The Railway Viaduct

CHAPTER TEN

Victor Leeming was a hopeless patient. It was not in his nature to sit quietly at home while he recovered from the beating he had taken. It was wonderful to spend so much time with his wife, Estelle, and to be able to play with the children, but the enforced idleness soon began to vex him. The visitors did not help. A number of police colleagues had called at the house out of genuine concern for Leeming and it was reassuring to know that he had so many friends. What irked him was that they invariably talked about the cases on which they were working, emphasising the fact that, while they were still doing their duty, he was missing all the excitement of being employed by the Metropolitan Police Force. Leeming burned with envy. He was desperate to go back.

While his facial injuries were starting to fade, however, his ribs remained sore and he could only sleep in certain positions. Returning to work was still out of the question, but that did not mean he had to be shackled all day to the house. He was anxious to know how Inspector Colbeck was getting on in France. He was interested to hear if there had been any developments in the case on this side of the Channel. He was eager to experience the surge of raw pleasure that he always got when he crossed the threshold of Scotland Yard. Victor Leeming wanted to feel like a detective again.

Superintendent Edward Tallis did not give him a warm welcome.

'Is that you, Leeming?' he said with blunt disapproval.

'Yes, sir.'

'You should be in bed, man.'

'I feel much better now,' insisted Leeming.

'Well, you don't look it. Appearance is everything in our profession,' said Tallis, adjusting his frock coat. 'It conveys a sense of confidence and is a mark of self-respect. It's one of the first things that one learns in the army.'

'But we're not in the army, Superintendent.'

'Of course, we are. We're part of an elite battalion that is fighting a war against crime. Uniforms must be kept spotless at all times. Hair must not be unkempt. Slovenliness is a deadly sin.'

'I don't believe that I am slovenly, sir.'

'No, you're far worse than that. Look at you, man – you're patently disabled. The public should be impressed and reassured by the sight of a policeman. If they see you in that state, they are more likely to take pity.'

They had met in the corridor outside the superintendent's office. Leeming had long ago discovered the futility of reminding his superior that his men were no longer in police uniform. In the considered judgement of Edward Tallis, members of the Detective Department wore a form of uniform and those who departed from it – Colbeck was the most notable offender – had to be cowed back into line. Tallis himself looked particularly spruce. It was almost as if he were on parade. In one hand, he carried his top hat. In the other, was a large, shiny, leather bag that was packed to capacity. He ran his eye over the wounded man and spoke without a trace of sympathy.

'Are you still in pain?' he said.

'Now and again, sir.'

'Then why did you drag your aching body here?'

'I wanted to know what was going on.'

'The same thing that goes on every day, Leeming. We are doing our best to police the capital and apprehend any malefactors.'

'I was thinking about Inspector Colbeck,' said Leeming.

'That makes two of us.'

'Have you heard from him, Superintendent?'

'No,' replied Tallis. 'There's a popular misconception that silence is golden. When it comes to police work, more often than not, it betokens inactivity.'

Leeming was roused. 'That's something you could never accuse the inspector of, sir,' he said, defensively. 'Nobody in this department is more active than him.'

'I agree. My complaint is that his activity is not always fruitful.'

'That's unfair.'

'I need evidence. I require signs of life. I want progress.'

'Inspector Colbeck will solve this crime in the end, sir,' said Leeming, putting a hand to his ribs as he felt a twinge of agony. 'He's very thorough. Nothing escapes him.'

'Something did,' observed Tallis. 'He obviously didn't notice that trying to pass you off as a navvy was the same as opening the door of a lion cage and inviting you to go in.'

'It was not like that at all, Superintendent.'

'Then why are you hobbling around like that with a face that would frighten the horses and give small children bad dreams?'

'What happened to me was all my own fault,' asserted Leeming.

'The duty of a senior officer is to safeguard his men.'

'I was given the chance to refuse to do what I did, sir, but I knew how important the task was. That's why I undertook it. I was warned of the dangers beforehand. I accepted the risk.'

'That's in your favour,' conceded Tallis, magnanimously, 'and so is the fact that you have not voiced any grievances since you returned from France.'

'My only grievance is that I'm not able to return to work.'

'That, too, is creditable.'

'I feel that I should be at Inspector Colbeck's side. We work so well together even if I do have to go everywhere by train. Railways upset me. Though, if you want to know the honest truth, sir,' he went on, lugubriously, 'the boat was far worse. I never want to cross the Channel again.'

'It's an experience that I am about to undergo.'

