The Stationmaster's farewell

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Victor Leeming had an unusual experience. He could never bring himself to like rail travel — and he’d already endured one long train journey that day — but the return trip to Exeter had a bonus for him. He shared a carriage with an elderly couple on their way to Teignmouth and discovered that they had an interest in the concept of the atmospheric railway. Leeming was in his element, speaking with the airy confidence of someone who knows only a little more than his listeners and undeterred by the fact that he had a very unsure grasp of the technicalities involved. He told them about his recent visit to Starcross, one of the places where the experiment had been tried out.

‘Robert Stephenson called it a rope of air,’ he said, knowledgeably, ‘and it was, in essence, a very clever idea. Apart from anything else, it might have saved money and reduced the amount of smoke that locomotives generate. Alas,’ he went on, quoting Colbeck, ‘it must be put down as one of Mr Brunel’s rare failures.’

The elderly couple had been pleasant companions, unlike the man who’d sat beside him on the journey to London. Arm in a sling, Tallis had been as friendly as a wounded bear and as talkative as a deaf mute. Leeming had only been able to stand the sheer boredom of it all by thinking of the brief reunion he’d have with his wife and children. That insulated him against the superintendent’s tetchiness. An hour with his family had revived him. He returned to Devon with his energy restored.

Knowing his time of arrival, Colbeck was waiting to greet him at the station.

‘Welcome back, Victor,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘How was your journey?’

‘There were two of them, sir, and as different as black and white. The trip to London was as enjoyable as having my teeth pulled out one by one.’

Colbeck laughed. ‘Mr Tallis was in a churlish mood when he left.’

‘The journey here went much more quickly because I was actually allowed to talk this time. It was a welcome novelty.’

‘Did you deliver my letter?’

‘Miss Andrews was pleased to receive it and sends you her love.’

‘How were Estelle and the children?’

‘They gave me a marvellous welcome,’ recalled Leeming with a broad grin. ‘Fatherhood is the most wonderful gift — as you’ll soon discover.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ warned Colbeck. ‘There’s the small matter of the wedding to come first.’

‘Estelle showed me the dress she’s been making for it.’

‘Then you hold a distinct advantage over me. I’m not allowed to see the bridal dress beforehand.’

‘Miss Andrews will look beautiful whatever she wears, sir.’

Colbeck smiled. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, I assure you.’

He was delighted to find Leeming in such a positive frame of mind and was amused to hear that he’d set himself up as an expert on the atmospheric railway. On the cab ride into the city, he brought him up to date with events in Exeter. Leeming was astounded at one piece of information.

‘Bagsy Browne was there?’

‘As large as life,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’d put money on it. As a matter of fact, I did just that but I couldn’t collect my winnings because the sighting hadn’t been verified by Superintendent Steel. I could smell that Browne was there.’

‘He was taking an unnecessary risk.’

‘His whole criminal career has been a compendium of unnecessary risks, Victor. That’s what animates the man. It isn’t enough for him to evade the law. He has to taunt us with his devilry time and again.’

‘Superintendent Tallis deserved a medal for standing up to him.’

‘We’ve never doubted his bravery. He was a military hero, after all. It’s his other qualities that are more questionable.’

‘Browne did us a big favour by getting rid of him for us.’

‘I hope you didn’t say that to him on the train journey.’

‘I wasn’t allowed to open my mouth, sir. Every time I cleared my throat, I got a cold stare. Anyone would think that I’d been the man to stab him.’ He looked remorseful. ‘Though there have been occasions, I must confess, when I have dallied with the idea of causing him pain.’

Colbeck lowered his voice. ‘We’re equally guilty on that score, Victor.’

Instead of heading for their tavern, the cab turned down a side street.

‘Where are we going, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘I thought that we’d pay a call on Woodford,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve seen Michael Heygate in his domestic setting and taken his measure. I think it’s time to see if Woodford was egged on by a Lady Macbeth.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘A character from Shakespeare — she incites her husband to murder.’

‘Is that what Lavinia Heygate did?’

‘It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility.’

‘What about Mrs Woodford?’

‘I’ll be interested to find out,’ said Colbeck.

