The Stationmaster's farewell

CHAPTER TWO

‘Exeter!’ cried Leeming in dismay.

‘It’s in Devon,’ explained Tallis. ‘In fact, it’s the county town.’

‘I know where it is, sir, and that’s a very long way away. Why can’t we simply investigate crimes here in London? That’s where we live. Going to Exeter may mean leaving my family for days on end.’

Tallis was acerbic. ‘I don’t care if it’s months on end, Sergeant. Duty comes first. If you wish to remain a detective, you must be prepared to go where necessity dictates.’ He raised a menacing eyebrow. ‘I take it that you are desirous of retaining your position at Scotland Yard? If not, you can easily wear a uniform instead and pound the streets in all weathers as a humble constable.’

‘No, no,’ said Leeming, recalling grim memories of his days on the beat. ‘I’m much happier here, Superintendent. It’s a privilege to work under you. I’ll go where I’m sent — as long as it’s not to America, that is.’

Colbeck was amused. ‘I thought that you enjoyed our voyage, Victor.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea? The only thing I enjoyed was stepping back on to dry land again. Sailing the Atlantic was a torment from start to finish. For days afterwards my legs were wobbly.’

‘But it was a successful venture. That’s what counts. We caught them.’

‘Exactly,’ said Tallis, slapping his desk for emphasis. ‘We sent a clear message to the criminal fraternity. No matter how far they run, they can’t escape us.’

‘Yet you opposed the notion at the time,’ Colbeck reminded him.

‘That’s not true at all, Inspector.’

‘You thought the idea impractical because of the cost involved.’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘You were against it. So was I.’

Earlier that year, Colbeck and Leeming had pursued two criminals to New York City in order to arrest them and have them extradited. Being apart from his wife and two children for several weeks had been an ordeal for the sergeant and he’d promised his family that he’d never desert them for that length of time again. He was not the only one who found the prospect of a visit to Exeter unappealing. Colbeck had even more reason to stay in the capital. He was due to get married at the end of the month and did not wish the wedding plans to be hampered by a protracted investigation in another part of the country. He pressed for details.

‘What can you tell us, Superintendent?’ he asked.

‘A man was burnt to death last night in a bonfire in the cathedral close,’ said Tallis. ‘He’s believed to be a stationmaster by the name of Joel Heygate. That’s why the South Devon Railway sought my help.’

What he omitted to say was that the telegraph he held in his hand specifically requested assistance from Robert Colbeck rather than from him. The inspector had been so effective at solving crimes connected with the railway system that he was routinely known in the press as the Railway Detective. It was one reason for the latent tension between the two men. Edward Tallis both admired and resented Colbeck. While he freely acknowledged his brilliance, he was annoyed that the inspector’s exploits overshadowed his own appreciable efforts. Tallis was senior to Colbeck, yet it was the latter who won all the plaudits. It rankled.

They were in the superintendent’s office and there was a whiff of stale cigar smoke in the air. Seated behind his desk, Tallis stroked his moustache as he read the telegraph once more. He deliberately kept the detectives standing. As a retired major in the Indian army, he liked to remind those beneath him of their inferior rank.

‘You are to leave on the next available train,’ he told them.

Colbeck nodded. ‘I can check the timetable in my copy of Bradshaw.’

‘Won’t I have time to go home first?’ complained Leeming.

‘No,’ said Tallis. ‘You keep a change of clothing here for just such a situation as this. Time is of the essence. We can’t have you running back to your wife whenever you have to leave London.’

‘Estelle will wonder where I am.’

‘Send her a message, man.’

‘It’s not the same, sir.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for that,’ said Tallis, coldly. ‘Thankfully, I am unfettered by marital obligations. I had the sense to remain single so that I could pursue my career without any distractions. You know my credo. Being a detective is not an occupation — it’s a way of life. Nothing else matters.’

‘I could take issue with you on that score,’ said Colbeck, levelly, ‘but this is not the time to do so.’ He extended a hand. ‘Might I see the telegraph, please?’

‘There’s no need. I’ve told you everything that it contains.’ Tallis slipped the telegraph into a drawer. ‘I suggest that you make your travel arrangements.’

‘Whom do we contact when we arrive?’

‘The man who got in touch with me is a Mr Gervase Quinnell of the South Devon Railway. He’ll be awaiting you.’

‘What about the local constabulary?’

‘Their investigation has probably started.’

‘Then why can’t we let them get on with it?’ asked Leeming, peevishly. ‘They know Exeter and its people much better than we do.’

‘Mr Quinnell clearly has little faith in them,’ said Tallis, ‘or he wouldn’t have turned to me. He views this as essentially a railway crime and knows my reputation.’

‘But there’s no proof that the victim is the stationmaster, is there?’ observed Colbeck. ‘If he was found under a bonfire, identification would have been very difficult. His clothing would have been destroyed and his face and body horribly disfigured. There’s another thing,’ he added. ‘You say that he was burnt to death. Is there any evidence of that? A bonfire is a public event. The victim could hardly be hurled alive into the blaze in front of a large crowd. Isn’t it more likely that he was killed beforehand? The body must have already been hidden under the bonfire when it was set alight. It’s the most logical supposition.’

‘That’s idle speculation.’

‘I think it’s a fair point,’ said Leeming.

‘Be quiet, Sergeant. Nobody asked for your opinion.’

‘It’s not my opinion, sir, it’s the inspector’s and I agree with it.’

‘Shut up, man!’

‘What’s the exact wording in the telegraph?’ wondered Colbeck.

