The Railway Viaduct

CHAPTER FIVE

'France!' exclaimed Superintendent Tallis, reaching for a cigar to absorb the shock of what he had just been told. 'Heavens above! For centuries, they were our mortal enemies until we put paid to them at Waterloo. Why must you go to France?'

'Because that's the only place we'll find out the full truth,' said Robert Colbeck. 'The crime may have taken place on British soil but I believe that its roots lie across the Channel.'

'We have no jurisdiction there, Inspector.'

'I'm sure that the French police would cooperate with us. The murder victim was a Parisian, after all. They have a stake in this.'

'But they would insist on being in charge,' said Tallis, irritably. 'Before we know it, we'd have their officers crawling about over here.'

'I dispute that, sir.'

'I've had dealings with them before.'

'So have I,' said Colbeck, 'and I found members of the Police de Surete very helpful. We are kindred spirits.'

'If only that were the case! You seem to have forgotten that the man responsible for founding the Surete was a known villain who had served time in prison.'

'Vidocq saw the folly of his ways, Superintendent. It was to his credit that he chose to work on the right side of the law. And he achieved some remarkable results.'

'Yes,' said Tallis, lighting his cigar and puffing on it until the end glowed. 'But how did Vidocq get those remarkable results? There was a suspicion that many of the crimes he solved were actually committed by his henchmen. I'd not have allowed anybody under me to resort to that kind of skulduggery. Vidocq was a born criminal. Look what happened to him.'

'He became a private detective twenty years ago, sir.'

'And then?'

'The police eventually closed down his agency because he was using dubious methods.'

'I rest my case – as you barristers say.'

'But that does not invalidate all the good work that he did earlier,' affirmed Colbeck. 'Besides, the Surete is a much improved police force now. It's not full of men like Eugene Vidocq. How could it be? He was inimitable.'

'He was French,' said Tallis, darkly. 'That's enough for me.'

He pulled on his cigar then exhaled a cloud of thick smoke. It was one more problem with which Colbeck had to contend as he stood before the superintendent's desk. He was not merely hampered by the other man's prejudices against the French, he was forced to conceal both the source and extent of the information that he had received. In using Madeleine Andrews as his unauthorised assistant, Colbeck had risked dismissal but he felt that it had been worth it. What she had discovered from Hannah Marklew had been extraordinary. Once the older woman had started talking about her relationship with Gaston Chabal, she had not stopped. When she reported back to him, Madeleine was able to tell Colbeck a great deal about the character and career of the Frenchman.

'In the first instance, sir,' said Colbeck, 'we do not have to deal with the French police at all. It would be a preliminary inquiry.'

'To what end?'

'Establishing if there were any clear motives why someone would seek the life of the victim.'

'How could you hope to do that in a country full of foreigners?'

'I have a fair command of the language, Superintendent, so I would not be at a disadvantage. In any case, most of the people to whom I intend to speak are English.'

'Really?' said Tallis in surprise.

'You are obviously not familiar with French railways.'

'I regard that as a virtue, Inspector.'

'Their system is far less developed than ours,' said Colbeck, 'so it was natural that they looked to us for expertise. Many of the locomotives they use over there were designed by Thomas Crampton and three-quarters of the mileage of all French railways so far constructed was the work of Thomas Brassey and his partners.'

'What relevance does this have to the case in hand?'

'Gaston Chabal worked for Mr Brassey.'

'Then you do not have to go haring off to France,' said Tallis, flicking cigar ash into a metal tray. 'If this contractor is English, you can call on him at his office.'

'He is not in this country at the moment.'

'How do you know?'

'Because he always supervises major projects in person. This line will run for well over a hundred miles, sir, so it will take a long time to build. Until it's finished, Mr Brassey has moved to France.'

'What about his family?'

'They've gone with him, sir. His wife, Maria, I believe, speaks tolerable French and acts as his interpreter. It's a language that her husband cannot bring himself to learn.'

'Then he's a man after my own heart. Dreadful lingo!'

