The Stationmaster's farewell

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Colbeck’s visit to the solicitor had been enlightening. Having handed over the money found in the birdcage, he went off to the station with a quiet smile playing around his lips. The first person he saw was Lawrence Woodford but the man studiously avoided him. Since the refreshment room was quite busy, he had to wait until it was emptied by the arrival of the next train. He was then able to take Dorcas Hope aside. She was anxious to know what he’d discovered. He told her that the diary was largely devoted to the listing of birds and said nothing to her about the references to Woodford and Michael Heygate. She made a confession.

‘I was very tempted to read it myself,’ she said, ‘but Mother told me that the diary was private property and I had no right to look into it. That’s why I called on you, Inspector.’

‘You did the right thing.’

‘Has it been of any help?’

‘Oh yes, it’s given us a fascinating insight into the running of this station. As I foresaw,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Heygate thought very highly of you.’ She blushed. ‘Your name was mentioned a number of times.’

‘That’s nice to know.’

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for finding the diary.’

‘It was pure chance,’ she admitted. ‘As soon as I saw it, I thought it might be useful to you. That’s why I couldn’t understand Mr Woodford’s reaction.’

Colbeck was alert. ‘Has he been threatening you again?’

‘Not at all — he’s been very pleasant to me. He even said that I might be the manageress here one day. But when I told him that the diary had been found, he looked quite ill. I don’t know why.’

‘I’ll talk to him about it,’ said Colbeck, thoughtfully. ‘First, however, I need your help. Mr Heygate wrote that he discovered that barn owl “near M.V.” Have you any idea what those initials represent, Miss Hope?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said after consideration.

‘Is it a place he visited or a person he knew?’

‘I can’t say, Inspector.’

‘Well, will you please think about it?’

‘Yes, yes, I will. “M.V.” could stand for Mr Vesey, who’s taken over as manager here, but I really don’t believe those initials have anything to do with him. He lives in Newton Abbot and the owl certainly wouldn’t be there.’

‘Let it lie at the back of your mind,’ he suggested. ‘Something may trigger a memory. If it does, then you must make contact with us at once.’

‘I understand. While you’re here,’ she said, ‘is there anything you can tell me about Mrs Rossiter? I worry so much about her and Miss Impey.’

‘As far as I know, she’s being well looked after.’

‘Is there any chance of visiting her?’

‘I’ll try to find out for you.’

‘I’m free on Sundays,’ she said. ‘Do you think I should offer to take her sister with me? In some ways, Miss Impey is rather frail. I wouldn’t want her to get upset.’

‘That’s very considerate of you,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s perhaps better to wait until Miss Impey is ready to go there of her own volition. You’ve already offered to help her. If she feels she needs your support when she goes to the asylum, I’m sure that she’ll ask for it.’

Dorcas frowned. ‘What sort of treatment is Mrs Rossiter getting?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘You hear such frightening stories about the asylum,’ she said, worriedly. ‘There’s talk of patients being put in a straitjacket, or plunged into a cold bath, or locked up all the time in the dark. You don’t know what to believe.’

‘Dr Swift will prescribe the appropriate treatment,’ he said, ‘and I doubt very much if it will involve any of the things you’ve just mentioned. Rumours of that kind are usually misleading. Mrs Rossiter is being cared for, Miss Hope. Her recovery is in hand. And don’t forget what I told you about the chaplain,’ he added with a note of reassurance. ‘He’ll provide Mrs Rossiter with healing of a different kind.’

‘How is the poor creature?’ asked Bishop Phillpotts.

‘Mrs Rossiter is like all the patients when they first come here,’ replied Canon Smalley. ‘She’s utterly bewildered. Until one gets used to it, this can be a rather frightening environment.’

‘That’s unavoidable. It is, after all, a place of detention.’

‘And it’s run on the twin principles of hard work and strict discipline. I’ve no objection to the hard work. It keeps the patients occupied and gives them a sense of achievement. Where discipline is concerned, mind you, I do sometimes feel that it’s taken to extreme and inhumane limits.’

‘That’s outside your remit, Canon Smalley.’

‘I’ve had to accept that.’

‘Dr Swift knows what he’s doing.’

‘I mean no criticism of him, Bishop.’