It was difficult to copulate in the limited space of the cabin but Browne and Adeline eventually managed it. Flushed with drink and high on emotion, they held a joint celebration for her escape and his valedictory encounter with Joel Heygate. From her point of view, however, the event was tinged with sadness. It was all over. Now that he’d seen his enemy lowered six feet into the ground, there was nothing to keep Browne in Exeter. He was ready to move on. She recognised the signs.

‘When will I see you again, Bagsy?’ she asked, snuggling up to him.

‘I haven’t gone yet.’

‘It won’t be long before you do. I can sense it.’

He squeezed her. ‘There’s no fooling you, is there, Ad?’

‘I’ve a mind to head for Plymouth,’ she said. ‘The police will be looking for me, so I can’t stay here. I’ve a cousin in Plymouth who’ll take me in. If I dye my hair and change my name, nobody will know the difference.’

‘I will. Be sure to give me your cousin’s address before you go.’

‘What about you, Bagsy?’

‘North Devon is starting to call me,’ he said. ‘It must be years since I’ve seen Barnstaple. I might give it the privilege of my presence for a while.’

‘You’re a true rolling stone.’

‘That’s why I gather no moss, Ad.’

‘I don’t know,’ she teased, running a hand through the matted hair on his bare chest. ‘What do you call this, then?’

‘That’s my animal fur.’ He gave an involuntary shiver. ‘It’s getting colder. Let’s put our clothes on. If I stay like this any longer, my sweat will turn to ice.’

She looked around. ‘There are better places to spend our last night together.’

‘It was all I could find, Ad.’

‘I’m not complaining. It’s got the two things I enjoy most — plenty of brandy and plenty of Bagsy Browne.’

He embraced her with a guffaw then reached for his shirt. Even when they were dressed, it was still cold. He came to a decision.

‘There’s plenty of spare wood along the bank,’ he said, ‘and there are bits of the boat we can use as well. Let’s have a fire to warm us both up, shall we? I daresay that it will put us in the mood for another celebration, don’t you?’

The idea that Lawrence Woodford’s wife might be a latter-day Lady Macbeth was shattered the moment they met her. She was a small, skinny, nervous mouse of a woman totally devoid of any character or spirit. When the detectives called at the house, she hustled the children upstairs and stayed there for safety. Woodford invited the visitors into a parlour bare of ornament and smelling of the fish the family had eaten earlier that evening. Tellingly, the master of the house was still wearing his stationmaster’s uniform, clear proof that he remained on duty even at home and supervised the comings and goings of his family as if following a timetable.

‘We’re sorry to disturb you at this hour,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I wanted to congratulate you on your devotion to duty. It was so important to have a strong presence at the railway station on this day above all others.’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’

‘Let me add my congratulation as well,’ said Leeming. ‘It must have been a very difficult decision for you to make.’

‘It was,’ said Woodford. ‘I’d have preferred to go to the funeral, naturally, but something told me that Joel would have wanted me to take control at the station instead. I plan to visit his grave in due course to take my leave of him.’ He glanced at Colbeck. ‘Were you there?’

Colbeck explained that he’d attended the funeral but that Leeming had taken their injured superior back to London. Woodford remembered seeing the pair of them boarding the train and had been curious about Tallis’s sling. When he heard that the wound had been inflicted by Browne, he was livid.

‘That man is a menace,’ he declared.

‘He does appear to be,’ said Colbeck.

‘First of all, he murders Joel, then he rescues his mistress from custody and stabs your superintendent in the process. Mr Tallis might have been killed.’

‘I don’t think that’s true, sir.’

‘Browne had nothing to lose.’

‘I’ve been reflecting on that,’ said Colbeck. ‘If he’d wanted to kill Mr Tallis then he could easily have done so. One thrust of the dagger into the heart would have been sufficient. But he deliberately stabbed him in the arm to disable him. It may be that Browne is not the desperate killer we all take him for.’

Woodford looked stunned. ‘Are you saying that he didn’t murder Joel?’

‘I require more evidence.’