'You, sir?' Leeming was astonished.

'Yes,' said Tallis, clapping his hat on. 'I'm tired of sitting behind my desk and waiting for something to happen. And I'm fed up with being hounded from all sides by people demanding arrests. As I've had no word from Inspector Colbeck since he left, I've decided to go to France to see for myself what – if anything – he is actually doing there.' He marched past Leeming and tossed a tart remark over his shoulder. 'It had better be something worthwhile, that's all I can say!'

'Why did you give up being a barrister?' asked Aubrey Filton.

'I discovered that it was not what I wanted to do.'

'But you seem to have all the attributes, Inspector. You've a quick brain, a fine voice and a commanding presence. I could imagine that you would excel in court.'

'To some degree, I did,' said Colbeck, modestly, 'but there was an artificiality about the whole process that worried me. I felt that I were acting in a play at times and I was not always happy with the lines that were assigned to me.'

'All the same, joining the police was a huge step to take. You were giving up what must have been a very comfortable life for a profession that, by its very nature, is full of danger.'

'Comforts of the body do not bring comforts of the mind.'

'I do not follow,' said Filton.

'Something happened that showed me the limitations of working in a court,' explained Colbeck, calling up a painful memory. 'It involved a young lady who was very close to me and who, alas, died a violent death. I was unable to save her. What that misfortune taught me was that prevention is always better than the cure. Stopping a crime from being committed is infinitely preferable to convicting the culprit once the damage is done. A barrister can win plaudits by sending a killer to the gallows but he's not able to raise a murder victim from the dead.'

'That's true.'

'As a detective,' said Colbeck, 'I've been fortunate enough to prevent murders from taking place. It's given me far more satisfaction than I ever had in court. It's also given me a peace of mind that I never enjoyed before.'

Filton was perplexed. 'Peace of mind from a job that pits you against murderous thugs?' he said. 'That's a paradox, surely.'

'You may well be right, Mr Filton.'

It was the first time that Colbeck had spent any length of time alone with the engineer and he was learning a great deal about the man. Away from the site, Filton managed to lose the harassed look in his eyes and the faint note of hysteria in his voice. He emerged as a polite, well-educated, assiduous man with an unshakable belief in the potential of railways to change the world for the better. The two men had taken a trap and driven to a tavern in the nearest village. Over a meal, they were able to talk at leisure.

'This place is quiet in the middle of the day,' said Filton. 'I'd hate to be here at night when the navvies come pouring in. It must be like Bedlam.'

'They don't seem to have done too much damage,' noted Colbeck, glancing around. 'And I daresay the landlord's profits have shot up since the railway came. He'll be sorry to see you all go when you move on further down the line.'

'If and when that ever happens.'

'It will, Mr Filton. I give you my word.'

'I'd prefer a little of that peace of mind you were talking about.'

'Mr Brassey seems to have his share of that.'

'Yes,' said Filton. 'I admire him for it. Whatever the problems, he never gets unduly alarmed. He's so phlegmatic. I wish that I could be like that. My wife says that I used to be until I started working in France.'

'I didn't know that you were married.'

'I've a wife and three children back in Southampton.'

'That might explain why you lack Mr Brassey's sang-froid,' said Colbeck. 'You miss your family. Mr Brassey brings his with him but yours is still in England.'

'I write to my wife as often as I can.'

'It's not the same, Mr Filton.'

'Are you married, Inspector?'

'Not yet, sir.'

'I can recommend the institution.'

'I'll bear that in mind.'

Colbeck drank some more of his wine. For a fleeting moment, he thought about Madeleine Andrews and recalled that it was she who had obtained crucial information from the woman who had called herself Hannah Critchlow. He was delighted that she had been able to help him in that way. As an engineer, Aubrey Filton could expect no assistance at all from his wife. His work separated them. Colbeck's profession actually brought him closer to Madeleine. It was something he considered to be a blessing.

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

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

'You only had to survive one revolution.'

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

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

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

'One can see why.'

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

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

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

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

'How do you know?'

'Because I planted Brendan Mulryne in their midst.'

'You did the same with Sergeant Leeming.'

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

'Law-abiding?'

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

'What relevance does that have?'

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

'Have we?'

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

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

'Yes, sir.'

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

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

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

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

'Bracing himself for another attack, I daresay.'

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

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

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

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

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

'What was his reply?'

'He'll be there.'

'Good lad.'

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

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

'Where've you been?'

'I needed a drink or two first.'

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

'No, sir.'

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

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

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

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

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

'News?'