Henry Phillpotts was not often subject to remorse but his conscience could be pricked on occasion. Having written to the chaplain to draw Agnes Rossiter to his attention, he felt that he had not done enough to atone for his earlier condemnation of the woman. As a result, he decided to pay an unheralded visit to the asylum. He and Canon Smalley were talking in the little room that the chaplain used as his office. There was a crucifix on the wall and a Holy Bible on the desk beside a pile of religious tracts. In stark contrast to the luxury of the bishop’s palace, the room had a decidedly Spartan feel to it.

‘I’m full of admiration for the work you do here,’ said the bishop.

‘I don’t think of it as work. It’s something I was called to do and I was happy to answer the call. I share my life with people in desperate need of my help.’

‘Yet it does cut you off from the outside world.’

Smalley smiled. ‘That’s a cause for celebration rather than regret.’

‘You’ve missed all the excitement of a murder investigation.’

‘It’s not been very exciting for Agnes Rossiter, I’m afraid. She’s been one of the victims of the crime. She talks of it incessantly.’

‘Then you may be able to cheer her up,’ said the other. ‘Inform her that the killer has been arrested and will go to trial. His name is Browne and he had the gross impertinence to threaten me in an indirect way. For some unknown reason, Inspector Colbeck, who is now in charge of the case, casts doubt on Browne’s guilt, yet it’s incontestable. He murdered the stationmaster elsewhere, then hid the body under the bonfire in the cathedral precincts as a brazen taunt at me.’

‘I’ll pass on the news to Mrs Rossiter.’

‘Do that. Has she shown any sign of contrition?’

‘Not as yet, Bishop.’

‘There’s been no apology for her antics in the cathedral?’

‘Her belief in the existence of God has been seriously undermined.’

‘Then it must be restored,’ said Bishop Phillpotts. ‘It’s an important factor in her recovery. Don’t you agree?’

‘I do,’ said Smalley, ‘but it’s something that will take time and patience. I’ll do whatever I can for Mrs Rossiter, but please bear in mind that I have many others in need of my help. There’s another recent arrival here, for instance, who’s in dire straits. In addition to her other problems, the girl is deaf and dumb.’

‘What dreadful handicaps to suffer!’

‘There are others here with equally bad disabilities. Mrs Rossiter, on the other hand, is a relatively healthy woman. It’s only her mental health that causes alarm.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Bishop Phillpotts, meaningfully, ‘I wish you to keep a particular eye on her. You’ll oblige me by doing so.’

‘I’ll obey your instruction, Bishop.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘If you’re ready to leave, I’ll walk with you to the main exit.’

‘Thank you. I’d like to take a closer look at the paintings.’

They left the room and ambled along the corridor so that the bishop could study some of the paintings he’d donated to the asylum. They consisted very largely of landscapes and seascapes, designed to please and soothe. There was no hint of violence or drama in any of the art. When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned at a right angle into another longer one. Bishop Phillpotts immediately stopped to examine a painting of Dawlish, but Smalley’s attention was fixed on the three people walking towards him. One of them was Dr Swift and the other was a nurse. Between them was the slim figure of Esther Leete, no longer restrained in a straitjacket and no longer exuding a sense of danger. As she gazed around, her face had a bewildered loveliness. Canon Smalley was amazed at the transformation.

Colbeck had to delay his conversation with Woodford until three trains had come and gone. The platform at St David’s was awash with people for what seemed like an age. When the last train had departed and the passengers had vanished, Colbeck saw the stationmaster trying to sneak off into the ticket office. He quickly intercepted him.

‘Good morning, Mr Woodford,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ replied the other, uneasily, ‘good morning to you, Inspector.’

‘I wondered if I might have a word.’

‘I am rather busy at the moment.’

‘This won’t take long,’ said Colbeck. ‘It concerns the diary.’

‘I’m told that it’s been found.’

‘And I’ve been told that you were unhappy at the news.’

Woodford scowled. ‘Someone has been telling tales again, has she?’

‘Is it true?’

‘It’s nonsense, Inspector. Why should I be unhappy about anything that helps you in your investigation? I was pleasantly shocked, that’s all. Miss Hope has obviously misinterpreted my reaction.’

‘You do leave yourself open to misinterpretation at times,’ said Colbeck, archly. ‘What do you suppose is in the diary?’

‘I have no idea and no real interest.’