‘How much more evidence do you need, Inspector? Bagsy Browne is the bane of our police force. He’s been in and out of prison for years. Heavens!’ exclaimed Woodford, ‘it wasn’t long ago that he beat up one of the warders and left him in a pool of blood. If that isn’t evidence of this man’s murderous intent, what is?’

‘He didn’t kill the warder, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘yet he had the chance to do it.’

‘That’s two victims he spared,’ added Colbeck.

‘If you knew Browne as well as we do,’ said Woodford with growing vexation, ‘you’d realise that he was capable of anything. He once threw a firework at the bishop and relieved himself on the lawn in full view of his palace.’

‘That sounds more like horseplay than proof of homicidal leanings.’

‘If you don’t believe me, talk to Superintendent Steel. He has no doubt at all that Joel was battered to death by Bagsy Browne. He’d threatened to kill Joel and carried out that threat. You don’t need to be a detective from Scotland Yard to see the facts that are staring you in the face.’

‘Thank you for your advice on the art of detection,’ said Colbeck, ironically. ‘We’ll bear your words in mind. They’ll provide useful guidance to us. Let me come to the question that really prompted this visit,’ he continued. ‘When I mentioned the existence of Mr Heygate’s diary, you denied all knowledge of it.’

‘That’s true. I had no idea that he kept a diary.’

‘May I suggest you think again, sir?’

‘I’ve no need to do so, Inspector.’

‘Then perhaps you’ll explain to us why you claimed never to have heard about the diary when, in fact, Miss Hope had told you about it earlier?’

For a second, Woodford was caught off balance. He recovered swiftly.

‘Miss Hope is mistaken.’

‘She remembers the talk she had with you very well.’

‘The girl is imagining things.’

‘She strikes me as very level-headed for her age.’

‘Who are you going to believe, Inspector?’ challenged Woodford, jabbing a finger at him. ‘Do you believe a clumsy waitress who can barely remember what day of the week it is, or do you believe a man whose integrity has earned him the right to take charge of the entire station? It’s her word against mine.’

‘Indeed, it is,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘There’s just one problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t believe that Dorcas Hope could tell a lie if she tried.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Come on, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘We stayed long enough. I think we’ve learnt what we came for, don’t you?’

‘It’s no fun being a waitress,’ said Leeming. ‘I should know. I tried it. I have a lot of respect for Miss Hope. She’s a good, honest, hard-working young lady.’

Woodford was fuming. ‘I’ll show you both out.’

Back in the street, the detectives put on their top hats and strode towards their tavern. Colbeck was content but Leeming was critical for once.

‘You showed your hand too soon, sir,’ he said. ‘Now that he knows we have suspicions about him, he’ll be far more careful.’

‘I thought it was time to prod him into life.’

‘You did that, well and truly.’

‘Did you notice how eager he was to convince us that Browne was the killer? What did you gather from that, Victor?’

‘I don’t know which of them murdered the stationmaster, sir, but it was obvious that they couldn’t possibly have done it together. Was he blaming it all on Browne to save his own skin?’

‘It’s more than likely.’

‘You really shook him when you asked about that diary.’

‘I know,’ said Colbeck. ‘I must remember to get to the station early tomorrow morning. The first thing Woodford will do is to browbeat Miss Hope into changing her story. He’ll try to get her to swear that she didn’t mention the diary.’

‘What do you think she’ll do?’

‘She’ll do what she always does, Victor — she’ll tell the truth.’

‘But it’s in his power to dismiss her.’

‘That’s why I need to be there to remind him of something,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s in Mr Quinnell’s power to dismiss Woodford.’

As they walked on through the darkness, Leeming was pensive.

‘Did you think that his wife was like Lady Macbeth, sir?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Somehow I couldn’t see her inciting anyone to murder.’

‘Look at it another way,’ suggested Colbeck, ‘and you’ll see how unlikely a female monster she is. If Lady Macbeth had been like Mrs Woodford, then Scotland would still be ruled by King Duncan.’

An excellent meal had left Bishop Phillpotts contemplative. Sipping his port, he looked across the table at his secretary. Barnes, as ever, was attentive.

‘Under other circumstances, I might have liked the man,’ said Phillpotts.

‘To whom are you referring, Bishop?’