'Perhaps you can understand now why I need to go there,' said Colbeck. 'Mr Brassey will be wondering what's happened to one of his senior engineers and Chabal's family need to be informed of his death so that they can reclaim the body.'

Edward Tallis thrust the cigar between his teeth. He was loath to send Colbeck abroad on what he believed might be an expensive and unproductive visit. At the same time, he could appreciate the logic of the inspector's argument. Unless the crime was solved, the railway company would keep hounding him. Worse, in his view, was the intensive scrutiny of the press. Newspapers were very willing to trumpet any success the Detective Department achieved but they were equally ready to condemn any failures. Having christened Colbeck as the Railway Detective, they would have no qualms about finding a more derisive nickname for him.

'How long would you be away?' growled Tallis.

'Impossible to say, sir, but we'd be as quick as possible.'

'Would you take Sergeant Leeming with you?'

'With your permission.'

'It's his wife's permission you need to seek, by the sound of it.'

'Victor will do what he's told,' said Colbeck. 'While I'm talking to Mr Brassey, he can question some of the men who work for him.'

Tallis was astounded. 'Are you telling me that the sergeant speaks French?'

'No, sir, and nor will he need to. For a number of reasons, Mr Brassey prefers to employ men from this country. When he built the Paris to Rouen railway, he took five thousand navvies, miners, carpenters, smiths, brick-makers, bricklayers and other tradesmen with him. He had his own private army.'

'That's what you need over there – for protection.'

'Hostilities with France ceased many years ago, sir.'

'Some of us have long memories.' Tallis chewed on his cigar and regarded Colbeck from under bushy eyebrows. 'How do you come to know so much about Thomas Brassey?'

'I read a number of railway periodicals, sir.'

'What manner of man is he?'

'A very successful one,' said Colbeck. 'He's a good businessman and a caring employer. That's why his men are so loyal to him. He also has the courage to admit his mistakes.'

'Mistakes?'

'Even the best contractors go astray at times, Superintendent. Six years ago, Mr Brassey built the Barentin Viaduct about twelve miles from Rouen.'

'Don't mention viaducts to me, Inspector.'

'This was a massive construction, much higher and longer than the one over the Sankey Valley. There was only one problem with it.'

'And what was that?'

'After a period of heavy rain, it collapsed in ruins. Some people would have invented all manner of spurious excuses, but not Thomas Brassey. His reputation as a contractor was in serious danger. So he admitted liability and at his own cost – some?30,000 – he had the viaduct rebuilt.'

'Did it stay up this time?'

'Oh, yes,' replied Colbeck. 'I've been over it. I think it's one of the most inspiring sights on the French railways. And because it was rebuilt in a mere six months, it meant that he completed the whole project well ahead of schedule, earning himself a bonus of?10,000.'

'The only viaduct that concerns me at the moment is the one from which that fellow was thrown. Why couldn't he have the decency to get himself killed in his native country?'

'I doubt if he was given any choice, Superintendent.'

'I agree,' said Tallis, becoming serious. 'A murder victim is a murder victim, whatever nationality he holds. We must bring his killer to book and do so with all speed.'

'Does that mean you sanction our visit to France?'

'I'll give it my consideration.'

'You just said that speed was essential, sir.'

'I'm treating it as a matter of urgency.'

'Shall I warn Victor that he may be going abroad?'

'Do not run ahead of yourself, Inspector. There are many things to take into account. Leave me alone while I mull them over.'

'Of course, Superintendent.'

The decision had been made. When Tallis stopped making protests about a course of action, it invariably meant that he would in time approve of it. Colbeck left the room with a feeling of triumph. After a period of inertia, the murder investigation had been given a new lease of life. He and Victor Leeming were going to France.

Thomas Brassey came out of the wooden hut that he used as an office and went off to see the damage for himself. He wore his habitual frock coat, waistcoat and check trousers and, although in his late forties, moved briskly across the ground. When he passed a group of navvies, he was given warm smiles or cheerful greetings, and coarser language was immediately suppressed within his earshot. Brassey was a true gentleman with an innate dignity. He lacked the rough and ready appearance of some self-made men and had none of their arrogance or assertive manner.

