The Railway Viaduct

CHAPTER EIGHT

Superintendent Edward Tallis was almost hidden by a swirling fug of cigar smoke. He did not like what he saw and he was unhappy about what he heard. While the cigar helped him to relieve his tension, it had another important function. It largely obscured Victor Leeming from his gaze. Seated in front of the desk, Leeming was a sorry sight. His head was heavily bandaged, his face covered in ugly bruises and lacerations, his lower lip twice it normal size. One eye was almost closed, the other looked to the superintendent for a sympathy that was not forthcoming. When he shifted slightly in his chair, Leeming let out an involuntary groan and put a hand to his cracked ribs.

Robert Colbeck was sitting beside the sergeant.

'I think that Victor should be commended for his daring, sir,' he suggested. 'By working alongside the navvies, he was able to foil an attack on the French camp.'

'Yes,' said Tallis, rancorously. 'He was also in a position to get himself all but kicked to death. That's not daring, Inspector, that's tantamount to suicide.'

'I'd do the same again, Superintendent,' said Leeming, bravely, wincing at the pain of speaking.

'You'll do nothing at all until you've recovered, man. I'm giving you extended leave until you start to resemble a human being again.' He leaned forward to peer through the smoke. 'Has your wife seen the state you're in?'

'No, sir,' said Colbeck, trying to spare the sergeant the effort of talking. 'We felt that we should report to you first so that you understood the situation. For obvious reasons, we travelled back to England slowly. Victor could not be hurried in his condition. I thought it best if I speak to Estelle – to Mrs Leeming – before she actually sees her husband.'

'That's up to you, Inspector.'

'I'll tell her how courageous he was.'

'Tell her the truth – he could have been killed.'

'No, Superintendent,' rejoined Colbeck. 'The men who set on him drew back from murder. That would have brought the French police swarming to the site and they did not want that. The beating was by way of a warning.'

'It was my own fault,' admitted Leeming, his swollen lip distorting the words. 'I asked too many questions.'

'I accept my share of the blame, Victor.'

'No, sir. It was the correct decision.'

'I beg to differ,' said Tallis, mordantly. 'Correct decisions do not result in a vicious attack on one of my men that will put him out of action for weeks.'

'You approved of our visit to France,' Colbeck reminded him.

'I've regretted it ever since.'

After giving him a day and night to make a partial recovery from the assault, Colbeck had brought Leeming back to England by means of rail and boat, two forms of transport that only served to intensify the sergeant's discomfort. Scotland Yard had been their first destination. Colbeck wanted the superintendent to see the injuries that Leeming had picked up in the course of doing of his duty. Neither compassion nor congratulation had come from across the desk.

'And what was all that about a Catholic priest?' said Tallis.

'It was Father Slattery who found Victor,' Colbeck told him. 'In fact, he seems to have disturbed the attackers before they could inflict even more damage.'

'Even more? What else could they do to him?'

'I didn't have the opportunity to ask them, sir,' said Leeming, rashly attempting a smile that made his whole face twitch in pain.

'Father Slattery is a good man,' said Colbeck. 'He acts as a calming influence on the Irish.'

Tallis indicated Leeming. 'If this is what they do when they're calm,' he said with scorn, 'then I'd hate to see them when they're fully aroused. Navvies are navvies. All over the country, police and local magistrates have trouble with them.'

'Mr Brassey's men are relatively well-behaved, sir.'

'Comment would be superfluous, Inspector.'

Tallis glowered at him before expelling another cloud of cigar smoke. He was trying to rein in his anger. In allowing the two men to go to France, he had had to raid his dwindling budget and account to the commissioner for the expenditure. All that he had got in return, it seemed, was the loss of a fine officer and a succession of tales about the problems encountered by a railway contractor in France.

'None of this has any bearing on the murder,' he announced.

'But it does, sir,' insisted Colbeck. 'If you look at the events carefully, you'll see how the death of Gaston Chabal fits into the overall picture. There's a logical development.'

'Then why I am not able to perceive it?'

'Perhaps you have the smoke of prejudice in your eyes.'

Tallis stubbed out his cigar then waved an arm to dispel some of the smoke that enveloped him. Before he could take Colbeck to task for his comment, the inspector went on.

'Everything we learned in France confirmed my initial feeling.'

'And what was that?'

'The answer to this riddle lies across the Channel.'