‘I am talking about Superintendent Tallis.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘He’s a man of principle and a good Christian.’

‘Then he should have shown more respect for your position,’ said Barnes. ‘It’s the same with Inspector Colbeck. What is it that entitles detectives to overlook the simple rules of hierarchy? There’s a bumptious quality about them that I abhor.’

‘Both men spoke their mind. I admired them for that.’

‘Yet they treated your advice with flagrant disregard.’

‘They’ll come to see its innate wisdom,’ said Phillpotts. ‘At least, the inspector will come to do so. The superintendent, I hear, has withdrawn to London with a nasty wound in his arm. One is bound to look up to any man who is ready to tackle a ruffian like Browne. I’m the first to admit that I’d never do it. That’s why we have a policeman on guard outside. He’s protecting me against attack from Browne.’

‘Surely, even he would never come here to the palace, Bishop.’

‘Remember what happened on my lawn. I’ll never forget the sight of those bare buttocks as they delivered their coarse message to us. Browne is little more than a beast. He should be shot on sight like any wild animal.’

‘Your anger is natural,’ said Barnes, ‘but you are, in reality, as anxious as any of us that the fellow faces the due process of law. To shoot him dead would be to let him escape a proper punishment. He needs to be arraigned in public, convicted and sent to the gallows.’

Phillpotts smiled. ‘Trust you to think like a lawyer.’

‘I used to be one, Bishop — centuries ago.’

‘Have we been here that long, Ralph?’

They traded a dry laugh then fell into a comfortable silence, sipping their port by the light of the silver candelabra and looking back on the events of the last week or so. There was much that troubled Bishop Phillpotts. He singled out one element of his disquiet.

‘I wonder if I should have attended the funeral,’ he said, moodily.

‘You made the right decision when you stayed away.’

‘Do you think so, Ralph?’

‘You hardly knew the stationmaster because you rarely travel by train.’

‘That is so,’ said Phillpotts, ‘but I wonder if it was expected that I would be there. Mr Quinnell clearly believed that I should be. He sent a letter to that effect.’

‘Mr Quinnell doesn’t understand the jeopardy you’re in, Bishop,’ said the secretary. ‘As long as Browne is on the loose, it’s too dangerous for you to go abroad. Had you been at St Olave’s, you’d have presented a tempting target and Browne would not be discouraged by the fact that you’d be inside a church. No, on balance, your decision was right and proper.’

Phillpotts nodded, glad that he’d been given an excellent excuse for staying away from the proceedings. Personal safety was involved. There would be a time when he could show his admiration for Joel Heygate by taking a memorial service in his honour. Since it would be weeks away, there’d be no danger of an assassination attempt on him. While he’d taken a dislike to Colbeck, he expected him to have caught Browne before too long and have him locked away. It would therefore be safe for the bishop to move freely about the city. As a gesture, he might even offer the cathedral as the venue for the memorial service. It was his home territory. In there, he was supreme.

As he envisioned himself standing in the pulpit at the cathedral, another image came into his mind. It was that of a woman, screaming her way down the nave, racing past the choir and committing an act of utter blasphemy at the altar.

‘Mrs Rossiter should be restrained,’ he asserted.

‘The lady has been, Bishop.’

‘She should remain in the County Asylum in perpetuity.’

‘No,’ said Barnes, firmly. ‘That’s a fate we should wish on nobody. Think of the conditions there. It will be a daily ordeal for her.’

The bishop was sobered. While he wanted retribution, he had expected it to take place in a court of law. When he considered her future properly, the fact that Agnes Rossiter was being treated as a lunatic aroused his sympathy. He pitied anyone sent to the asylum. People of unsound mind could not be held accountable for their actions. He believed that they deserved forgiveness.

‘Poor woman!’ he said, finishing his port with a gulp. ‘We must pray for her recovery and we must mention her name to the asylum chaplain.’

‘I’ll make a point of writing to him, Bishop.’

‘Canon Smalley may be able to offer her some comfort.’