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

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

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

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

'Then do as you were told.'

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

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

'Why?'

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

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

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

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

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

'Then tell me what you've done.'

'I will.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'How?'

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

'I'll need certain proof of what you've done.'

'Then use your own eyes.'

'I'll not stay in this accursed country a moment longer,' said Rogan. 'I've got what I came for and there's too much work awaiting me in England for me to linger here. When it's all over, you know how to get in touch with me.'

'I do at that, sir – though I still don't know your name.'

'You don't need to know it.'

'Why not? You can trust Pierce Shannon.'

'Finish the task and earn your money,' said Rogan, firmly. 'Once I pay you, I never want to set eyes on you again. Go back to Ireland and take up farming. It's a far healthier life than building a railway in France.'

'I'll have no choice,' said Shannon with a laugh. 'Very soon, there'll be no bleeding railway here to build.'

Robert Colbeck had fulfilled a dream that he had harboured for many years. Dressed as an engine driver, he was standing on the footplate of the locomotive that had recently arrived with twenty wagons filled with ballast from the quarry. His only disappointment was that he was not able to drive the engine. He had only donned the clothing so that he would attract no undue attention. The footplate was the venue for a meeting that he had arranged with Brendan Mulryne. Making sure that he was not seen, the Irishman climbed up beside him.

'Drive me all the way home to Dublin, Inspector,' he said.

'I wish that I could, Brendan, but the line doesn't go that far.'

'It won't go any farther than this, if the buggers have their way.'

'Do you know what their next step will be?' asked Colbeck.

'Yes, sir.'

'Well?'

'They want to bring the whole thing to a stop.'

'And how do they intend to do that?'

Mulryne told him what he had heard. While he knew the place where the attack would be launched, he did not know the precise time. That was a detail that was deliberately kept from him. What was certain was that he would definitely be involved.

'You obviously passed the test they set you,' said Colbeck.

'Tipping over a few wagons? It was child's play.'

'Not to the people who had to clear up after you.'

'Sure, I'd have been happy to do the job myself but that would have given the game away. If they weren't such hard-hearted villains,' said Mulryne, 'I'd have no quarrel with them. They're fellow Irishmen and that means they're the salt of the earth.'

'Do they have no suspicion of you at all?'

'None, sir, but they might start wondering if I don't join them for a drink very soon. I've made quite a bit of money from them, one way and another.' His face clouded. 'I suppose that'd be called the proceeds of crime. I won't have to hand it back, will I?'

'No, Brendan. It's yours to keep.'

'I never keep money, sir. It burns a hole in my pocket.'

'Then enjoy a drink with it,' said Colbeck. 'And, as soon as you know when they're going to strike, find a way to let me know.'

'That I will, Inspector.'

'Do you know who's paying them?'

'I don't know and I've never once tried to find out. I remembered what happened to Sergeant Leeming when he asked too many questions.' Mulryne pointed to his head. 'They think of me as a big man with a tiny brain. I'm stupid old Brendan who'll do anything for money and not worry where it comes from.'

'How many of them are there?'

'Difficult to say, sir. I've only met two.'

'There must be more than that, Brendan.'

'That's why you have to catch them in the act. The whole gang is going to be there next time. At least, that's what Liam told me.'

'Liam?'

'I'll introduce him to you when we meet,' said Mulryne.

'You'll be pleased to make his acquaintance.'

'Will I?'

'He's one of the men who ambushed the sergeant.'

'Ah, I see.'

'Liam boasted to me about it. I had a job to hold myself back from knocking his head off there and then. Sergeant Leeming is a friend of mine. When the fighting really starts, Liam is all mine.'

'Victor will be pleased to hear about it,' said Colbeck. 'Now, off you go, Brendan. Join the others before they start to miss you. And thank you again. You've done well.'

'I ought to be thanking you, sir.'

'Why?'

'Work with Irishmen all day and drink with them all night – this is heaven for me,' said Mulryne, happily. 'Yes, and there's a barmaid at the inn who's sweet on me. What more can a man ask?'

Colbeck waved him off then allowed himself a few minutes to inspect the locomotive more closely and to run a possessive hand over its levers and valves. He had recognised the design at once. It was the work of Thomas Crampton, the Englishmen whose locomotives were so popular in France. As he indulged his fancy, he wished that Caleb Andrews had been there to teach him how to drive it.