'It's true,' said Leeming. 'We could feel it.'

'Feeling it is not enough, Sergeant,' said Tallis, coldly. 'I want firm evidence and you have signally failed to provide it. Mr Brassey may be experiencing difficulties on his railway – in spite of the calming influence of this Catholic priest – but it's no concern whatsoever of ours. The Froggies must solve any crimes that take place on French soil. Mr Brassey should call in the local police.'

'I've explained why he's reluctant to do that,' said Colbeck.

'Not to my satisfaction.'

'There's an international dimension to this murder.'

'It took place in this country. That's all that matters to me.'

'We'll only apprehend the killer if we help to solve the crimes that are bedevilling the new railway in France. I must go back.'

Tallis was peremptory. 'Out of the question.'

'Then the murderer of Gaston Chabal will go unpunished.'

'No, Inspector, he must be caught.'

'In that case, sir,' said Colbeck with gentle sarcasm, 'I'll be interested to hear your advice on how we are supposed to catch him. You are clearly in possession of important details that have so far eluded Victor and me.'

'What I am in possession of are these,' said Tallis, lifting a pile of correspondence from his desk. 'They are letters from the railway company, demanding action, and they come on a daily basis. This morning, one of their directors was here in person to ambush me. Mr Marklew did not mince his words.'

'Would that be Mr Alexander Marklew?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'Not personally,' said Colbeck, 'but I gather that he's also invested in the Mantes to Caen line. When he hears about the setbacks in France, he may realise that this is a much wider investigation that he imagined.'

'Marklew is only one of my problems,' moaned Tallis. 'I've had the commissioner on my tail as well and an Inspector Sidney Heyford keeps writing from Liverpool, asking me why the great Robert Colbeck has failed to make any discernible progress. That's a theme taken up elsewhere,' he went on, bending down to retrieve a newspaper from his wastepaper basket. 'There's biting criticism of the way that we've handled this investigation and you are now referred to as the Railway Defective.' He thrust the newspaper at Colbeck. 'Take it.'

'I'm not interested in what newspaper reporters think,' said the other. 'They don't understand the complexity of the case. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll take Victor back home then make arrangements to return to France.'

'No,' said Tallis, pounding the desk. 'You stay in London.'

'I must insist, Superintendent.'

'You are overruled. Nothing on earth would induce me to send you gallivanting off on another pointless French adventure. You belong to the Metropolitan Police not to the Surete.'

'It looks as if I belong to neither, sir,' said Colbeck, rising to his feet with dignity. 'Since you refuse me permission to go as a member of the Detective Department, then I'll do so as a private individual.'

'Don't talk nonsense, man!'

'I'm quite serious, Superintendent. I feel very strongly that this case can only be solved in France and I mean to go back there on my own account, if necessary. Give me a few minutes,' he said, as he walked to the door, 'and you shall have my resignation in writing.'

'You can have mine, too,' added Leeming, getting out of his chair with difficulty. 'Inspector Colbeck is right. If you do not have faith in our judgement, then I'll leave the Department at once.'

'Wait!' yelled Tallis.

He could see the futility of blustering. The two of them were in earnest. The loss of Victor Leeming would be a blow but he could be replaced by promoting someone from below. Robert Colbeck, however, was quite irreplaceable. He not only had an unrivalled record of success as a detective, he had a comprehensive knowledge of railways that was founded on a deep love of steam transport. Whenever serious crimes occurred on a railway, the company involved always asked for Colbeck to investigate. If he were to leave Scotland Yard, a huge vacuum would be created. Superintendent Tallis would have to explain to the commissioner why he had forced his best officer to resign, and he could imagine the withering reprimand that he would get in return. It was time to give ground.

'How long would you need in France?' he growled.

'As long as it takes,' replied Colbeck, going back to the desk to pick up the cigar box. 'Perhaps I can offer you one of these, sir?' he said, holding it out. 'It might stimulate your thought processes while I compose my letter of resignation.'

Madeleine Andrews was preparing a meal in the kitchen and musing on the changes that had come into her life since she had met Robert Colbeck. He had not merely urged her to develop her artistic talent to the point where she had actually managed to earn money from it, he had enlarged her world in every way. Until she had met him, Madeleine was happy enough looking after her father and educating herself by means of books, magazines and lectures. It had never crossed her mind that she would one day assist a detective inspector in a murder investigation and become – albeit unofficially – the first woman to have a role at Scotland Yard. Colbeck had brought love, interest and excitement into the house in Camden. Entertaining fond thoughts of him made the most menial chores seem pleasant. When she worked on, there was a smile on her face.