‘Not even when it contains information about you?’

Woodford’s scowl darkened. ‘What sort of information?’

‘It’s not entirely to your credit, sir.’

‘Don’t pay too much heed to what Joel wrote. He was always trying to find fault with me. I put it down to the fact that I applied for the job at the same time as him and he resented the competition. Take anything he says with a pinch of salt, Inspector.’

‘I thought you claimed that you were good friends.’

‘We were — but we also had our differences.’

‘Tell me about them, Mr Woodford.’

‘I don’t want to bother you with trivialities.’

‘I wouldn’t describe the retention of your post here as a triviality,’ said Colbeck, ‘because that’s what was entailed. For reasons I need hardly recall, it was more than possible for Mr Heygate to have you dismissed. The diary makes that crystal clear. He spared you that fate.’

‘Joel is dead,’ said Woodford, testily. ‘Let his diary die with him.’

‘How can I ignore the diary when it will lead us to his killer?’

‘You already have the killer — it’s Bagsy Browne.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

‘I know what mine is.’

‘Then you share it with almost everyone else, sir.’

‘Bagsy swore revenge,’ insisted Woodford, ‘and there were lots of witnesses. Surely Joel recorded the incident in his diary, didn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘Browne’s threat is mentioned in detail.’

‘Isn’t that good enough for you?’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘it isn’t. Bagsy Browne seems to have been easily provoked into issuing grim warnings. Mr Heygate was one of a large group of people in the city who got one. Anybody who upset Browne had his fist waved in their face. Yet not one of them — and I’ve been through police records — was murdered by him. The worst any of them suffered was a beating.’

‘That’s what he meant to give Joel and he went too far.’

‘It’s a possible explanation, I grant you, but it’s an incorrect one. Answer me two questions. First, how did Browne know that the stationmaster would be out after dark on that night? Secondly,’ Colbeck went on, ‘if he did murder Mr Heygate, why not leave the body where it fell, instead of taking it to the site of the bonfire? That would have involved risk. It would have been far easier simply to walk away.’

‘Bagsy was trying to dispose of the body altogether.’

‘That’s the general belief. I happen to disagree with it. However,’ he said, ‘let me return to the appearance of Lawrence Woodford in the diary.’

‘It only happened once,’ said Woodford, quickly. ‘The second time he caught me with the bottle, I was actually off duty and what I do in my own time is of no concern to anyone else.’

‘You’re forbidden to bring alcohol on to the premises.’

‘It was an honest mistake.’

‘Like your denial of the fact that you were told about Mr Heygate’s diary?’

Woodford’s annoyance made him snarl. ‘I bought the whisky for a friend. Joel happened to see it.’

‘That’s not what it says in the diary.’

‘Damn the diary, Inspector!’

‘I’m sad to say that it’s the diary that damns you, sir.’

Woodford was rescued from further discomfort by the approach of another train. Mumbling an excuse, he went off to welcome it. Colbeck was about to go into the refreshment room for a cup of tea when he saw Leeming coming towards him. He waited until the sergeant was within a few paces.

‘Well met, Victor. May I offer you refreshment?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Leeming.

‘Have you been to the Crown Inn?’

‘Yes, sir, and there was a surprise in store for me.’

‘Don’t tell me that the landlord is a friend of Michael Heygate.’

‘He’s not a friend, exactly. In fact, he doesn’t even like the man. But he did let Heygate and his wife stay there at his expense on the night before Guy Fawkes Day.’

Colbeck gaped. ‘Why did he do that?’

‘He was hoping that they’d buy the pub off him, sir.’

Michael and Lavinia Heygate sat side by side at the table with a pad in front of them. On it was a series of financial calculations. They’d discarded their mourning attire and put on their normal clothing. Behind closed doors, they were safe from criticism. Having had three separate visits from a detective, they reasoned, it was unlikely that they’d have a fourth. The death of Joel Heygate didn’t impinge on their minds. Their sole concern was with its consequences for them.

‘How much do you think we’ll get?’ she asked.

‘It’s difficult to put a figure on it, Lavinia.’

‘We know that he had a healthy bank account and also kept a lot of money at home. Then there are the contents of the house. They should fetch a good sum.’