Descending at last from the footplate, he walked across the tracks and headed towards Brassey's office. Instead of his habitual long stride and upright posture, he used a slow amble and kept his shoulders hunched. Engine drivers did not look or move like elegant detectives. When success was so close, he did not wish to make a false move and attract suspicion. His talk with Mulryne had been very heartening and he was delighted that he had brought the Irishman with him. It was only a question of time before the problems at the site would be brought to an abrupt end. Colbeck wanted to pass on the good news to Brassey as soon as possible.

Reaching the office, he knocked on the door and opened it in response to the contractor's invitation. He had expected Brassey to be alone but someone else was there and it was the last person Colbeck had wanted to see. Superintendent Tallis gaped at him in wonder.

'Is that you, Colbeck?' he cried, staring in consternation. 'What are you doing, man? I sent you here to solve a crime, not to play with an engine.'

Madeleine Andrews had had a profitable time. It was one of the days when a servant came to clean the house and do various chores, thus releasing Madeleine to work on her latest drawing. She was not trying to sketch the Sankey Viaduct now. She was working on another sketch of the Lord of the Isles, the locomotive that Colbeck had taken her to see at the Great Exhibition the previous year. It had a special significance for her. When evening came, she kept glancing up at the clock, hoping that her father would not be too late.

When he went to work, Andrews always bought a morning newspaper at Euston Station. His daughter never got to read it until he came back home, and she was desperate for more news about Colbeck. If he had made any progress in the murder investigation, it would be duly reported. Madeleine was at the window when she saw her father sauntering along the street. He had made a good recovery from the injuries that had almost cost him his life, and he had his old jauntiness back. She opened the door for him and was disappointed that he was not carrying a newspaper.

'Did you have a good day, Father?' she asked.

'Yes,' he replied. 'I've been to Birmingham and back twice. I've driven along that line so often, I could do it blindfold.'

'Well, I hope you don't even try.'

'No, Maddy.' He took off his coat and hung it on a hook. 'The place looks clean and tidy,' he said. 'Mrs Busby obviously came.'

'Yes. I was able to get on with my own work.'

'How is she?'

'Still worried about her husband. He has a bad back.'

'At his age?' he said, disdainfully. 'Jim Busby must be ten or fifteen years younger than me. Bad backs are for old men.' He sniffed the air. 'I can smell food.'

'I'll get it in a moment, Father. I just wondered what happened to your newspaper today.'

'What? Oh, I must have forgotten to buy one.'

'You never forget,' she said. 'Reading a paper is an article of faith and you know how much I look forward to seeing it afterwards.'

'Then I suppose I mislaid it today. Sorry, Maddy.'

'Tell me the truth.'

'That is the truth. I left it somewhere by mistake.'

'I think that you did it on purpose.'

'Don't you believe your old father?' he asked with a look of injured innocence. 'I've been very busy today, girl. You can't expect me to remember everything.'

She folded her arms. 'What did it say?'

'Nothing of importance.'

'I know you too well. You're hiding something from me.'

'Why should I do that?'

'Because you're trying to spare my feelings,' she said. 'It's very kind of you but I don't need to be protected. They've said something nasty about Robert, haven't they?'

'I can't remember,' he replied, trying to move past her.

She held his arm. 'You're lying to me.'

'There was hardly a mention of him, Maddy.'

'But what did that mention say?'

She was determined to learn the worst. Caleb Andrews knew how much she loved Colbeck and he wanted to shield her from any adverse criticism of the detective. Having been the victim of a crime himself, he was aware how long it could take to bring the perpetrators to justice. Newspaper reporters had no patience. They needed dramatic headlines to attract their readers. Robert Colbeck had so far failed to provide them. He had paid the penalty.

'There was an article about him,' he admitted.

'Go on.'

'It was cruel. That's all you need to know.'

'What did it say about Robert? Tell me. I'll not be baulked.'

'I think that Inspector Colbeck has an enemy in Scotland Yard,' said Andrews. 'Someone who envies him so much that he's gone behind his back to feed a story to the newspapers.'

'What story?' she demanded.

'A spiteful one, Maddy. According to the article, the inspector has made such a mess of this case that Superintendent Tallis has gone to France to drag him back home in disgrace.'

Tallis spat out the name as if it were a type of venomous poison.

'Brendan Mulryne!' he exclaimed.

'Yes, sir,' confessed Colbeck.

'You dared to engage the services of Brendan Mulryne?'

'He was the ideal person for the task. When I lost Victor, I had to find someone who could blend more easily into the scene.'

'Oh, yes,' said Tallis, maliciously. 'Mulryne would blend in. He's the same as the rest of them – a wild, drunken, unruly Irishman who doesn't give two hoots for authority.'

