The chaplain deserves to be covered when we carry him past that mob. I'm not having them goggling at Mr Jones. It's indecent.'

'Well, Victor,' said Colbeck as the policeman waddled off, 'have you discovered anything of value?'

'Not really, sir.'

'I thought not.'

'It was getting dark by the time that the train reached Maidstone last night so the guard couldn't see much when he glanced in through the windows. To be honest,' he added, 'I doubt if he even looked. He was too anxious to get home to his supper.'

'What about the stationmaster? Albert someone, I gather.'

'Albert Scranton, crusty old soul. He recognised all the people who got off that train and said that everything looked perfectly normal. He wonders if the murder could have happened during the night.'

'While the train was out of commission?'

'Yes, Inspector – after he'd closed the station.'

'And how did the chaplain come to be in the railway carriage of a train that wasn't going anywhere?'

'That's what I asked him,' said Leeming. 'Mr Scranton reckoned that he could have been tricked into meeting someone here.'

'Impossible,' said Colbeck, dismissing the notion at once. 'There was a ticket in the dead man's pocket showing that he was travelling from Paddock Wood to Maidstone. Since he didn't get off here, he must have been killed during the journey.'

'So where did the murderer get off?'

'Somewhere on the other side of Yalding station.'

Leeming blinked. 'While the train was still moving?'

'Yes, Victor. It's only three miles or so between Paddock Wood and Yalding. The chaplain must have been dispatched shortly after the train left so that the pair of them had time to make their escape.'

'The pair of them?'

'I'm fairly certain that he had an accomplice.'

'You mean that woman?'

'Let's be off,' said Colbeck, using a hand to ease him into a walk. 'I'll give you all the details on the way there.'

'Where are we going, sir?'

'To prison, Victor.'

Henry Ferriday was more apprehensive than ever. Unable to sit still, he paced nervously up and down his office in the vain hope that movement would ease the tension that he felt. A rap on the door startled him and he called for the visitor to identify himself before he allowed him in. It was one of the men on duty at the prison gate, bringing news that two detectives from Scotland Yard were waiting to see him. Minutes later, Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming were escorted to the governor's office. When the Sergeant was introduced to Ferriday, he was given a clammy handshake. All three men sat down.

'This is an appalling business,' said Ferriday, still reeling from the shock. 'Quite appalling.'

'You have my deepest sympathy,' said Colbeck, softly. 'I know how much you relied on the chaplain.'

'Narcissus was vital to the running of this prison, Inspector. He exerted such influence over the inmates. I don't know how we'll manage without him. He's irreplaceable.'

'Is it true that he had a death threat some weeks ago?' Ferriday was taken aback. 'How on earth do you know that?'

'That's immaterial. It was in connection with the execution of Nathan Hawkshaw, wasn't it?'

'Yes, it was.'

'Did you happen to see the note?'

'Of course. Narcissus and I had no secrets between us.'

'Can you recall what it said?'

'Very little, Inspector. Something to the effect of "We'll kill you for this, you Welsh bastard" – only the spelling was dreadful. It was clearly written by an ignorant man.'

'Ignorant men can still nurture a passion for revenge.'

'Did you take the threat seriously?' asked Leeming.

'Yes, Sergeant.'

'And what about the chaplain?'

'Narcissus shrugged it off,' said Ferriday, 'and threw the note away. He refused to be frightened by anything. That was his downfall.'

'Did he take no precautions outside the prison?' said Colbeck.

'He didn't need to, Inspector. Well, you've met him. He was a big man, strong enough to look after himself. And having worked with villains for so long, he had a second sense where danger was concerned.'

'Not in this case,' observed Leeming.

'Do we have any idea what actually happened?' said Ferriday, looking from one to the other. 'All I know is that his body was discovered in a railway carriage this morning. How was he murdered?'

Colbeck gave him a brief account of his examination of the murder scene and told him that the body had now been removed from the train. The governor flinched when he heard about the Bible being placed under the head of the dead man and the verse that had been picked out.

'What kind of vile heathen are we dealing with here?' he shouted.

'A very clever one,' admitted Colbeck. 'This is the second murder that he's committed on a train and he's escaped on both occasions.'

'He must be caught, Inspector!'

'He will be.'

'This is one execution in which I'll take some pleasure,' said the governor, bunching his fists. 'He deserves to hang until every last breath is squeezed out of his miserable body.' He collected himself. 'Narcissus Jones was a great man. The whole prison will mourn him. It's not given to many chaplains to possess such extraordinary gifts.'