‘I think we’ll have enough,’ said Heygate, looking at the figures before him. ‘I know it’s a bad time to sell but, even at a conservative estimate, we should get a fair amount for the shop. The house agent has already had enquiries.’

‘I can’t wait to get away from here.’

‘We’ve rather exhausted all that Dawlish can offer, haven’t we?’

‘We failed, Michael,’ she said, bitterly. ‘We started a business and it lost money. Everyone here knows that. You can tell from the looks they give you.’

‘The business wouldn’t have failed if Joel had given us the money to tide us over. We just didn’t have the stock to meet the demand. And you didn’t help by cutting our prices like that.’

‘I thought it would help.’

‘It only helped to move the business closer to collapse. Then there was that foolish mistake with Bagsy Browne,’ he recalled. ‘Trust him to come in here when he saw you were on your own.’

She was defensive. ‘He wanted a fishing rod and I sold him one.’

‘The only fishing he ever does is with his hand — it goes into people’s pockets and steals from them. He didn’t want the rod, Lavinia. All he was after was the chance to make a quick profit. So what did he do?’

‘There’s no need to keep on about it,’ she said, petulantly.

‘He comes in here, turns on what passes for his charm and he haggles until you lower the price of that rod by several pounds.’

‘He paid in cash, Michael,’ she said, nastily. ‘We needed it.’

‘What did Bagsy do then?’ he asked, sarcastically. ‘Did he go fishing?’

‘You know quite well that he didn’t.’

‘He went straight across the road to the pub, scrounged a drink out of a complete stranger then sold the rod for a lot more than he paid for it. I was teased about it for weeks.’

‘And you’re still blaming me for it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, slipping an arm around her, ‘but it does rankle. Let’s learn from our mistakes,’ he went on, sounding more optimistic. ‘When we take over the Crown, we must have strict rules — no free drinks and no haggling over the price. And if anyone causes the slightest amount of trouble, out he goes.’

‘The landlord said there was very little rowdiness there.’

‘It’s one of the things that appeals to me. Success is entirely in our own hands, Lavinia. We must be more businesslike. You’ve seen the accounts for the last three years. The Crown has been making a decent profit. If we invest some of the money we inherit from Joel,’ he said, ‘we can increase that profit.’

‘I just want to be where there’s more life, Michael. This place is lowering. You see the same old faces day after day. Exeter is a city. Things happen there.’

‘Yes — like the murder of my brother.’

‘That was a stroke of good fortune for us.’

‘I know. We must exploit it to the hilt.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘It will still be fresh in people’s minds, Lavinia. We can use that to our advantage. The landlord said that the Crown will come with a lot of goodwill. It has plenty of regular customers. I think we can increase their number by making the most of the fact that we’re members of Joel’s family. It will arouse sympathy,’ he said. ‘It will create even more goodwill. We can use Joel in an even more effective way.’

‘Can we?’

‘I think so. We both know how popular he was.’

‘So?’

‘We change the name of the inn.’

She was taken aback. ‘Can we do that, Michael?’

‘When the place is ours, we can do what we like.’

‘What will the new name be?’

He kissed her on the cheek. ‘The Stationmaster.’

Having promised Dorcas Hope that he’d find out about the possibility of visiting, Colbeck took the train to Exminster. He was interested to learn how Agnes Rossiter had settled in and to discover if she’d been told about the arrest of a man believed to be the stationmaster’s killer. Leeming went with him and shuddered as they entered the County Asylum.

‘I don’t like the feel of this place, sir,’ he confided.

‘We can walk out at any time, Victor. The patients don’t have that option.’

‘I’d hate to end up in somewhere like this.’

‘They don’t all end up here,’ said Colbeck. ‘Dr Swift told me that several people respond to treatment and are allowed to return home to their families. It’s only those with incurable conditions who remain here until they die.’

‘Do you think that Mrs Rossiter will be one of them?’

‘I wish I knew the answer to that question.’

Since Dr Swift was not available to see them, they were introduced instead to Canon Smalley. Colbeck was delighted to meet him and he, in turn, was pleased to meet a man whose name he’d heard many times. He invited them into his office.

‘It’s my day for visitors,’ he said.

‘I hope that’s not a complaint, Canon Smalley,’ said Colbeck.

‘Far from it, Inspector. I spend my whole life visiting others. It’s a pleasant change to have someone calling on me. You come on the heels of the bishop.’