Canon Smalley was a cadaverous man of middle height and years. Assigned to the asylum when it first opened, he’d soon felt that the role of chaplain was his mission in life and implored the bishop to make it a permanent appointment. Everyone trusted him and he moved freely about the establishment. Unlike those of the asylum staff, his methods never included restraint or the sudden administration of pain. What he offered to the patients was time, understanding and compassion. When someone was first admitted, Smalley always took the trouble to see them as soon as possible so that he could assess their needs and see how he could best meet them. The patient on whom he now called was Agnes Rossiter.

She was locked in a room with bare white walls and no furniture apart from a bed and a chair. A gas lamp illumined the scene and gave off a faint whiff. Dressed in the standard asylum garb, she was sitting on the uncarpeted floor with a faraway look in her eye. His arrival disturbed her and she tried to get up.

‘No, no,’ he said, with a gentle hand on her shoulder, ‘stay where you are, Mrs Rossiter. I’ll come down to you.’ He lowered himself to the floor. ‘My name is Canon Smalley and I’m the chaplain here.’

‘I don’t believe in God,’ she said, belligerently.

‘A lot of people say that when they first come here and even the most devout of us sometimes question His existence. But that’s not what I came to talk to you about, Mrs Rossiter. I’m here to help. I’m here to listen to what you have to say.’

The softness of his voice and the kindness of his manner were soothing. He was not at all like the male nurse who marched her to the room and locked her in it. While the nurse had treated her like a prisoner, Canon Smalley was treating her like a human being and giving her a mild sense of dignity.

‘They wouldn’t let me go to the funeral,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It was my right.’

‘Why do you think that, Mrs Rossiter?’

‘We’d planned to marry one day,’ she insisted. ‘Before too long, I’d have been Mrs Heygate, living with the most wonderful husband in the world.’

‘I knew the stationmaster at St David’s. He was indeed a splendid man.’

‘It was a joy to work beside him.’

‘Tell me why,’ invited Smalley, patting her arm. ‘Tell me why it gave you so much pleasure to work with him. And there’s no need to hurry, Mrs Rossiter. I’ll listen for as long as you wish. That’s what friends should do.’

Disguise was an important component in Browne’s continued freedom from arrest. His ability to change his appearance had saved him time and again. As soon as light began to filter into the cabin, he got up, collected a bowl of water from the estuary so that he could wash and shave, then donned his latest outfit. Adeline laughed in approval.

‘You look a proper gentleman from top to toe, Bagsy,’ she said. ‘Where did you get hold of the frock coat and top hat?’

‘They fell into my hands, Ad.’

‘In other words, you stole them.’

‘I borrowed them for just such a day as this.’

In fact, he’d purloined the clothes from the room of one of her neighbours in Rockfield Place. As he was coming down the stairs in the wake of Adeline’s arrest, he heard the telltale grunts of a client thrusting away inside the woman he’d hired for an hour. Browne had eased open the door, seen that both of them were too busy to notice him and grabbed the man’s discarded clothing and shoes. They were rather tight on him but he was prepared to stand the discomfort.

Adeline had also disguised herself. By cleaning the powder from her face, she’d added a decade to her age but no longer looked like a whore. Her hair was pinned up so that it could disappear under her hat and her coat was buttoned up to the neck. To Browne’s eye, she seemed almost wholesome. The belongings she needed were packed into a valise. Everything else had been burnt on their fire.

‘I can manage on my own, you know,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you go alone, Ad. I’ll see you off.’

‘Thank you, Bagsy. I’d appreciate that.’

‘Everyone will take us for a gentleman and his servant,’ he said.

‘They wouldn’t have done that if they’d seen us celebrating last night,’ she said with a crude laugh. ‘The owner of this boat will have a shock when he sees that we burnt the doors and shutters to keep warm.’

‘It was a very special night, Ad.’

‘I hope we have others like it.’

He wouldn’t be drawn into making a commitment. Instead he offered his arm.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s get you on the train to Plymouth, shall we?’

Woodford was hovering like a bird of prey. The moment that Dorcas turned up for work that morning, he pounced on her, taking her by the elbow and guiding her into the gap beside the waiting room.

‘I need to have a word with you, young lady,’ he said.

She was frightened by his intensity. ‘What have I done, Mr Woodford?’