'He was a striking individual,' agreed Colbeck.

The governor looked over his shoulder. 'This prison is a sewer,' he said, contemptuously. 'We have the scum of the earth in here.'

'There's no need to tell us that,' said Leeming with a dry laugh. 'Our job is to catch the devils and send them on to places like this.'

'Most of them sneer at authority and go straight back to a life of crime as soon as we let them out. At least,' Ferriday went on, 'that's what used to happen until Narcissus Jones was appointed here. He gave the men a sense of hope and self-respect. He improved them as human beings. That's what made him so popular among the men.'

Colbeck had doubts on that score. 'I take it that the chaplain had a room at the prison?' he said.

'Yes, Inspector. He more or less lived within these walls.'

'But he did venture out?'

'From time to time.'

'What we need to establish is how the killer knew that he would be travelling on that train from Paddock Wood.'

'I can tell you that,' said Ferriday. 'The chaplain was much in demand as a speaker at churches and Christian gatherings. Most of the invitations he received had, of necessity, to be turned down because of his commitments here but he did like to give a talk or take a service somewhere once or twice a month.'

'Events that would have been advertised in a parish magazine.'

'And in the local newspapers, Inspector Colbeck. Our chaplain was a man of some renown. If you go to the church in Paddock Wood where he spoke yesterday, I daresay you'll find that they had a board outside for weeks in advance with details of his talk. It was St Peter's, by the way,' he added. 'They'll be horrified to hear the news.'

'So will everyone else,' said Leeming. 'Killing a man of the cloth is about as low as you can sink. I mean, it's sacrosanct.'

'Sacrilege,' corrected Colbeck, gently.

'I call it diabolical,' said Ferriday.

While they were talking a distant noise had begun inside the prison, slowly building until it became audible enough for them to become aware of it. All three of them looked at the window. The sound got progressively louder, spreading swiftly from wing to wing of the establishment with gathering force. Raised voices could be heard but the dominating note had a metallic quality to it as if a large number of inmates were using implements to beat on the bars of their cells in celebration. In its menacing rhythm, a concerted message was being sent to the governor by the only means at the prisoners' disposal. As the noise rose to a climax, Leeming looked across at the governor.

'What's that?' he asked.

'I'll have it stopped immediately,' declared Ferriday, getting up angrily from his seat and going to the door. 'That's intolerable.'

'Someone has heard the news of his death already,' noted Colbeck as the governor flung open the door to leave. 'Perhaps the chaplain was not as universally popular as you believed.'

The loss of Emily Hawkshaw's appetite was almost as worrying to her mother as the long silence into which the girl had lapsed. She refused more meals than she ate and, of those that were actually consumed, the major portion was always left on the plate. Emily was in no mood to eat anything at all that morning.

'Come on, dear,' coaxed Winifred. 'Try some of this bread.'

'No, thank you.'

'It's lovely and fresh. Eat it with a piece of cheese.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Some jam, then.'

'No.'

'You must eat something, Emily.'

'Leave me be, Mother.'

'Please – for my sake.' The girl shook her head. 'If you go on like this, you'll make yourself ill. I can't remember the last time you had a decent meal. In the past, you always had such a good appetite.'

They were in the room at the rear of the shop, facing each other across the kitchen table. Emily looked paler than ever, her shoulders hunched, her whole body drawn in. She had never been the most lively and outgoing girl but she had seemed very contented in the past. Now she was like a stranger. Winifred no longer knew her daughter. As a last resort, she tried to interest her in local news.

'Mr Lewis, the draper, is going to buy the shop next door to his premises,' she told her. 'He wants to expand his business. Mr Lewis is very ambitious. I don't think it will be long before he's looking for another place to take over as well.' She gave a sigh. 'It's nice to know that someone in Ashford is doing well because we're not. Things seem to get worse each day. Adam says that hardly anybody came into the shop this morning.' Her voice brightened. 'Oh, I saw Gregory earlier on, did I tell you? He was taking his wife for a drive before he went off to the railway works. I know that we have our sorrows,' she continued, 'but we should spare a thought for Gregory. His wife has been like that for years and she'll never get any better. Meg can't walk and she can't speak. She has to be fed and seen to in every way by someone else. Think what a burden that must place on Gregory yet somehow he always stays cheerful.' She bent over the table. 'Can you hear what I'm saying?' she asked. 'We have to go on, Emily. No matter how much we may grieve, we have to go on. I know that you loved your father and miss him dreadfully but so do we all.' Emily's lower lip began to tremble. 'What do you think he'd say if he were here now? He wouldn't want to see you like this, would he? You have to make an effort.'