Madeleine had just finished peeling the potatoes when she heard the rasp of wheels pulling up outside the house. Only one person would call on her in a hansom cab. Tearing off her apron, she wiped her hands dry in it then cast it aside. As she rushed to the front door, she adjusted her hair. She flung the door open. When she let Colbeck in, she was enfolded in a warm embrace.

'I was just thinking about you, Robert,' she confessed.

'Good.'

'I had no idea that you were back in England.'

'Only briefly,' he told her. 'I'll be sailing across the Channel again this evening.'

'Why? What's happened? Do you know who the killer is?'

'Stop firing questions at me and I'll tell you what we've managed to find out so far.' He kissed her then led her to the sofa. 'Sit down.'

Holding her hand, he gave her a concise account of the visit to France and made her gasp when he revealed that Gaston Chabal was married. Madeleine recalled her interview at the hotel.

'Mrs Marklew was certain that he was single,' she said.

'I suspect that that's what she wanted to believe.'

'He deceived her cruelly.'

'In two ways,' said Colbeck, sadly. 'He not only enjoyed her favours by posing as a bachelor. Chabal seems to have entered into the liaison for the prime purpose of getting her to persuade her husband to invest in the railway. The French government provided much of the capital required, but private investors were desperately needed. Given the volatile political situation in France, very few people from this country were prepared to risk their money.'

'How callous of him!'

'He'd probably have seen it as a piece of clever engineering.'

Colbeck finished by telling her about the savage beating sustained by Victor Leeming when posing as a navvy. The information made her sit up in alarm.

'Do be careful, Robert!' she exclaimed.

'I always am.'

'I feel so sorry for Sergeant Leeming.'

'His time as a navvy was not wasted, Madeleine. He unearthed a lot of useful intelligence. It's a pity that it had to end this way.'

'I hope that you are not thinking of taking his place.'

'If only I could,' said Colbeck, wryly, 'but it's impossible. With a face like mine, I could never pass as a navvy. Victor could. He looked the part – though he could never have lived that sort of life.'

'Was the work too hard?'

'I think it was the sleeping arrangements that upset him.'

'His wife must have been shocked by what happened.'

'That's why I went into the house first,' said Colbeck. 'I felt that it would be considerate to prepare Estelle beforehand. In fact, she took it very well. She went straight to the cab and helped Victor out. She's been a policeman's wife for years now. It's toughened her.'

'Will the sergeant be replaced?' asked Madeleine

'Not from the Detective Department.'

'Who else would you take to France?'

'Someone who will fit more easily into the scene than Victor,' he told her. 'The last I heard of him, he was working as a dock labourer so I fancy that a trip to France might appeal to him.'

'Who is he, Robert?'

'The genuine article.'

Nature seemed to have destined Aubrey Filton to be the bearer of bad news. He had a face that could transform itself instantly into a mask of horror and a voice that rose by two octaves when he was really disturbed. His arms semaphored wildly.

'It's happened again, Mr Brassey!' he cried.

'Calm down, Aubrey.'

'We must have lost thousands of bricks.'

'How?'

'Somebody carried them to one of the ventilation shafts and dropped them down into the tunnel,' said Filton. 'The bricks were smashed beyond repair and the line has been blocked.'

'When did this happen?' asked Thomas Brassey.

'In the night, sir. They chose a shaft that was furthest away from the camp so that nobody heard the noise. When they'd unloaded the wagon that carried the bricks, they smashed it to pieces. There's no sign of the horse that pulled it.'

Brassey did his best to remain calm, but exasperation showed in his eyes. He was in his office with Filton. On its walls were the maps and charts drawn as a result of various surveys. Had work proceeded at the stipulated pace, they would have been ahead of schedule and Brassey could have marked their progress on one of the charts. Instead, they were hamstrung by the sequence of interruptions. The latest of them was particularly irksome.

'We needed those bricks for today,' said Brassey.

'I've sent word to the brickyard to increase production.'

'It's security that we need to increase, Aubrey. How was anybody able to steal so many bricks without being seen?'