'When did you discover it?' he asked.

'This afternoon,' replied Aubrey Filton. 'We'd suspended work on the tunnel until fresh materials arrived, but, in view of what's happened, I thought that I'd carry out an inspection.'

'Very sensible of you.'

'This is what I found, sir.'

Filton led the way down the embankment to the mouth of the tunnel. As it was dark inside, he picked up a lantern that was already burning. Brassey followed him into the long cavern. Halfway along it, the contractor expected to see two sets of parallel rails, laid across timber sleepers and bolted tight, the whole track resting on ballast. Instead, he was looking at a confused mass of wood, iron and rock chippings. Rails and sleepers had been levered out of position. The fishplates and bolts that held one length of rail against the end of another had been either broken or twisted out of shape.

'This was done on purpose, Mr Brassey,' said Filton.

'I can see that. Was nobody guarding the tunnel last night?'

'They claim that they were but my guess is that they either fell asleep or were paid to look the other way. This is the fourth incident in a row. Someone is trying to stop us building this railway.'

'Then they'll have to do a lot better than this,' said Brassey, assessing the cost of the damage. 'It's annoying but it won't hold us up for long. As soon as a fresh supply of rail arrives on site, we'll start work in the tunnel again. Meanwhile, we'll post more guards.'

'Yes, Mr Brassey.'

'Armed guards.'

'What are their orders?'

'I'll issue those directly.'

They walked back towards the mouth of the tunnel, stepping over the accumulated debris as they did so. Filton, one of the engineers working on the Mantes-Caen railway, was a tall, thin, nervous man in his thirties with a tendency to fear the worst. Brassey had a much more robust attitude to life. What his companion saw as a disaster, he dismissed as a minor setback. Sensing the other man's anxiety, he put a consoling arm around Filton's shoulders.

'Do not worry about it, Aubrey,' he said. 'If someone is trying to hinder us, we'll catch them sooner or later. The important thing is that these delays do not interfere with our overall schedule.'

'I hate the thought that we have enemies in our midst.'

'For every bad apple, we have a thousand good ones.'

'I wonder that you can shrug it off like this, sir,' said Filton.

'Oh, I'm not shrugging it off, I assure you. I take this very seriously – but I'll not let my anger show. I prefer to carry on as if nothing had occurred to halt our progress. I've signed a contract that has time limits on it. I intend to meet them.'

They walked on until they emerged into broad daylight. All around them, men of various trades were working hard. Brassey stopped to watch them. It was very hot and the navvies were dripping with sweat as they toiled away. Many of them were bare-chested in the baking sun. The ceaseless pandemonium of industry rang out across the French countryside as picks, shovels, axes, sledgehammers and other implements pounded away. Birds flew overhead but their songs went unheard beneath the cacophony.

'Is there any finer sight on earth than men building a railway?' said Brassey, removing his top hat. 'It lifts my spirit, Aubrey.'

'It would lift mine as well if we were not plagued by problems.'

'Four incidents can hardly be called a plague.'

'I think the number might be five, sir.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' said Filton, brow corrugated with disquiet, 'I can't help remembering what happened to Mr Ruddles the other week.'

'That was an accident, man.'

'Was it?'

'Of course,' said Brassey, airily. 'It's a law of averages that a scaffold will collapse from time to time. Bernard Ruddles and I had the misfortune to be standing on it when it gave way.'

'You could have been badly injured, sir.'

'I was lucky. I had a nasty fall and was shaken up but I lived to tell the tale. Bernard, alas, was not so fortunate.'

'He broke his leg in two places.'

'I know,' said Brassey. 'I was right beside him at the time. Had we listened to the advice of the French doctors, he would have lost the leg altogether. They were queuing up to amputate. Bernard had the good sense to wait for an English doctor to give an opinion. As a consequence, the leg can be saved.'

'That's not the point, Mr Brassey.'

'Then what is?'

'The scaffold could have been tampered with.'

'It was badly erected, that's all,' Brassey told him. 'I sacked the men responsible. They were not trying to inflict injury on me or on Bernard Ruddles. How could they know when either of us would stand on that particular scaffold?'