'I'll go to my room,' said Emily, trying to get up.

'No,' said Winifred, extending a hand to take her by the arm. 'Stay here and talk to me. Tell me what you feel. I'm your mother – I want to help you through this but I need some help in return. Don't you understand that?'

Emily nodded sadly. Winifred detached her arm. There was a long, bruised silence then it seemed as if the girl was finally about to say something but she changed her mind at the last moment. After a glance at the food on the table, she turned towards the door. Temper fraying slightly, Winifred adopted a sterner tone.

'If you won't eat your meals,' she warned, 'then there's only one thing I can do. I'll have to call the doctor.'

'No!' cried Emily, suddenly afraid. 'No, no, don't do that!'

And she fled the room in a flood of tears.

It was early evening before the two detectives finally got back to Ashford, having made extensive inquiries in both Maidstone and Paddock Wood. Both of their notebooks were filled with details relating to the latest crime. On reaching the station, they were greeted by the three defining elements of the town – the grandeur of its church, the smell of its river and the cacophony of its railway works. A steady drizzle was falling and they had no umbrella. Colbeck was still grappling with the problems thrown up by the new investigation but Victor Leeming's mind was occupied by a more immediate concern. It was the prospect of dinner at the Saracen's Head that exercised his brain and stimulated his senses. The only refreshment they had been offered all day was at the prison and the environment was hardly conducive to any enjoyment of food. When they turned into the high street, he began to lick his lips.

As they approached the inn, they saw that George Butterkiss was standing outside, his uniform now buttoned up properly and his face aglow with the desire to impress. He stood to attention and touched his helmet with a forefinger. Thoroughly damp, he looked as if he had been there some time.

'Did you find any clues, Inspector?' he asked, agog for news.

'Enough for us to act upon,' replied Colbeck.

'You will call upon us in due course, won't you?'

'If necessary, Constable.'

'How was the chaplain killed?'

'Quickly.'

'We can't discuss the details,' said Leeming, irritated by someone who stood between him and his dinner. 'Inspector Colbeck was very careful what information he released to the press.'

'Yes, yes,' said Butterkiss. 'I understand.'

'We know where to find you, Constable,' said Colbeck, walking past him. 'Thank you for your help this morning.'

'We appreciated it,' added Leeming.

'Thank you!' said Butterkiss, beaming like a waiter who has received a huge tip. 'Thank you very much.'

'By the way,' advised Leeming, unable to resist a joke at his expense. 'That uniform is too big for you, Constable. You should see a good tailor.'

He followed Colbeck into the Saracen's Head and made for the stairs. Before they could climb them, however, they were intercepted. Mary, the plump servant, hurried out of the bar. She subjected Leeming's face to close scrutiny.

'Those bruises are still there, Sergeant.'

'Thank you for telling me,' he said.

'Is there nothing you can put on them?'

'We were caught in the rain,' explained Colbeck, 'and we need to get out of these wet clothes. You'll have to excuse us.'

'But I haven't told you my message yet, Inspector.'

'Oh?'

'The gentleman said that I was to catch you as soon as you came back from wherever it is you've been. He was very insistent.'

'What gentleman, Mary?'

'The one who's taken a room for the night.'

'Did he give you a name?'

'Oh, yes,' she said, helpfully.

Leeming was impatient. 'Well,' he said, as his stomach began to rumble, 'what was it, girl?'

'Superintendent Tallis.'

'What!'

'He's going to dine with you here this evening.'

Suddenly, Victor Leeming no longer looked forward to the meal with quite the same relish.

Gregory Newman finished his shift at the railway works and washed his hands in the sink before leaving. Many of the boilermen went straight to the nearest pub to slake their thirst but Newman went home to see to his wife. During working hours, Meg Newman was looked after by a kindly old neighbour, who popped in at intervals to check on her. Since the invalid spent most of her time asleep, she could be left for long periods. When he got back to the house, Newman found that the neighbour, a white-haired woman in her sixties, was just about to leave.

'How is she, Mrs Sheen?' he asked.

'She's been asleep since lunch,' replied the other, 'so I didn't disturb her.'

'Did she eat much?'

'The usual, Mr Newman. And she used the commode.'