'That's unduly harsh, Superintendent,' said Thomas Brassey. 'Most of my Irish navvies are a godsend to me. They do the sort of soul-destroying job that would kill the average man, yet they still manage to keep up their spirits. When I build a railway, they're always my first choice.'

Tallis was spiky. 'Well, I can assure you that Brendan Mulryne would never be my first choice. When we kicked him out of the police force, we should have put him in a menagerie where he belonged.'

The three men were still in Brassey's office. The confrontation with Edward Tallis was proving to be even more abrasive than usual. At the very moment Robert Colbeck's carefully laid plan was coming to fruition, his superior had turned up to throw it into jeopardy. What increased the inspector's discomfort was that his reprimand was delivered in front of Brassey. It made the contractor realise that he had been misled.

'I thought that Mulryne was a policeman,' he said.

'He was – at one time,' replied Colbeck.

'And he was a menace to us while he was there,' said Tallis. 'I'll spare you the full inventory of his peccadilloes, Mr Brassey, or we'd be here all night. Suffice it to say that the Metropolitan Police Force is run, like the army, on strict discipline. Brendan Mulryne does not know the meaning of the word.'

'He made several important arrests, sir.'

'Yes, Inspector. But he could not resist hitting his prisoners.'

'When he was in uniform,' Colbeck said, 'there was far less crime in the area he patrolled. Villains were too afraid of him.'

'I'm not surprised. He'd assault them first and ask questions afterwards. That's in blatant defiance of police procedure.'

'Why didn't you tell me all this, Inspector?' asked Brassey.

'Because I didn't feel that it was necessary for you to know, sir,' said Colbeck, awkwardly. 'For the last couple of weeks, this railway had been under siege. If these men were allowed to continue, they would bring this whole project crashing down. I believed that the one person who could save you was Brendan Mulryne and, after my conversation with him just now, I'm even more certain of it.'

'But he appears to be no more than a criminal himself.'

'He is,' agreed Tallis. 'I don't think he means to help us at all. Now that he's here, he's made common cause with the villains. He's an active part of the conspiracy against you. All that Inspector Colbeck has done is to add to your troubles.'

'That's unjust, sir!' Colbeck retaliated.

'Didn't you tell us that he'd wormed his way into their ranks?'

'Only to be able to betray them.'

'We are the ones who've been betrayed. You admitted that he's helped them to cause serious damage to railway property.'

'That was an essential part of his initiation.'

'Ruining those wagons is not what I'd call initiation, Inspector,' said Brassey, critically. 'It's straightforward vandalism.'

'He had to convince them that he could be trusted, Mr Brassey.'

'Well, I can't trust him – not any more.'

'Nor me,' said Tallis. 'I've learned from bitter experience that the only thing you can rely on Mulryne do to is to create mischief. You had no authority whatsoever to use the rogue, Inspector.'

'Desperate diseases call for desperate remedies,' said Colbeck.

'Mulryne is nothing short of an epidemic!'

'Give credit where it's due, Superintendent Tallis. The man you traduce so readily helped us to catch those responsible for the mail train robbery last year.'

'Yes,' said Tallis, sourly. 'That was another occasion when your methods were highly questionable. You had no right to involve that reprobate in police business.'

'The end justified the means.'

'Not in my estimation.'

'The commissioner disagreed,' said Colbeck, pointedly. 'He wanted to congratulate Mulryne in person. Are you telling me that the head of the Metropolitan Police Force was at fault?'

Tallis's face twitched. 'What I'm telling you is that this charade has got to stop,' he snapped. 'Mulryne must be arrested immediately with his accomplices.'

'But we don't know who they are, sir.'

'They'll be getting drunk with him right now.'

'In your position,' advised Brassey, 'I'd think again. Only a bold man would try to apprehend an Irish navvy when he's celebrating with his friends. I agree that he should be punished, Superintendent, but you have to choose the right moment.'

'Arresting him would be madness,' argued Colbeck. 'Besides, you have no jurisdiction in this country. When we catch the villains, we'll have to hand them over to the French police.'

'Mulryne will be one of them.'

'But he's our only hope of salvation.'

'That unholy barbarian?'

'I'm bound to share the superintendent's unease,' said Brassey.

'It's not unease,' declared Tallis. 'It's sheer horror.'

'All that he needs is a little time,' said Colbeck. 'What harm is there in giving him that? I'd stake every penny I have that Brendan Mulryne will do what's he paid to do – and by the way, sir,' he added, looking at Tallis, 'all his expenses have come out of my own pocket. That should show you how much faith I have in the man.'