'But suppose it had been you who'd broken a leg, sir?'

'I did suppose it, Aubrey, and it made me offer up a prayer of thanks. I landed on level ground but Bernard, alas, hit some rocks. It could so easily have been the other way around.'

'How could we have managed without you, sir?'

'You wouldn't have had to do so.'

'No?'

'Once the leg had been put into a splint, I'd have used a pair of crutches to get round. Nothing would stop me from keeping an eye on a project like this,' he went on, stoutly. 'If I'd broken both legs and both arms, I'd have men to carry me around on a stretcher.'

'Heaven forbid!'

'Never give in, Aubrey – that's my motto.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And always complete a railway ahead of time.'

Brassey put on his hat. They clambered up the embankment and strolled back towards the office. Filton was not reassured by his employer's brave words. Clearly, they had enemies. That was what alarmed him. He felt certain that it was only a matter of time before those enemies struck again.

'By the way,' said Brassey, 'have you seen Gaston Chabal?'

'No, sir.'

'He was due back here days ago.'

'Well, I've seen no sign of him. Wherever can he be?'

'Find out.'

'I'll try, sir.'

'When I engage a man, I expect him to fulfil his duties or give me an excellent reason why he's unable to do so. Gaston has left us in the dark,' said Brassey. 'We need him back here. Unless he turns up soon, he may well find that he is no longer working for me.'

Victor Leeming had been horrified to learn that he had to go to France with Robert Colbeck. Apart from the fact that he would miss his wife, Leeming knew that he would be condemned to spend long and uncomfortable hours on trains, a form of transport he had come to loathe. There was an even deeper cause for concern. Leeming was uneasy about the temper of the French nation.

'What if they have another revolution while we're here?' he said.

'Then we'll be privileged spectators,' replied Colbeck.

'It wasn't long ago that the barricades went up in Paris.'

'France was not alone, Victor. In 1848, there were revolutions in other parts of Europe as well. Superintendent Tallis feared that we might have riots in London if the Chartists got out of hand.'

'We've had nothing to match the bloodshed over here,' said Leeming, looking through the window of the carriage at some peasants working in the fields. 'There's something about the French. It's in their nature to revolt. They make me feel uneasy.'

The two men were on their way to Mantes. Having crossed the English Channel by packet boat, they had boarded a train at Le Havre and were steaming south. Colbeck had been pleased to note that the locomotive was of English design and construction, but the news brought no comfort to the sergeant. The name of Thomas Crampton was meaningless to him. If the train had been pulled by a herd of giant reindeer, Leeming would have shown no interest. The only thing about France that would bring a smile to his craggy face was the date of their departure from the country.

'Look upon this as an adventure,' urged Colbeck. 'You are seeing a foreign country for the first time and you'll get some insight into the way that it's policed.'

'It seems such a long way to come, sir.'

'Be grateful that the murder victim was not Italian or Swiss. Had that been the case, we'd have had to go much farther afield.'

'I'd prefer to be in London.'

'Amid all that crime and squalor? There's far less danger out here in the countryside, Victor, and it's so much healthier for us to get away from the city.' A beautiful chateau appeared on the horizon. He pointed it out to his companion. 'Isn't it superb?' he said. 'Now there's something you wouldn't see in Whitechapel.'

Leeming was unimpressed. 'I'd still much rather be there.'

'You're too insular,' said Colbeck with a laugh.

'I like my country, that's all. I'm patriotic.'

'I have no quarrel with that.'

The railway had been built in defiance of geography. There were so many hills, valleys and rivers to cross that there was a long sequence of tunnels, cuttings, bridges and viaducts. As they sped across the Barentin Viaduct with its striking symmetry and its panoramic views, Colbeck thought it better not to mention that it had once collapsed into the valley below. Teeth clenched and hands gripping the seat for safety, Leeming was already troubled enough by having to cross it. The magnificent construction had all the qualities of a death trap to him. Only when they were well clear of the viaduct did he find his voice again.