'I wish I knew, sir,' answered Filton, trembling all over. 'How were they able to light that fire, or damage the track in the tunnel, or steal that gunpowder or blow up the wagons? We're dealing with phantoms here, Mr Brassey.'

'No,' affirmed the other. 'Inspector Colbeck correctly identified our enemy. We're dealing with navvies. Nobody else would have had the strength to drop all those bricks down a ventilation shaft. It would take me all night to do such a thing.'

'It would take me a week.'

'What they probably did was to unload a fair number by hand then undo the harness on the horse so that they could tip the whole cart over.'

'I suppose that the horrible truth is that we'll never know.'

'Not until the inspector returns, anyway.'

'Do you really think that he can catch these men?' said Filton, sceptically. 'He hasn't managed to do so thus far and we both saw what happened to Sergeant Leeming.'

'That incident will only make Inspector Colbeck redouble his efforts. Introducing a man into the Irish camp did have advantages. He was able to warn us about that planned attack on the French.'

'What if there's another?'

'That's very unlikely,' said Brassey. 'I think we scared the Irish by telling them that they'd lose their jobs. Work is scarce back in England. They all know that.'

'It didn't stop some of them from stealing those bricks last night and there'll be more outrages to come. I feel it in my bones.'

'Don't be so pessimistic, Aubrey.'

'There's a curse on this railway.'

'Balderdash!'

'There is, Mr Brassey. I begin to think that it's doomed.'

'Then you must change that attitude immediately,' scolded the other. 'We must show no hint of weakness. The villains are bound to slip up sooner or later. We need another spy in their camp.'

'We already have one, sir.'

'Do we?'

'Of course,' said Filton. 'Father Slattery. He knows everything that goes on in the Irish community. It's his duty to assist us.'

'His main duty is a pastoral one and nothing must interfere with that. If we asked Father Slattery to act as an informer, he'd lose all credibility. What use would he be then? Besides,' he continued, 'he obviously has no idea who the miscreants are or he'd tackle them himself. A priest would never condone what's been going on.'

'So what do we do?'

'Wait until the inspector gets back with this new man.'

'New man?'

'Yes, Aubrey. I'm assured that he will be ideal for the job.'

'Ah,' said Brendan Mulryne, swallowing his brandy in a gulp as if it was his last drink on earth, 'this is the life, Inspector. And to think I might be heaving cargo at the docks all day long.'

'You were working in the Devil's Acre last time we met.'

'I had to leave The Black Dog.'

'Why?' asked Colbeck.

'Because I had a disagreement with the landlord. He had the gall to hit me when I wasn't looking and I take violence from no man. Apart from anything else, he did it at the most inconvenient time.'

'What do you mean?'

'I was teaching his darling wife a few tricks in bed.'

Brendan Mulryne roared with laughter. He was an affable giant with a massive frame and a face that seemed to have been hewn out of solid teak by a blind man with a blunt axe. Though he was roughly the same age as Colbeck, he looked years older. There was an irrepressible twinkle in his eye and he had a ready grin that revealed a number of missing teeth. Mulryne had once been a constable in the Metropolitan Police Force but his over-enthusiasm during arrests led to his expulsion. Having caught a criminal, he had somehow seen it as a duty to pound him into unconsciousness before hauling him off to the police station. He had always been grateful to Colbeck for trying to save him from being discharged.

Since his dismissal, Mulryne had drifted into a succession of jobs, some of them firmly on the wrong side of the law but none that offended the Irishman's strange code of ethics. He would only steal from a thief or commit other crimes against known villains. It was Mulryne's way of restoring what he called the balance of society. In his heart, he was still a kind of policeman and that was why the present situation had so much appeal for him.

Having crossed the Channel the previous evening, they had spent the night in Le Havre before taking the train to Mantes. Mulryne was a much livelier companion than Victor Leeming. It was his first visit to France and he was thrilled by everything he saw. When the train rattled over the Barentin Viaduct, he gazed down with awe.

'Be-Jesus!' he exclaimed. 'Will you look at that? It's almost as if we was flying, Inspector.'

'Thomas Brassey built the viaduct.'

'Then I'll be happy to shake his hand.'

'Not too hard,' advised Colbeck. 'You've got the biggest hands I've ever seen on a human being. You can crack walnuts with a gentle squeeze. Go easy on Mr Brassey.'

'I will.' His face crumpled with sympathy. 'But I'm sorry to hear about Sergeant Leeming.'