'That's good. Thank you, Mrs Sheen.'

'I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

'I'll take Meg for another ride before I go to work.'

He went into the house and opened the door of the front room where his wife lay in bed. She stirred. Newman gave her a token kiss on the forehead to let her know that he was back then he went off to change out of his working clothes. When he returned, his wife woke up long enough to eat some bread and drink some tea but she soon dozed off again. Newman left her alone. As he ate his own meal in the kitchen, he remembered his promise to Winifred Hawkshaw. After washing the plates and cutlery, he looked in on his wife again, saw that she was deeply asleep and slipped out of the house. The drizzle had stopped.

He knew exactly where he would find Adam Hawkshaw at that time of the evening. A brisk walk soon got him to the high street and he turned into the Fountain Inn, one of the most popular hostelries in the town. The place was quite full but nobody was talking to Hawkshaw, seated alone at a table and staring into his tankard with a quiet smile on his face. Walking jauntily into the bar, Newman clapped Hawkshaw on the shoulder by way of greeting. He then bought some beer for both of them and took the two glasses across to the table.

'I was hoping to catch you, Adam,' he said, sitting down.

'Just in time. I'll have to leave soon.'

'Where are you going?'

'That would be telling.'

Adam Hawkshaw grinned wolfishly then finished the dregs of his own drink before picking up the other tankard. He seemed in good spirits. Raising the tankard to Newman in gratitude, he took a long sip.

'How's business?' asked Newman.

'Bad,' said the other, 'though it did pick up this afternoon. Best day we've had all week. What about you, Gregory?'

'Boiler-making is a good trade. I was never apprenticed to it but those years in the forge stood me in good stead. The foreman is amazed how quickly I've picked things up.'

'Do you miss the forge?'

'I miss chatting to the customers,' said Newman, 'and I loved working with horses but the forge had to go. It was unfair on Meg to make so much noise underneath her bedroom. The new house is much quieter and she can sleep downstairs.'

'How is she?'

'As well as can be expected.' Newman leant over the table. 'But I haven't told you the news yet,' he said with a glint. 'One advantage of working by the railway station is that word travels fast. Our foreman heard it from the guard on a train to Margate. He's dead, Adam.'

'Who is?'

'The prison chaplain.'

'Never!'

'Murdered on a train last night,' said Newman, 'and I'm not going to pretend I wasn't pleased to hear it. Narcissus Jones made your father suffer in that prison.'

'Yes.'

'And someone called him to account.'

Adam Hawkshaw seemed unsure how to react to the tidings. His face was impassive but his eyes were gleaming. He took a long drink of beer from his tankard then wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

'That's great news, Gregory,' he said. 'Thank you.'

'I thought you'd be delighted.'

'Well, I don't feel sorry for that Welsh bastard, I know that.'

'Win ought to be told. It might cheer her up.' Newman sat back. 'I spoke to her early this morning. She said that you wouldn't talk to Inspector Colbeck.'

'Nor to any other policeman,' said Hawkshaw, sourly.

'But he might help us.' The other snorted. 'He might, Adam. We've all tried to find the man who did kill Joe Dykes but we've got nowhere so far. And we have jobs to do, people to support. This detective has the time to conduct a proper search.'

'Keep him away from me.'

'If we can convince him that your father was innocent, we'll get him on our side – don't you see?'

'He thinks we killed that hangman.'

'That doesn't mean we don't use him, Adam.'

'Forget it.'

'Win agrees,' said Newman. 'If we cooperate with this Inspector, he may do us all a favour and help to clear your father's name. You want the man who really killed Joe Dykes to be caught, don't you?'

Hawkshaw gave him a strange look then took another long sip from his tankard. Wiping his mouth again, he got to his feet.

'Thanks for the beer, Gregory.'

'Where are you going?'

'I've got to see somebody.'

Without even a farewell, Adam Hawkshaw walked out of the bar.

Robert Colbeck was sporting a red silk waistcoat when he joined his superior for dinner and Edward Tallis glared at it with unconcealed distaste. Victor Leeming's apparel was far more conservative but he was criticised by the Superintendent for being too untidy. It did not make for a pleasant meal. Tallis waited until they had ordered from the menu before he pitched into the two detectives.

'What the deuce is going on?' he demanded. 'I send you off to solve one railway murder and a second one is committed.'

'We can hardly be blamed for that, sir,' said Colbeck.

'But it happened right under your noses.'