'Why didn't he choose that instead, Inspector?' he asked. 'Why didn't the killer throw his victim over that viaduct instead of coming all the way to England to do it?'

'You're assuming that the murderer was French.'

'Isn't that why we're here?'

'No, Victor,' said Colbeck. 'We are hunting a motive. I'm fairly certain that the man who killed Gaston Chabal was English and that only the Sankey Viaduct would suffice.'

'In that case, the lady's husband must be involved.'

'I think not.'

'His wife was unfaithful to him – there's the motive.'

'On the face of it, perhaps,' said Colbeck, 'but there are two very good reasons why we can eliminate Alexander Marklew from our enquiries. To begin with, he was quite unaware of the friendship that existed between his wife and M. Chabal.'

'It was more than a friendship, sir. Let's not beat about the bush. It was adultery, pure and simple – except that it was far from pure. I don't hold with it,' declared Leeming, thinking of his wife. 'Marriage vows should be kept.'

'We are not here to sit in judgement on Mrs Marklew. The fact is that, but for the information that she volunteered, we would still be scratching our heads back in Scotland Yard. But there's an even stronger reason why the husband must be discounted,' he went on. 'Mr Marklew is a director of the London and North-West Railway. He would never do anything to create bad publicity for it. Murder is the worst possible advertisement, Victor.'

Colbeck had given him an abbreviated version of what he had learned from Hannah Marklew, making no reference to the fact that it was Madeleine Andrews who had obtained most of the salient facts. While he did not share the superintendent's dismissive attitude towards women, Leeming would certainly have questioned the use of one in a murder investigation. That was why Colbeck told him only what the sergeant needed to know. Victor Leeming was an able detective but he was shackled to correct police procedure. When it served his purpose, the inspector was ready to ignore it.

'Are you hungry, Victor?' he asked.

'No, sir,' replied Leeming, feeling his stomach. 'Crossing the Channel took away my appetite completely. Besides, I don't think that I'd take to French food.'

'Why not?'

'They eat horses and frogs and snails.'

'Not on the same plate,' said Colbeck with amusement. 'Wait until you taste their wine. If we stay here long enough, you'll acquire a real taste for it. You may even learn some of the language.'

'There's only one thing I want to hear, sir.'

'What's that?'

'The French for "We're going home". Very soon, please.'

Having removed his coat and hat, Thomas Brassey was at his desk, poring over surveyors' maps as he planned the next stage of the Mantes-Caen railway. Each project threw up its own individual challenges and this one was no exception. There were a number of potential hazards to be negotiated. He was grappling with one of them when there was a firm tap on the door. In response to Brassey's call, it opened to admit Inspector Robert Colbeck and Sergeant Victor Leeming. When introductions had been made, Brassey was amazed to hear that they had come all the way from England in order to see him.

'Have I committed a crime of some kind?' he asked.

'Not at all, sir,' said Colbeck. 'We're here on other business. I believe that you employ an engineer called Gaston Chabal?'

'I did employ him, Inspector, but the fellow seems to have vanished into thin air. He's an extremely competent man. If he keeps me waiting any longer, however, he'll find that he no longer has a job here. Nobody is indispensable.'

'M. Chabal will not be returning here, I fear. He's dead.'

Brassey was shocked. 'Dead – poor Gaston!'

When he was told about the murder, he was aghast and felt guilty for harbouring so many unkind thoughts about the engineer's absence. It was no wonder that Chabal had been unable to return.

'Did you know that he went to England?' said Colbeck.

'No, Inspector. He told me that he was going to be in Paris for a few days to see his parents. I'd no idea that he crossed the Channel. Whatever could have taken him there?'

'We believe he went to see a friend, Mr Brassey, but that's not our major concern. What we are looking for is the reason why he was singled out in this way. That reason can only be found in France.'

'Nothing else would have brought us here,' said Leeming, sourly. 'We hope that the effort will have been worthwhile.'

'You must forgive Victor. Rail travel is a torment to him.'

'That boat was even worse, sir. Fair upset me, it did.'