'Victor was unlucky.'

'He taught me a lot when we were both in uniform.'

'You're a detective now, Brendan, in the Plain Clothes Division.'

'Well,' said Mulryne, emitting a peal of laughter, 'clothes don't come any plainer than these.'

He was wearing the same moleskin trousers, canvas shirt and tattered coat that had served him in the docks, and his hobnail boots were also suitable for work on the railway. A shapeless hat completed the outfit but he had removed it when they boarded the train. Mulryne was tickled by the fact that he was dressed like a typical navvy while travelling in a first class carriage.

'I'll be carrying on the family tradition,' he said, proudly.

'Will you?'

'Yes, sir. My father was a navvy in the old days when the word had its true meaning. Father – God bless him – was a navigator who helped to cut canals. I was born in a navvies' camp somewhere along the line.'

'I never knew that, Brendan.'

'I'm a man with hidden secrets.'

'You'll certainly have to hide a few when we get to Mantes.'

'I'll soon charm my way in.'

'That's what Victor thought but they found him out.'

'It takes an Irishman to beguile the Irish, so it does.'

'It's the reason I chose you. Most of them are decent, honest, hard-working men and they couldn't have a better priest than Father Slattery.' He saw Mulryne's glum expression. 'What's wrong?'

'I didn't know I'd have a priest to worry about.'

'Father Slattery is a dedicated man.'

'Yes – dedicated to stopping the rest of us having a bit of fun. It's the reason I couldn't stay in Ireland. It's so priest-ridden. You only had to fart and they'd make you say a novena and three Hail Mary's. The place for a man of the cloth,' he declared, soulfully, 'is in a church and not on a railway.'

'He does valuable work,' said Colbeck. 'More to the point, he knows everyone. That's why you ought to meet him, Brendan. He can introduce you to the others. Father Slattery is a way in.'

'And will I be seeing you at the service on Sunday, Liam Kilfoyle?'

'Yes, Father.'

'You said that last week and the week before.'

'It slipped my mind,' said Kilfoyle, evasively.

'St Peter has been known to let certain things slip his mind as well,' cautioned the priest. 'How will you feel when you reach the Pearly Gates to find that he's forgotten all your good deeds?'

'I'll remind him of them.'

'The best way to do that is to attend Mass.'

'I worship in my own way, Father Slattery.'

'That's wonderful! When you come on Sunday, you can give us all a demonstration of how you do it. We can always learn new ways to pray, Liam.' He beamed at Kilfoyle. 'I'll see you there.'

'I hope so.'

'Are you going to let the Lord down yet again?'

Kilfoyle swallowed hard. 'I'll try not to, Father.'

'Spoken like a true Catholic!'

The old man chuckled and went off to speak to a group of men nearby. It was the end of the day's shift and Slattery was trying to increase the size of the congregation in his makeshift, outdoor church. Kilfoyle was glad to see him go. A wayward Christian, he always felt guilty when he talked to the priest. Memories of sinful nights between the thighs of another man's wife somehow thrust themselves into his mind. It was almost as if Father Slattery knew about his moments of nocturnal lechery with Bridget.

'What did that old bastard want?' said Pierce Shannon, coming over to him. 'Did he want you to train for the priesthood?'

'Nothing like that.'

'Be careful, Liam. You'd have to be celibate.'

'Then the job'd not suit me. I've got too much fire in my loins for the church. Father Slattery will have to look elsewhere.'

'Well, it had better not be in my direction.'

'Why not, Pierce? You might end up as a cardinal.'

'If I'm a cardinal, you're the Angel bleeding Gabriel.'

They traded a laugh. Shannon stepped in closer.

'By the way,' he said, casually, 'it's a shame about that friend of yours, Victor Leeming. He could have been useful to us.'

'Not any more.'

'I suppose the truth is that he just didn't fit in here. Pity – he was a good worker.'

'Victor won't be doing any work for a while.'

'I liked the man. He had a good punch.'

'He was certainly a match for you, Pierce.'

'Only because he caught me unawares that one time,' said Shannon, thrusting out his chest. 'In a proper fight, I reckon that I could kick seven barrels of shit out of him.'

'Don't try to do that to Brendan,' warned Kilfoyle.

'Who?'