'Paddock Wood is some distance from here and the chaplain was killed somewhere beyond it. We have a rough idea of the location.'

'How?'

'Because we walked beside the line,' said Leeming, able to get a word in at last. 'The Inspector's theory was right.'

'It wasn't a theory, Victor,' said Colbeck, quickly, 'because we know that the Superintendent frowns upon such things. It was more of an educated supposition.'

'Don't try to bamboozle me,' warned Tallis.

'It would never cross my mind, sir.'

Leeming took over. 'Inspector Colbeck believed that the killer committed his crime soon after the train left Paddock Wood, then jumped off it before it reached the first station at Yalding.'

'A preposterous notion!' said Tallis.

'We proved it.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'A shallow embankment runs alongside the line outside Yalding. We found a place where there were distinct footprints, as if someone had landed heavily and skidded down the grass. My supposition was correct.'

'I dispute that,' said Tallis. 'Those marks could have been caused by someone else – children, playing near the line, for instance.'

'A child would not leave a murder weapon behind, sir.'

'What?'

'We found it in some bushes close to the footprints.'

'A piece of wire,' said Leeming, 'covered in blood.'

'Then why didn't you bring it back with you?' asked Tallis. 'That's the kind of evidence we desperately need.'

'It's upstairs in my room, Superintendent,' Colbeck reassured him. 'The stationmaster at Yalding was kind enough to give me a bag in which to carry it. So at least we know where and precisely how the prison chaplain met his death.'

'What we really need is a suspect.'

'Two of them, sir.'

Tallis was sceptical. 'Not this phantom woman again, surely?'

'She was no phantom, sir,' said Leeming. 'There were two clear sets of footprints beside the railway line. The Inspector guessed it the moment we heard the news. The woman was there to distract the victim.'

'Both of them will hang when they're caught.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, 'for the two murders.'

'You're certain we're dealing with the same killer here?'

'Without a shadow of doubt, sir.'

'Convince me,' said Tallis, thrusting out his chin.

Colbeck had rehearsed his report in advance. It was clear and concise, containing a description of what the Inspector had found at the scene of the crime and the supporting evidence that had been gathered. Leeming felt impelled to add his own coda.

'We even called at St Peter's Church in Paddock Wood,' he said. 'They still had the board that advertised the talk by the Reverend Jones. A large congregation turned up with lots of strangers among them.'

'Including, I should imagine, the killer,' said Tallis.

'He and this woman must have followed the chaplain to the station and seized their opportunity.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'They realised that there wouldn't be many people on that train so there was a good chance that their victim would get into an empty carriage. The rest we know.'

'It means that I now have two railway companies demanding action from me,' complained Tallis. 'If anything, the management of the South Eastern Railway is even more strident. They say that disasters come in threes. Which is the next railway company to harry me?'

The waiter arrived with the first course and the discussion was suspended for a little while. Colbeck nibbled his bread roll and Leeming overcame his discomfort in the presence of the Superintendent to tuck into his soup. Only when Tallis had tasted his own first mouthful of soup was he ready to resume.

'This all began with an illegal prizefight,' he noted.

'With respect, sir,' said Colbeck, 'it goes back before that. It really started with the murder of Joseph Dykes.'

'That case is closed.'

'Not to the people who believe Hawkshaw was wrongly hanged.'

'Courts of law do not make errors on that scale.'

'It's conceivable that they did so in this instance,' said Colbeck. 'But, in one sense, it doesn't really matter. It's a question of perception, sir. The people who supported Nathan Hawkshaw saw what they honestly believed was an innocent man going to the gallows. They went to exhaustive lengths on his behalf.'

'So?'

'One of those people is the man we're after, Superintendent, and there are dozens to choose from. What happened at Twyford, and on that train last night to Maidstone, is rooted here in Ashford. The killer is probably less than a couple of hundred yards from where we sit.'

'Then find him, Inspector.'

'We will. Meanwhile, precautions have to be taken.'

'Of what kind?'

'We have to ensure that Jacob Guttridge and Narcissus Jones are not joined by a third victim,' said Colbeck. 'We're dealing with a ruthless man here. He may not be content with killing the hangman and the prison chaplain. Other people may be in danger as well.'

'What other people?'

'For a start,' said Leeming, chewing a bread roll, 'the policeman who came here to arrest Hawkshaw. His name is Sergeant Lugg.'

'Empty your mouth before you speak,' snapped Tallis.