Having heard the disparaging comments made about him by Colbeck and Tallis, Leeming was tempted to feign surprise that they’d let the bishop out of the asylum but the sight of the crucifix on the wall made him hold his peace.

‘What was he doing here?’ asked Colbeck.

‘The same as you, I suspect,’ replied Smalley. ‘He asked after Mrs Rossiter.’

‘Has he taken a special interest in the case?’

‘Yes, Inspector — she’s aroused his compassion.’

‘Then I applaud him. The lady needs all the sympathy she can get.’

‘I can’t muster a lot of sympathy,’ admitted Leeming. ‘I worked very briefly under the lady when she was manageress of the refreshment room on Exeter St David’s station. Mrs Rossiter is a real martinet. My sympathy is reserved for the waitress there.’

‘Would that be a Dorcas Hope?’ wondered Smalley.

‘Yes, it would.’

‘I’ve heard all about her.’

‘Have you spent much time with Mrs Rossiter, then?’

‘I’ve spent as much as I can spare. But please don’t ask me to give you a medical diagnosis. That’s Dr Swift’s prerogative. All that I can tell you is that she’s in the clutches of a fantasy and won’t be talked out of it. At the moment, alas,’ he said, glancing up at the crucifix, ‘she’s beyond the reach of spiritual help.’

‘When will it be possible to visit her?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Dr Swift will make that decision. Mrs Rossiter will certainly be in no fit state to receive visitors for some time.’

‘Has she talked of the murder with you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Smalley, tolerantly. ‘She’s talked and talked.’

‘And does she know that a suspect has been arrested for the crime?’

‘I informed her of it this morning, Inspector.’

‘What was her response?’

‘It was rather violent, I fear. She said she wanted to be at the execution.’

‘Then she hasn’t been to one before,’ said Leeming, ruefully. ‘I’ve had to watch two or three. They’re grisly spectacles. If it was left to me, I wouldn’t allow women to be present.’

‘I wouldn’t allow any member of the public to be there,’ said Colbeck. ‘An execution should take place behind prison walls. It’s wrong to offer it as a form of ghoulish entertainment.’

Smalley nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Inspector.’

‘What else can you tell us about Mrs Rossiter?’

‘I have hope for her. I have definite hope.’

He went on to give them a succinct description of his sessions with Agnes Rossiter and an explanation of his role at the asylum. They were both struck by his intelligence, humility and dedication. Some of the staff they’d seen had been grim and unsmiling and they’d heard howls of despair echoing along the corridors. Canon Smalley was an island of calm in a sea of pain and desolation.

When the chaplain finished, Colbeck thanked him for giving them so much time, then led Leeming out. On their way to the exit, Colbeck was interested in the paintings, but the sergeant simply wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Once back in the fresh air, he filled his lungs.

‘I couldn’t breathe properly in there,’ he complained.

‘Yes, there was an oppressive atmosphere.’

‘Canon Smalley is a brave man.’

‘He’s a good man, Victor. Only someone as selfless as him could take on the chaplaincy. Bishop Phillpotts chose well when he appointed him.’

‘That’s the first kind thing I’ve heard you say about the bishop.’

‘Well, he has rather tried my patience.’ As they headed in the direction of the station, Colbeck sighed. ‘How much longer will we be here?’ he asked. ‘I’m so eager to get back to London. I’m needed there.’

‘If you accepted that Browne was the killer, we could leave today.’

‘Not while there’s unfinished business.’

‘Are we still trying to link Michael Heygate or Woodford to the murder?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’re still hunting for a barn owl. Only when we’ve found it will we get to the bottom of what’s been going on. Then we can pack our bags and I can return to the arms of the dear lady I’m about to marry.’

The journey to Exeter resolved itself into a continual list of complaints. Forced to travel on the broad gauge of the GWR, Andrews poured scorn on everything he could. He criticised the locomotive, the driver, the upholstery in the carriage, the speed at which they travelled and the regularity with which they stopped. Nothing outside the window diverted him from his diatribe. The beauties of Bath went by unseen and the commercial majesty of Bristol went unnoticed. Madeleine, however, saw everything that went past, taking especial interest in Bristol because it was there that Colbeck had once rescued her from her kidnappers on a ship.

Having made the sudden decision to quit London, she began to have doubts.