'Brendan Mulryne. He was helping us to shovel spoil into the wagons today. He's got muscles bigger than bloody pumpkins. He made me feel puny beside him. Brendan could fill two wagons in the time it took me to fill one.'

'What sort of man is he?'

'The best kind – joking all day long.'

'I prefer a man who keeps his fucking gob shut while he works.'

'Then stay clear of Brendan. He can't keep quiet. We got on well together. He feels the same about priests as me. He'd rather roast in Hell than be forced to listen to a sermon.'

'Where's he from?'

'Dublin.'

'And he's a real navvy?'

'With hands like that, he couldn't be anything else.' Kilfoyle saw the giant figure ambling towards him. 'You can meet him for yourself, Pierce. Here he comes.'

Shannon turned a critical eye on Brendan Mulryne, who was smiling amiably at everyone he passed and making cheerful comments as he did so. When he spotted Kilfoyle, he strolled across to him. Mulryne was introduced to Shannon. As they shook hands, the latter felt the power in the other's grip.

'I'm looking for somewhere to sleep tonight,' said Mulryne. 'The ganger told me there'd be room at Pat O'Rourke's. Do you know him?'

'Yes,' replied Kilfoyle, pointing. 'He owns that stone house at the end of the row. Pat will look after you. Built the house himself.'

'How much does he charge?'

'Almost nothing.'

'That's good because I haven't got two bleeding pennies to rub together.' He became conspiratorial. 'Hey, I don't suppose that either of you know how I can pick up a little extra money, do you?'

'In what way?' asked Shannon.

'Any way at all, friend.'

'Such as?'

'On my last job, I made a tidy sum at cockfighting.'

'Nobody will want to fight a cock as big as yours,' said Kilfoyle with a giggle. 'And, if you're talking about the kind with feathers and sharp claws, then Mr Brassey won't allow that kind of thing on any of his sites.'

'What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't fucking grieve.'

'I couldn't have put it better,' said Shannon, warming to him at once. 'How else have you made money in the past, Brendan?'

'All sorts of ways. Best of all was prize-fighting.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I'd take on all-comers with one hand strapped behind my back. They not only paid for the chance to take a swing at me,' said Mulryne, 'I got my share of the bets that were laid as well.'

'Very crafty.'

'I've got a devil of a thirst, Pierce. That takes money.'

'Not here,' said Kilfoyle. 'The brandy's dirt cheap.'

'I know. I tried some on the way here. Anyway,' Mulryne went on, 'I'd best find O'Rourke so that I've got somewhere to lay my fucking head tonight. Then it's off to the nearest inn with me.'

'We'll take you there,' volunteered Shannon.

'Thank you, friend. I might hold you to that.' He caught sight of Father Slattery among the crowd and recoiled. 'Is that the bleeding priest they told me about?'

'That's him, large as life.'

'Then keep the bugger away from me.'

'Father Slattery is harmless enough,' said Kilfoyle.

'Not to me, Liam. There's a time and place for priests and this is not it. When I've worked my balls off all day,' asserted Mulryne, 'the last thing I want is a dose of religion. A good drink and a warm woman is all I need and Father Slattery looks as if he's never tasted either.'

Maria Brassey was an excellent hostess. She gave the guests a cordial welcome and served a delicious meal. When he spoke French by demand, Robert Colbeck discovered that she had an excellent grasp of the language. She was delightful company and presided over the table with her husband. After dinner, however, she knew exactly when to withdraw so that the men could talk in private.

'Have you had any success while I was away?' said Colbeck.

'A little,' replied Brassey. 'The nightwatchmen caught two men pilfering but they had nothing to do with all the damage we've suffered. I paid them what I owed and ordered them off the site.'

'That, of course, is another avenue we might explore.'

'What do you mean, Inspector?'

'Discontented former employees. Men with a grudge.'

'You'll not find many of those,' said Aubrey Filton, the other guest. 'Mr Brassey is renowned for his fairness. If the men step out of line, they know they'll be sacked. They accept that.'

'Most of them, perhaps,' said Colbeck. 'But I can see how it would rankle if someone was dismissed from a job that would guarantee two years' work for them.'

'We keep a record of every man we employ.'

'Then I'd like to take a close look at it, Mr Filton.'

The three men were comfortably ensconced in chairs in the living room of the country house that Brassey had rented. It was close enough to the site for him to get there with ease, yet far enough away to be out of reach of the incessant noise that was created. Having grown up on a farm, the contractor always preferred a house that was surrounded by green fields. It made him feel as if he were back in his native Cheshire. He sipped his glass of port.