'Sorry, sir.'

'Sergeant Lugg has been warned,' said Colbeck, 'but the person we need to contact is the barrister who led the prosecution team. He tore the case for the defence apart and made the guilty verdict inevitable.'

'What's his name?'

'Patrick Perivale, sir. I'm wondering if he received one of those death threats as well.'

'Where are his chambers?'

'In Canterbury. I'm sending Victor over there tomorrow.'

Leeming was uneasy. 'Not by train, I hope.'

'By any means you choose. Mr Perivale must be alerted.'

'Very sensible,' said Tallis. 'We don't want another murder on our hands. You, I presume, will be remaining here, Inspector?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Colbeck, 'but I require your assistance. The petition for the release of Nathan Hawkshaw was sent to the Home Secretary, who refused to grant a reprieve. I'd be grateful if you could get a copy of the names on that petition from the Home Office.'

'Can't you ask for the names from that fellow who organised the campaign? What did you call him – Gregory Newland?'

'Newman, and the answer is no. He knows why we're in the town and he's not going to betray one of his friends by volunteering his name. We'll have to dig it out for ourselves. The only place we can get the full list is from the Home Office.'

'Use your influence, Superintendent,' said Leeming.

'We'd be eternally grateful, sir.'

Tallis was unconvinced. 'Will that really help to solve the murder of the prison chaplain?'

'And that of Jacob Guttridge,' said Colbeck, firmly. 'Somewhere in that list of names is the man that we want and – in all probability – his female accomplice.'

Winifred Hawkshaw was pleased to see her visitor. After a fruitless attempt to get her daughter to eat anything more than a slice of apple, she gave up and slumped in a chair. Emily retired to her room once more. Winifred could do nothing but brood on a malign fate. A once happy home was now a place of unrelieved misery. The arrival of Gregory Newman lifted her out of her gloom.

'Hello,' she said, accepting a kiss on the cheek. 'Come in.'

'I won't stay long,' he told her, removing his hat and going into the parlour ahead of her. 'I have to get back to Meg soon.'

'Of course. Sit down for a moment, anyway.'

'I will.'

'Can I get you some tea?'

'No, thank you.' Newman took a seat and Winifred sat opposite him. They exchanged a warm smile. 'I had a few words with Adam earlier on. He was in a peculiar mood.'

'He's been strange all day, Gregory. But at least he was civil to us and we must be thankful for that. Since the execution, Adam's been like a bear with a sore head.'

'I had some glad tidings for him.'

'Oh?'

'The prison chaplain was murdered on a train last night.'

'Mr Jones?' She gave a cry of delight but was instantly penitent. 'God forgive me for rejoicing in the death of another!'

'You're entitled to rejoice, Win.'

'No, it's wrong. He was a man of the cloth.'

'Are you forgetting what Nathan said about him?'

'It makes no difference. This is awful news. How did he die?'

'I don't know the details,' said Newman, disappointed by her response. 'Our foreman passed it on to me. All that he picked up was that the chaplain was found dead in a railway carriage at Maidstone.'

'Did you tell this to Adam?'

'Yes, and I thought that he'd be glad as well.'

'Wasn't he?'

'It was difficult to say, Win. There was hardly any reaction at all and that was surprising when you think of the way that he damned the chaplain at the execution. It's odd,' Newman went on, scratching his beard, 'but it was almost as if Adam already knew.'

'How could he?'

'I don't know and he didn't stay long enough for me to find out. He rushed off. Adam said that he had somewhere to go and, judging by the way he left, it must have been somewhere important.'

'He told me that he didn't sleep at all last night.'

Newman was puzzled. 'Then what is the lad up to?' He dismissed the subject and turned his attention to her. 'Let's put him aside for the moment, shall we? The person I'm really worried about is you, Win.'

'Why?'

'You looked so drawn and harassed when I saw you this morning. So desperately tired. To be honest, I thought you were sickening for something.'

'Don't fret about me, Gregory.'

'But I do.'

'I'm worn down, that's all,' she explained. 'This whole business has dragged on for so long. Nathan's arrest was such a shock to me and the trial was unbearable. As for the execution…'

'You shouldn't have been there. I did try to stop you.'

'He was my husband. I had to be there.'

'It was too much to ask of any wife, Win. It was foolish to put yourself through all that suffering outside Maidstone prison.'

'Nathan wanted me, Gregory. I gave him my word.'