'He misses London,' explained Colbeck. 'He hates to be away from his wife and children.'

'I always bring my family with me,' said Brassey.

Leeming scowled. 'I could hardly do that in my job, sir.'

'No,' agreed Colbeck. 'It might hamper you somewhat. But let's turn our attention to Chabal. He's the important person here. What sort of man was he, Mr Brassey?'

'An extremely able one,' said the contractor. 'Gaston had the sense to learn from good masters. Most of the engineers I employ are English, but Gaston Chabal could match any of them.'

'Did he have any enemies?'

'None that I know of, Inspector. He was very popular. Some of the men used to tease him because he was French, but it was all in good fun. I can't think of any reason why anyone should conceive such a hatred of him that he wanted him dead.'

'And yet someone clearly did.'

'Yes.'

'Have you had any trouble in your camp, sir?' said Leeming.

'We've had the usual fights and drunkenness, but you expect that from navvies. They're a law unto themselves. If you employ them, you have to allow for a certain amount of boisterous behaviour.' Brassey grew pensive. 'On the other hand…'

'Well?' prompted Colbeck.

'No, no. It's probably just a coincidence.'

'Let us be the judge of that, sir.'

'The truth is,' confessed Brassey, running a hand across his broad forehead, 'that we've been having a spot of bother here. I've tried to ignore it but Aubrey takes it very seriously.'

'Aubrey?'

'Aubrey Filton, one of the senior engineers. He worked alongside Gaston and he'll be very distressed to hear what's happened to him. Anyway,' he continued, 'there have been three or four incidents here that look as if they're part of a worrying pattern.'

'What sort of incidents, Mr Brassey?'

'Aubrey would be the best person to tell you that.'

'Is he here at the moment?'

'Yes, Inspector. He has an office in the hut at the end.'

'Then I think you should pay him a visit,' said Colbeck, raising an eyebrow at Leeming. 'Break the sad news to him, Victor, and see what memories he may have of Chabal. And make a list of these incidents. They could be significant.'

Leeming nodded and went straight out. Colbeck was glad to be alone with the contractor. He had long been an admirer of Thomas Brassey and had always felt it rather unjust that those who designed locomotives or ran railway companies enjoyed public acclaim while those who actually built the endless miles of track remained in the shadows. The two men appraised each other.

'Do sit down, Inspector,' said Brassey, resuming his own seat.

'Thank you, sir.' Colbeck lowered himself on to a chair. 'This is a treat for me. I've always wanted to see a new stretch of line being laid. We hired a trap in Mantes to bring us out here so I was able to see what you've done so far.'

'Then you've also seen the problems created by the Seine.'

'We followed it for most of the journey.'

'Rivers are the bane of my life, Inspector Colbeck. Bridges and viaducts slow us down so much. If only we had a flat plain across which to construct a railway – flat and arid.'

'Then there would be no triumphs of civil engineering.'

'No triumphs, maybe, but far less sweat and toil.' He shook his head. 'I still can't accept that Gaston is dead. I always found him such an honest fellow. Why tell me that he was going to Paris when he intended to sail to England?'

'He was being discreet, I expect.'

'In what way?'

'There was a lady involved.'

'Ah, of course. Do you know who she was?'

'No,' said Colbeck, determined to honour his promise to keep Hannah Marklew's name out of it. 'But I'm convinced that Chabal was on his way to visit her when he was killed.'

Aubrey Filton was very upset to hear of his colleague's murder. It made him twitch slightly and glance over his shoulder. His office was in a much smaller hut, but it was perfectly serviceable. Victor Leeming glanced at the array of drawings that had been pinned to the wall.

'What are these, Mr Filton?' he said.

'Part of the original survey.'

'Is this your work, sir?'

'I wish it was, Sergeant,' replied Filton, looking enviously across at the wall, 'but my drawings are not quite as neat and accurate as these. Gaston was very gifted.'

'Do you mean that Chabal did these?'

'Most of them. It's all we have to remember him by.'