'I admire your loyalty but deplore your judgement.'

Brassey shook his head. 'I have an open mind on all this.'

'Do you want this railway to be built?' Colbeck asked him.

'Of course.'

'Then trust a man who's risking his life to make sure that it is not crushed out of existence. Victor Leeming was out of his depth here and he got a beating for his pains. They couldn't punish Mulryne in the same way,' Colbeck told them. 'He's too big and strong. If they knew that he was about to betray them, they'd kill him outright.'

Brendan Mulryne was in his element. Having arrived late, he made up for lost time by ordering two drinks at a time. He was soon involved in the vigorous banter. Alive to any opportunities to make money, he performed a few feats of strength to win bets from some of the others then bought them a brandy apiece by way of consolation. The rowdy atmosphere was like a second home to him but he was not only there to revel with his friends. Every so often, he darted a glance at one of the barmaids, a buxom young woman with dark hair and a dimple in each cheek. Whenever she caught his eye, she smiled at him.

Towards the end of the evening, Liam Kilfoyle came over to him.

'Stay behind for a while, Brendan,' he said.

Mulryne chuckled. 'Oh, I intend to, Liam, I promise you.'

'Pierce would like a word.'

'As long as it's a short one.'

'He was pleased with the way you tipped over those wagons.'

'Ah, I could have done that on my own without you two pulling on that rope as if you were in a tug-o'-war contest. I like a challenge.'

'You've got one of those coming up, Brendan.'

'When?'

'Pierce will tell you – but not in here.'

Shannon was talking to some friends in a corner, but he had kept an eye on Mulryne throughout the evening as if weighing him in the balance. He wished that he had known the newcomer much longer so that he could be absolutely certain about him but there was no time to spare. The surprise visit of his paymaster had acted as a stimulus. The final attack was at hand. He had other men to help him but none with Mulryne's extraordinary strength. Shannon knew a way to put that strength to good use.

When the bar started to clear, the giant Irishman made sure that he had a brief exchange with the barmaid. He spoke no French and she knew very little English but they understood each other well. Mulryne gave her a wink to seal their bargain. Her dimples were deeper and more expressive than ever. He was by no means the only man to take an interest in her but none of the others could compete. She had made her choice. At length, only the stragglers remained and the landlord began to close up the bar. Mulryne was among the last to leave and he walked away very slowly.

When Shannon and Kilfoyle fell in beside him, he put a friendly arm around each of them and gave a playful squeeze.

'Steady on, Brendan,' said Kilfoyle. 'You'll break my shoulder.'

'I was as gentle as a lamb,' claimed Mulryne.

'You don't know how to be gentle.'

'Oh, yes, I do.'

'Keep yourself more sober tomorrow,' ordered Shannon.

'I am sober.'

'I saw how much you drank tonight, Brendan.'

'Then you should have noticed something else,' said Mulryne. 'The more I had, the less drunk I became. It's weak men who fall into a stupor. I've learned to hold my drink.'

'You'll need a clear head.'

'My head is clear, Pierce.'

'I'm giving you an order,' said the other. 'If you don't want to obey it, we'll find someone else.'

'No, no,' said Mulryne, quickly. 'I'm your man. If there's money to be made – real money this time – I won't touch more than a drop tomorrow. I swear it. Is that when it's going to be?'

'Yes.'

'At what time?'

'As soon as it gets dark,' said Shannon.

'I'll be ready.'

'So will I,' said Kilfoyle. 'I've been waiting to escape from this shit hole for weeks. Now, I'll finally get my chance.'

'We all will, Liam,' said Shannon.

'This time tomorrow, I'll be rich.'

'Only if you do as you're told.'

'Thank the Lord that it is tomorrow,' said Mulryne, coming to a sharp halt. The others stopped beside. 'Had it been tonight, I'm afraid, I'd not have been able to oblige you.'

'Why not?' asked Shannon.

'You're with us now,' added Kilfoyle.

'Not tonight.'

'Why have we stopped?'

'Because I have other plans. I thought I might take a stroll in the moonlight. It looks like a perfect night for it.' He beamed at them. 'Good night, lads.'

Brendan Mulryne turned around and began to walk back towards the inn. As he did so, the barmaid came out of the front door and ran on the tip of her toes until his huge arms enveloped her. After a first kiss, the two of them then faded quietly into the shadows. Mulryne was determined to make the most of his visit to France.