‘You told a lie about me.’

‘I’d never do that.’

‘According to Inspector Colbeck, you said that you’d mentioned Mr Heygate’s diary to me whereas you did nothing of the kind, did you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘But I did, Mr Woodford. You wanted to know what the inspector had been asking me and I told you that …’

Her voice petered out in fear when she saw the look he was giving her. Though she was limited in many ways, Dorcas had a good memory. She knew what she’d told Woodford and she couldn’t understand why he was denying it. Patently, it was a matter of importance to him. He stressed the fact by seizing her shoulder.

‘You’ll have to apologise to the inspector for making a mistake,’ he said.

‘Why should I do that?’

‘It’s what I’m telling you to do, Miss Hope.’

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Do you like working here?’

‘Well, yes, I do. It’s my job.’

‘If you wish to keep that job, do as you’re told.’

She was scandalised. ‘I can’t tell a lie to Inspector Colbeck.’

‘You’ll do whatever I say,’ he warned, tightening his grip and making her squeak in pain. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Mr Heygate never made me tell a lie,’ she said.

He grinned. ‘Mr Heygate is dead. I’m the stationmaster now.’ He released her but applied more pressure with a threat. ‘If you don’t do as you’re told, Miss Hope, I’ll see that the canary is taken away from you.’ Dorcas let out a gasp. ‘I thought that might make you change your mind.’

‘Am I interrupting anything?’ asked Colbeck, spotting the pair of them. ‘Good morning, Miss Hope,’ he added, touching his hat. ‘I’m sad to say that you have the look of a young lady who’s being bullied.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ said Woodford with a dismissive chuckle. ‘I was just giving Miss Hope some instructions.’

‘Did they relate to a diary, by any chance?’

‘Yes, they did,’ said Dorcas.

‘No, they didn’t,’ countered Woodford, shooting her a glance.

‘I had a feeling that this might happen,’ said Colbeck. ‘That’s why Sergeant Leeming and I decided to come along and establish the full truth of the situation. Victor,’ he went on, turning to his companion. ‘Why don’t you take Miss Hope to the refreshment room so that she can begin work?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘There’s a train due very soon, so she’ll be needed. Oh, and you might ask her once again if she ever mentioned that diary to Mr Woodford.’

‘I will, Inspector.’

‘The girl was mistaken,’ said the stationmaster as Leeming led her away. ‘She’d have told you so.’

‘What threat did you use to coerce her into dishonesty?’

‘I used no threat at all.’

‘Your stance was very menacing when we came along and Miss Hope was palpably scared.’ Colbeck met his eye. ‘Let me issue a threat of my own,’ he said. ‘If that young lady is harassed in any way or even dismissed from her job, I’ll report you directly to Mr Quinnell. Is that clear? Leave her alone, Mr Woodford. If you value your position as the stationmaster here, you can stop bullying your staff and learn to tell the truth.’

‘All right,’ confessed Woodford, giving ground with reluctance, ‘I’d forgotten that Miss Hope had mentioned the diary to me. It was an honest mistake. I’ve had so much else to think about since I took over Mr Heygate’s duties. It must have slipped my mind.’ He looked up at the station clock. ‘The London train will be here in a minute. You’ll have to excuse me, Inspector.’

Colbeck stood aside to let him pass. ‘Off you go, sir.’

Straightening his shoulders, Woodford strode along the platform to greet the incoming train. Colbeck was left to look along the line of waiting passengers. Two of them caught his attention. A well-dressed man was escorting a middle-aged woman in the modest attire of a domestic servant. What interested Colbeck was the man’s gait. He was sure that he’d seen that walk somewhere before. The train was heard before it was actually seen. When it finally steamed into sight, it was belching out smoke and assaulting the eardrums of those in the station. The locomotive eventually squealed to a halt amid clouds of steam. Carriage doors opened and passengers alighted, their places quickly taken by those clambering aboard for the next stage of the journey.