She looked down at her hands as unpleasant memories surged back to make her temples pound. He could see her struggling to compose herself. Newman gave her time to recover. When she eventually glanced up, she manufactured a smile.

'I'm sorry. I try not to think about it or the pain floods back.'

'I know.'

'At least Emily was spared the sight. It would have been cruel to make her go with us. She adored Nathan – he could talk to her somehow. Emily always turned to him for help, not me.'

'He was a good father to her.'

'She trusted him.'

He looked upwards. 'She spends all her time in her room?'

'Yes, it's so worrying. She won't eat and she won't speak to me.'

'Would you like me to talk to her?'

'You?'

'Yes,' said Newman, persuasively. 'Emily and I always got on very well. She adored horses so she'd spend hours watching me at work in the forge. She talked all the time then. If a horse was well behaved, I'd let her hold the bridle sometimes. Emily liked that.'

'Nathan always talked about buying her a pony of her own.'

'Let me see if I can draw her out.'

Win was hesitant. 'I'm not sure that it would do any good.'

'It will certainly do no harm. Bring her down.'

'Well…'

'And leave us alone for five minutes,' he suggested.

Winifred considered the request for some time before she agreed to it. At length she went upstairs and Newman could hear a muted discussion with her daughter. Emily's voice then rose in protest but it was instantly silenced by her mother's rebuke. After another minute, tentative footsteps came down the stairs and the girl entered the room.

Newman stood up and gave her a welcoming smile.

'Hello, Emily,' he said.

'Hello.'

'I haven't seen you for a while. Come and sit down so that I can have a proper look at you.' She glanced nervously around the room then perched on the edge of an upright chair near the door. 'That's better,' he said, resuming his own seat. 'I was just talking to your mother about the way that you used to hold the horses for me at the forge.'

'Yes.'

'You enjoyed that, didn't you?' Emily nodded. 'I don't work as a blacksmith any more but I've still got my own horse and cart. If ever you want to come for a ride, you only have to ask. You can take the reins.'

'Thank you.'

'It's important to get out. You mustn't lock yourself away in your room like a hermit. We all miss Nathan terribly,' he went on, lowering his voice to a soothing whisper. 'When I take my wife to church on Sundays, the first prayer I say is for your father. Do you pray for him as well?'

'All the time.'

'But we haven't seen you in church for weeks. You mustn't be afraid of what other people may say,' he told her. 'You've just as much right as anyone to go to St Mary's. There are one or two narrow-minded busybodies who may turn up their noses when they see anyone from this family but you've nothing at all to be embarrassed about, Emily. Your father was innocent.'

'I know,' she said, 'that's what makes it so hard to bear.'

'You loved him dearly, didn't you?' said Newman. 'Nathan was so proud of you. He was always talking about his lovely daughter. That's how he thought of you, Emily – as his own child. And you looked on him as your real father, didn't you?'

'I tried.'

'You were a proper family, all four of you.'

She shifted on her seat. 'Can I go now, Mr Newman?'

'Am I upsetting you in some way?'

'No, no.'

'Because we both want the same thing, Emily, you know that, don't you? I'll strain every bone in my body to prove that your father did not commit that crime. That's why I got that petition together,' he said, 'and you saw how many people signed that.'

'You did so much for us, Mr Newman.'

'Then let me do a little more,' he offered, spreading his arms. 'Let me help you through this period of mourning. Share your grief, Emily. Talk to your mother about it. Come to church with us and show the town that you can bear this loss because you know in your heart that your father was not a killer. Stand up and be seen.'

'I can't, Mr Newman,' she said, shaking her head.

'Why not?'

'Don't ask me that.'

'But we're entitled to know. Your father was the best friend I ever had, Emily,' he said, soulfully, 'and I stood by him until the end. I'll not give up on him now. Nathan may be dead but he still needs us to speak up for him, to show everyone how hard we'll fight to protect his good name. You care, don't you?'

'Yes,' she said, tearfully. 'I care more than anyone.'

'Then why can't you open your heart to us?'

She stood up. 'Let me go,' she bleated, taking out a handkerchief.

'Wait,' he said, getting up to cross over to her. 'Just tell me one thing, Emily. Why are you pushing away the people who love you? Mourn for your father with the rest of us.'

'No, Mr Newman!'

'It's the right and proper way.'

'I'm sorry but I can't do it.'

'Why ever not?'

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Why not?' he pressed.

She looked him in the eyes. 'Because I feel too ashamed.'