‘I hope that Robert won’t be cross with me,’ she said.

‘We don’t even need to see him, Maddy. We can just enjoy looking at Exeter.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going all this way to avoid him.’

‘Well, I’m going in order to avoid Ivy Young,’ he said. ‘I want plenty of distance between me and that harpy. I wonder what Binnie would say if she knew what her sister had done.’

‘I think you’re better off without either of them, Father.’

He was wistful. ‘So there’s to be no second wedding?’

‘Not unless you’re prepared to propose to Mrs Young.’

He let out a groan of terror. Streaming through Devon, he was so preoccupied by memories of the two women he’d escaped that he forgot to resume his carping. Madeleine was able to close her eyes and luxuriate in thoughts of her forthcoming reunion with Colbeck.

Adeline Goss was beside herself. When they’d taken Bagsy Browne off to the magistrate, she’d had only the merest glimpse and was unable to get any message from him. Locked in her cell, she was helpless and there would be no chance of a daring escape this time. The man who’d rescued her was being charged with murder and the worst thing was that she really didn’t know whether or not he’d committed it. Even if he was a killer, Adeline would not desert him and she racked her brains for a way to save him. In the end, she devised a plan and demanded to see Superintendent Steel. He talked to her through the bars.

‘What have you done with Bagsy?’ she asked.

‘He’s on remand in prison.’

‘He didn’t kill the stationmaster.’

‘I know he didn’t,’ said Steel, sardonically. ‘And I suppose that he didn’t attack a prison warder or rescue you from custody or stab a senior detective in the arm in the process. He’s completely innocent, isn’t he?’

‘There’s no need to sneer.’

‘We’ve finally nailed him, Adeline. He’s going to hang.’

‘No!’ she exclaimed, rattling the bars. She made an effort to compose herself. ‘I’d like to change the evidence I gave to you and Inspector Colbeck.’

‘Do you mean that you’re ready to confess that you’re an accessory to the murder?’

‘I want you to know the bleeding truth.’ She bit her lip. ‘I told you that I wasn’t with Bagsy on the night before Guy Fawkes Day. Well, I lied to you.’

‘I can’t recall an occasion when you didn’t lie to me, Adeline.’

‘Bagsy was with me that night.’

‘So you were his accomplice, after all.’

‘No, we spent the whole night in bed together.’

‘Was that after he’d killed the stationmaster?’

‘He never went anywhere near Mr Heygate. Why should he?’

‘It’s called revenge.’

‘Bagsy’s idea of revenge is to break someone’s jaw or flatten their nose.’

‘He did a lot more than that to Joel Heygate,’ said Steel. ‘He all but took his head off. But now that we know you were with him all night, perhaps you could explain how you got the body from the scene of the crime to the bonfire.’

‘We did nothing of the kind. We were in bed. I swear it.’

‘You swore earlier that you never even saw him that night.’

She tossed her hair. ‘I did that because I was angry with him.’

‘How can you be angry with a man who got you out of a police cell?’ asked Steel. ‘You should have gone down on your bended knees and thanked him.’

‘I did thank him, Superintendent. Then he told me what he was going to do.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He meant to leave Exeter — alone. I was being ditched.’

‘That much I can believe — he never travels with baggage.’

‘Who are you calling “baggage”, you swivel-eyed bastard?’ she shrieked. ‘I was his best friend in the city. That’s why he came to me.’

‘Yet you denied that he went anywhere near Rockfield Place.’

‘I told you — I was angry with him.’

‘He’s going to be even angrier with you when he hears the paltry excuse you came up with in a bid to save him from the gallows. Is that the best you can do, Adeline?’ asked Steel. ‘We both know that you didn’t spend the night with Bagsy. We have incontrovertible proof of it. If you could’ve offered him an alibi, don’t you think he’d have seized it? But he didn’t, did he? He wouldn’t tell us where he was that night but it certainly wasn’t between your thighs. He was too busy killing Joel Heygate.’

Turning on his heel, he walked away and returned to his office.

Adeline smacked the bars in sheer frustration. Her plan had failed.

‘I’m sorry, Bagsy,’ she said. ‘I did try.’