Leeming was pleased to have the responsibility of questioning Aubrey Filton. It gave him something to do and took his mind off the queasiness that he still felt. Having heard so many French voices since their arrival, he was relieved to be talking to an Englishman.

'Mr Brassey mentioned some incidents,' he said, taking out a notebook and pencil. 'Could you tell me what they were, sir?'

'The most recent happened only yesterday. When I inspected a tunnel, I discovered that someone had levered the rails off their sleepers and scattered the ballast everywhere. A week earlier, we had a more serious setback.'

'Go on, Mr Filton.'

'A fire had been started in one of our storage huts. We were able to stop it spreading but it destroyed everything inside. It slowed us down, Sergeant Leeming. Time costs money in this business.'

'And were there any other incidents?'

'The first was a case of simple theft – at least that's what we thought at the time. But who would want to steal gunpowder?'

'Someone who needed to blast through rock.'

'The second incident was a week later,' said Filton. 'A stack of our timber was pushed into the river. By the time we became aware of it, the sleepers had floated over a mile away.'

'Stolen gunpowder, missing timber, arson in a storeroom and wreckage in a tunnel. These are all serious crimes, Mr Filton. Have you reported them to the police?'

'Mr Brassey chose not to, Sergeant.'

'Oh.'

'He believes that we should take care of our own security and he does not want too much interference from the French. We have enough of that, as it is. In any case,' he continued, 'there's no police force out here in the wilds. The nearest constable is ten miles away. What can one man on a horse do?'

'Travel in comfort,' said the other with feeling. 'From what you tell me, it's evident that somebody is taking pains to delay the building of this railway. This is not wanton damage. It's deliberate.'

'That's what I feel about the scaffolding.'

Filton told him about the way that Brassey and his companion had fallen when the scaffolding had collapsed under them. Leeming duly noted the information down. It was Filton who discerned a clear connection with the murder.

'It's all part of the same plot,' he decided.

'Is it, sir?'

'In killing Gaston Chabal, they've inflicted yet another blow.'

'A critical one at that, Mr Filton.'

'They'll stop at nothing to wreck this railway.'

'Have you any idea who these people might be?' asked Leeming. 'Do you have any suspects in mind?'

'Several of them.'

'Such as?'

'Business rivals, for a start,' said Filton. 'This contract is worth a large amount of money. Mr Brassey was not the only person to put in a tender. He was up against others.'

'French or English?'

'Oh, French. They resent the fact that a contractor has been brought over from England, in spite of the fact that Mr Brassey has such an outstanding record of work in this country.'

'Anybody other than jealous rivals, sir?'

'Resentful navvies. We brought most of our labour with us because it's more reliable, but we've had to take on some Frenchmen as well. They bear grudges.'

'Why would that be?'

'They get paid less than our own men,' said Filton, 'and it's caused a lot of bad blood. Yes,' he went on, warming to his theme, 'I fancy that's where the trouble is coming from – French labour. It's their way of making a protest.'

'Then it has no connection with M. Chabal's death, sir.'

'I believe that it does.'

'Why would someone track him all the way across the Channel,' asked Leeming, 'when they could have killed him here? More to the point, how could a mere labourer possibly know that Chabal was going to England in the first place? I'm sorry, Mr Filton. I think you are forging links where they may not exist.' He consulted his notebook. 'Let's go back to the first incident, shall we? You say that gunpowder was stolen – for what purpose?'

'I dread to think, Sergeant Leeming.'

They moved swiftly. While one man kept watch, the other scuttled along the track in the darkness until he reached one of the largest of the wagons. He packed the gunpowder firmly beneath it and ran a fuse alongside the iron rail. Both men made sure that they were well clear of the danger area before the fuse was lit. When they saw it burning away purposefully in the direction of the wagon, they ran off quickly to their hiding place. The explosion was deafening. Shattering the silence, it lifted the wagon high off the track and blew it into small pieces that were dispersed everywhere at great velocity. Rolling stock in the immediate vicinity was also destroyed in the blast. A section of rail was plucked from the sleepers and snapped apart. Fires started. Injured men screamed in pain. Falling debris killed a dog.

Another incident could be added to the list.