'How is Sergeant Leeming?' he said.

'Very glad to be back home,' returned Colbeck. 'Victor took a beating but no permanent damage seems to have been done. He simply needs plenty of time to recover.'

'That sort of thing would put me off police work forever,' said Filton. 'It's far too dangerous.'

'Victor is not so easily deterred.'

'And what about this new fellow?'

'Oh,' said Colbeck with a smile, 'you can rely on him. If you set off an explosion under Brendan Mulryne, you'd not scare him away. He has nerves of steel.'

'Then why didn't you bring him here in the first place?' said Brassey. 'Was he assigned to another case?'

'Yes, sir.'

'He doesn't look like a detective at all.'

'He isn't one,' said Colbeck.

'I see. He's an ordinary constable.'

'There's nothing ordinary about Brendan, I promise you. He was trained as a policeman and I had the good fortune to work with him when I was in uniform. When you have to break up a tavern brawl, there's no better man to have beside you than him.'

'I can imagine.'

Colbeck did not reveal that the man he had entrusted with such an important task was, in fact, a dock labourer of dubious reputation who led the kind of chaotic existence that two conventional middle class gentlemen could not begin to understand. The less they knew about Brendan Mulryne, the better. At all events, Colbeck resolved, his name must not get back to Edward Tallis. If the superintendent became aware of the Irishman's presence on site, Colbeck would not have to write a letter of resignation. He would probably be ejected from Scotland Yard with Tallis's condemnation ringing in his ears.

'What interests me is the next stretch of line,' said Colbeck, draining his glass. 'The one that runs from Caen to Cherbourg.'

Brassey held up a palm. 'Give us a chance, Inspector,' he said, jocularly. 'We haven't finished this one yet.'

'And may never do so,' said Filton, gloomily.

'Of course we will, Aubrey.'

'I wonder, sir.'

'Will any French companies put in a tender for the other line?' asked Colbeck. 'Are any contractors here big enough to do so?'

'Yes,' replied Brassey. 'The French were slow starters when it came to railways but they are catching up quickly, and contractors have seen the opportunities that are there. When the time comes, I'm sure that we'll have a number of competitors.'

'What about labour? Are there enough navvies in France?'

'No, Inspector Colbeck, not really. Comparatively few railways have been built here so far. As a result, there's no pool of experienced men on which to draw. We found that out when we built the Paris to Rouen railway some years ago.'

'Yes, I believe that you imported 5,000 from England.'

'It was not nearly enough,' said Brassey. 'I had to cast the net much wider in order to double that number. They were mainly French but they also included Germans, Belgians, Italians, Dutchmen and Spaniards. Do you remember it, Aubrey?'

'Very well,' said Filton. 'You could hear eleven different languages in all. It was quite bewildering at times.'

'As for the line from Caen to Cherbourg, that remains in the future. We've not really had time to think about it.'

'Somebody else might have done so,' said Colbeck.

'I'm sure that other contractors are planning surveys already.'

'Only because they want to build the line.'

'It could be a very profitable venture.'

'Assuming that we do not have another revolution,' said Filton with a tentative laugh. 'You never know with these people.'

'Oh, I think that Louis Napoleon is here to stay.'

'For a time, Mr Brassey.'

'He's a man of great ambition, Aubrey.'

'That's the impression I've had of him,' said Colbeck. 'From all that I've read about Louis Napoleon, he seems to be a man of decisive action. He knows precisely what he wants and how best to achieve it. Well, you've met him, Mr Brassey,' he continued. 'Is that an unfair estimate of him?'

'Not at all. He's determined and single-minded.'

'Just like his namesake.'

'He patterns himself on Bonaparte.'

'That could worry some people. When I said a moment ago that somebody else might have thought about the extension to Cherbourg, I was not referring to your rival contractors. They simply want to build the railway,' said Colbeck. 'What about those who want to stop it from ever being built?'

'Why should anyone want to stop it, Inspector Colbeck?'

'We'll have to ask them when they're finally caught.'

Brendan Mulryne might have been working on the railway for a month rather than simply a day. He related so easily to the people around him that he gained an immediate popularity. Part of a crowd of navvies who descended on one of the inns in a nearby village, he proved to his new friends that he could drink hard, talk their language and tell hilarious anecdotes about some of the escapades in which he had been involved. Since there were others there who hailed from Dublin, he was also able to indulge in some maudlin reminiscences of the city. The night wore on.