Colbeck kept his eye on the couple he’d noticed earlier. Lifting his hat, the man gave the woman a kiss then held the door open so that she could board the train. Woodford was at his most officious, urging late arrivals to hurry up, then warning everyone still on the platform to stand clear. When he gave the signal for departure, the engine burst into life and flexed its muscles. The train slowly pulled out of the station on its way south. Colbeck strolled across to the man who’d sparked his interest, making sure that he kept between him and the exit.

‘Good morning,’ he said, cheerily. ‘It’s Mr Browne, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the other, unperturbed. ‘My name is Jenkins.’

‘I remember seeing you yesterday at Mr Heygate’s funeral. You were wearing a very different disguise then.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Then perhaps you’d like to accompany me to the police station where we can sort the matter out,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Superintendent Steel will be delighted to see you, I’m sure.’

Bagsy Browne tensed. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Inspector Colbeck of Scotland Yard.’

‘Then it’s time you bought yourself some spectacles, Inspector, because your eyesight has failed you. I’m not the man you think I am.’

‘Yes you are, Bagsy,’ said Colbeck. ‘You gave yourself away.’ He pointed to Browne’s ankles. ‘No gentleman would wear trousers that are too short or tie his cravat the wrong way. As for your shoes, they appear to be covered in mud. I can’t believe that any servant would let you leave the house in that condition.’

Browne’s eyes were flicking in every direction as he looked for a means of escape. It was clear that he couldn’t bluff his way past Colbeck. He fingered the dagger hidden under his coat.

‘Is that the weapon with which you stabbed Superintendent Tallis?’ asked Colbeck, extending a hand. ‘Give it to me, Mr Browne. You’re under arrest.’

‘Stay back!’ yelled Browne, pulling out the dagger.

‘You can’t kill both of us, sir.’

‘There’s only one of you.’

‘No, there isn’t. The gentleman who just came out of the refreshment room is my colleague, Sergeant Leeming. Over here, Victor!’ called Colbeck. ‘Come and meet Mr Browne.’

Leeming ran over to them. ‘Is this him, sir?’

‘Yes, it is. He’s either Bagsy Browne or a man with the most inept tailor. That dagger would indicate the former.’

Colbeck took a step forward and Browne flashed the weapon at him. Leeming was waiting for the opportunity to leap on the man they’d been chasing for so long. A small crowd watched from the safety of the waiting room. Woodford had retreated into the ticket office out of fear. Colbeck and Leeming edged slowly forward, each of them stepping back out of range when Browne jabbed the dagger at them. Seeing that he could never leave by means of the exit, Browne decided to trust in the speed of his legs. After a last thrust at the detectives, he jumped down on to the track and began to run at full pelt in the direction just taken by the train.

The detectives went after him. Shedding their coats and tossing away their hats, they leapt on to the track and sprinted after Browne. Colbeck was the fitter and more athletic of the two and opened up an immediate gap, leaving the sergeant puffing gamely in the rear. Browne was fast but Colbeck’s long, loping stride allowed him to gain ground on the fugitive. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with him. Realising that, Browne started to panic. There was another problem. He’d flung away his top hat but the tight-fitting clothes remained a handicap, restricting his movement and biting into his legs and body. His heart was pounding, his lungs were on fire and the first trickle of sweat ran down his collar.

Conscious that Colbeck was right behind him, he tried to produce a surge of speed but his legs wouldn’t obey. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that he’d been caught. A couple of yards behind him, Colbeck suddenly hurled himself forward in a dive and tackled him around the thighs, sending Browne crashing to the ground and knocking his head on the iron rail. Stunned by the impact, he lost his grip on the dagger and it rolled out of reach. Colbeck got to his feet, took Browne by the collar and hauled him to his feet. Blood dribbled from a gash on the man’s forehead. He was far too dazed to offer any resistance.

When Leeming came running up, he was panting hard and his brow was sleek with perspiration. Colbeck handed the prisoner over to him.

‘There you are, Victor,’ he said. ‘Clean him up and take him way.’

‘Your trousers are torn, sir,’ observed Leeming.

Colbeck looked down at the bad tear in one leg and the dirt on both knees.

‘I blame Mr Browne for that,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Before they hang him, I’ll send him a bill from my tailor. These trousers weren’t made for diving on a railway line. Why didn’t this fool have the sense to surrender?’