Bagsy Browne had been given a jeering welcome at the prison. Since the staff had all heard about the beating he’d given to Wyatt, he knew that they’d soon assault him in return. Browne was a familiar visitor to the old Bridewell in Queen Street but he was now remanded to the new prison in North Road. Built four years earlier on the same plan as Pentonville, it had almost two hundred cells, each of them containing water, washing bowl, bed, table, stool and gas jet. Prisoners were kept in isolation and subjected to the silent system. There was none of the banter Browne had indulged in at the police station. He was forbidden to speak to the other inmates. Left alone in the tiny cell, he sat on the stool and brooded on his fate. His would be the first execution at the new prison. Warders had taken delight in telling him that they were already placing bets on whether or not he would cry for mercy when he was dragged to the gallows. He showed no fear but his mind was in turmoil.

When a warder came to unlock his cell, Browne thought that he was being taken out to provide some sport for the staff. He’d been beaten up in prison before and had won the grudging admiration of the warders because he took his punishment bravely and never complained. In fact, he escaped any violent treatment this time. He was shown into a featureless room then locked inside it. Seated behind the little table was Inspector Robert Colbeck.

Browne was pleased. ‘You got my message, then?’

‘Why don’t you sit down, Mr Browne?’

‘I never thought you’d come.’

‘In my experience,’ said Colbeck, ‘criminals often have an attack of honesty when they’re facing execution. They realise that their lies are utterly pointless.’ He indicated the chair opposite him. ‘Sit down. I daresay it’s a lot more comfortable than the stool in your cell.’

Browne sat down. ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I asked for you because I knew that Superintendent Steel would never listen to me. All he’s interested in is the moment when the lever is pulled, the trapdoor opens and I start dancing in the air.’

‘You’re quite wrong, Mr Browne. Like me, the superintendent is interested in only one thing and that’s justice.’

‘Do you believe that I killed the stationmaster?’

‘I think that it’s more than possible.’

‘Does that mean you’re certain of it?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’m very far from certain and that’s why I want to explore the full ramifications of this crime. Don’t get your hopes up, however. I’m not at all convinced of your innocence either.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ said Browne. ‘I can see it from your point of view. You think I might be guilty because I’ve been unable to give you an alibi for the time when Heygate was murdered. There’s a reason for that.’

‘The obvious reason is that you were the killer.’

‘No, that’s not it at all, Inspector.’

‘Are you claiming that you do have an alibi?’ Browne nodded. ‘Then why ever didn’t you produce it earlier?’

‘I was protecting someone.’

‘You’re the one in need of protection, Mr Browne. If someone can account for your movements on the eve of Guy Fawkes Day, then he or she should come forward. Don’t they realise the danger you’re in?’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Browne, running a tongue over dry lips.

‘It looks very simple to me.’

The prisoner fell silent and searched Colbeck’s face. He was trying to decide if he could entrust confidential information to him. For his part, Colbeck could sense the man’s embarrassment. Browne’s natural truculence had gone and been replaced by a mixture of discomfort and shame.

‘If I give you the name of a young woman,’ he asked, quietly, ‘can you speak to her in private and keep her out of this investigation?’

‘That depends on what she has to tell me, Mr Browne.’

‘I spent the whole of that day and night with her.’

‘Then why didn’t you say so earlier?’

Browne squirmed. ‘The situation is awkward,’ he said, looking down at the table. ‘I didn’t want Ad to know.’

‘Ah,’ said Colbeck, ‘I think I see what you’re driving at. When you were being harboured by Miss Goss, you betrayed her by sleeping with another woman. Now it all begins to make sense.’

‘You still don’t understand, Inspector.’

‘I understand that there may — just may — be someone in the city who can vouch for you and prove that you were nowhere near the place where Joel Heygate met his death. If such a person exists — and I’m bound to wonder if she’s simply a figment of your lively imagination — then she can come forward and save your life.’

Browne was intense. ‘Ad must never know about her.’

‘Come now,’ said Colbeck, speaking man to man, ‘let’s be frank, shall we? Miss Goss has made no secret of the profession she follows and you seem to accept quite happily the fact that there are many other gentlemen in her life while you’re absent. By the same token, she will surely know that you don’t behave like a Trappist monk during the long periods when you’re apart. In short, I don’t think she’ll be surprised at your interest in another woman.’

Browne raised his head. ‘Yes, she will — very surprised.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘The young woman was her daughter.’