To earn some easy money, he issued a challenge. He said that he would pay a franc to anyone who could make him double up with a single punch to his stomach. Those who failed would pay Mulryne the same amount. Liam Kilfoyle was the first to try. Slapping a franc down on the bar counter, he took off his coat and bunched his right hand. Everyone watched to cheer him on and to see how he fared. Mulryne grinned broadly and tightened his stomach muscles. When he delivered his punch, Kilfoyle felt as if he had just hit solid rock. His knuckles were sore for the rest of the night.

Several people tried to wipe the grin from Mulryne's face but none could even make him gasp for breath. In no time at all, he had earned the equivalent of a week's wage and he showed his benevolence by treating everyone to a drink. By the time they rolled out of the inn, Mulryne was more popular than ever. He led the others in a discordant rendition of some Irish ballads. When they neared the camp, the men dispersed to their respective dwellings. Mulryne was left alone with Kilfoyle and Pierce Shannon.

'When you won all that money,' said Shannon, 'why did you throw it all away on a round of drinks?'

Mulryne shrugged. 'I was among friends.'

'I'd have held on to it myself.'

'Then you don't have my outlook on life, Pierce.'

'And what's that?'

'Easy come, easy go.'

'Does it work the same for women?' asked Kilfoyle.

'Yes,' said Mulryne, chortling happily. 'Take 'em and leave 'em, that's what I believe, Liam. Love a woman hard but always remember the queue of other lucky ladies that are waiting for you with their tongues hanging out.'

'What about French women?'

'What about them?'

'Do you like them?'

'I like anything pretty that wears a skirt.'

'They can't compare with an Irish colleen.'

'Women are women to me.'

They walked on until they came to the two parallel tracks that had already been laid. Empty wagons stood ready to be filled on the following day. Kilfoyle saw a chance to win a wager.

'How strong are you, Brendan?' he said.

'Why – do you want to take another swing at me?'

'No, I was wondering if you could lift that.' He pointed to one of the wagons. 'Only a few inches off the rails. Could you?'

'Depends on what you're offering,' said Mulryne.

'A day's wages.'

'They'll be mine to keep, if I win. There'll be no buying you a free drink this time, Liam.'

'If you can shift that wagon, you'll have earned the money.'

'I'll match the bet,' said Shannon, 'if you take it on.'

Mulryne removed his coat. 'I never refuse a challenge.'

It was the last wagon in the line. He walked around it to size it up then uncoupled it from its neighbour. Taking a firm grip of it at the other end, he gritted his teeth and pretended to put all his energy into a lift. The wagon did not budge. Kilfoyle rubbed his hands with glee.

'We've got him this time, Pierce,' he said.

'I just need a moment to get my strength up.' Mulryne took a few deep breaths then tried again in vain. 'This bleeding thing is heavier than I thought. What's inside it – a ton of lead?'

'Do you give up, Brendan?'

'Not me – I'll have one last go.'

'You owe each of us a day's wages.'

'I'll make it two days, if you like,' said Mulryne.

'Done! What about you, Pierce?'

Shannon was more wary. 'My bet stands at one day.'

'Then get ready to hand it over,' said Mulryne, spreading arms further apart as he gripped the wagon once more. 'Here we go.'

Bracing himself with his legs, he heaved with all his might and lifted the end of the wagon at least six inches from the rail. Then he dropped it down again with a resounding clang.

Kilfoyle was amazed. 'You did it!'

'I usually only use one hand,' boasted Mulryne.

'You could have lifted it off the rails altogether.'

'Easily.'

'Here's my money,' said Shannon, paying up immediately. 'I'll have more sense than to bet against you next time.'

'Don't tell the others, Pierce.' Mulryne slapped the wagon. 'I think that this little trick might bring in even more profit. Let's have what you owe me, Liam.'

'Right,' said Kilfoyle, handing over the coins.

'And don't be stupid enough to challenge me again.'

'I won't, Brendan.'

'To tell you the truth,' admitted Mulryne, 'I never thought I could do it. But the chance of winning the bet put new strength into my arms. I'm like an old whore,' he added with a loud guffaw. 'I'll do absolutely anything for money.'