Tallis was impatient. ‘All that need concern you is that our help has been sought. That’s why I’m sending you to Devon, so please stop quibbling. As for you, Sergeant,’ he said, reserving his sarcasm for Leeming, ‘I will put an advertisement in all the national newspapers, requesting any villains intending to commit a crime on the railway to confine their activities to London and its environs. Will that content you?’

‘It would certainly make my life a lot easier, sir,’ said Leeming.

Colbeck took him by the arm. ‘Come on, Victor,’ he said, pulling him gently away. ‘The superintendent is being droll. We are two of a pair. Both of us would like to keep the time we spend away from London to an absolute minimum and there’s one obvious way to do that.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes — we must solve this crime as soon as possible.’

He led the sergeant out and closed the door firmly behind them.

Exeter St David’s railway station was a place of mourning. Even though there was still some uncertainty as to the identity of the murder victim, almost everyone believed that it had to be Joel Heygate. The one exception was Agnes Rossiter who insisted that he was still alive and who put all her energies into the smooth running of the refreshment room because it was ‘what Mr Heygate would have expected of me’. It was not a view shared by Dorcas Hope. Stunned by what had happened, she walked around in a dream and had to be given a verbal crack of the whip from time to time by the manageress. Other members of staff were horrified by the news, finding it hard to accept that such a universally popular man had met his death in such a grotesque way. Passengers waiting to depart from the station had all heard the rumour and rushed to pay fulsome tributes to Heygate.

Rising above the general solemnity, Lawrence Woodford concentrated on the many duties that fell to a stationmaster, supervising his staff, keeping the platform uncluttered, inspecting all the buildings for cleanliness, ensuring the most economical use of stores, stationery, coal, gas and oil, noting the appearance of all passengers, answering their endless questions and — most important of all — taking care that trains left the station on time. Dressed for the occasion in frock coat and top hat, he lacked Heygate’s physical presence but his calm efficiency was undeniable. It was almost as if he’d been rehearsing for this moment of crisis.

Dorcas discovered an unexpected streak of kindness in the man. Slipping out of the refreshment room, she accosted him on the platform.

‘Could I have a word with you, please, sir?’ she asked, nervously.

‘What’s the trouble, Miss Hope?’

‘I’m worried about Peter — that’s Mr Heygate’s canary. Somebody ought to look after him.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Woodford.

‘Peter knows me. I’ve fed him in the past. Can I take care of him?’

‘I don’t see why not. We shouldn’t let the bird suffer. The decision is not mine to make, of course,’ he went on with a smile, ‘but I can pass on your generous offer and recommend that we accept it.’

‘Thank you, Mr Woodford.’

‘You get back in there with Mrs Rossiter. Leave it to me.’

As Dorcas scurried off, Woodford strode along the platform with his head up and his back straight. He was in charge now. The sense of power and influence was almost dizzying. He savoured it to the full. When he got to the stationmaster’s office, he entered it as of right and was in time to witness a raging argument.

‘I should have been consulted, Mr Quinnell.’

‘There was no point, Superintendent.’

‘I’m in charge of the police force here.’

‘And I represent the South Devon Railway. We want this crime solved.’

‘Then let us get on with solving it.’

‘With all due respect,’ said Quinnell with disdain, ‘it’s way beyond the competence of your force.’

‘I dispute that, sir.’

‘I showed initiative and made contact with Scotland Yard.’

‘It was an insult to me and I am bound to say that I resent it bitterly.’

‘We need the best man for the job.’

‘The murder occurred on our territory and it’s our job to investigate it.’

Unaware of Woodford, they continued to bicker. Gervase Quinnell was the managing director of the South Devon Railway, a plump, pompous man in his fifties, with bulging eyes and mutton chop whiskers peppered with grey. Superintendent David Steel, by contrast, tall and square-shouldered, cut a fine figure in his police uniform. His handsome face was puckered by barely concealed rage. Appointed when he was in his late twenties, he’d run the Exeter police force for a decade and felt that his sterling work deserved more recognition.

‘Inspector Colbeck is the person to take on this case,’ said Quinnell, briskly. ‘He comes with the highest credentials.’

‘There’s no need for him to come at all,’ argued Steel. ‘May I remind you that I, too, served in the Metropolitan Police Force before I came to Devon? When I left to take up a post in Barnstaple, I did so with glowing testimonials.’

‘You do not have Colbeck’s expertise with regard to railways.’

‘Murder is murder, regardless of who the victim might be.’

‘Success is success. That’s why he’s on his way here.’

‘You might have had the courtesy to discuss it with me beforehand.’

‘I’m discussing it with you now, Superintendent,’ said Quinnell, airily. ‘You’re not being excluded from the investigation. You’re simply being demoted to a supportive role. Look and learn, man. Inspector Colbeck can teach you a lot.’

‘But he knows nothing at all about Exeter.’

‘In that case, he’ll turn to you for assistance.’

‘What if the dead man is not the stationmaster, after all?’

Quinnell was testy. ‘It has to be him. There’s no question of that. How else do you explain his disappearance?’

‘When we sought his next of kin, Mr Heygate’s brother was unable to identify him with any confidence. He’d only say that the corpse might be him.’

‘The circumstantial evidence points unmistakably to Heygate. Since he was a model employee of ours, I’m taking a personal interest in the case.’ He inflated his chest and put thumbs inside his waistcoat. ‘I care for the men who work on my railway.’

‘Then why don’t you pay them a decent wage?’ retorted Steel. ‘If the porters got enough to live on, they wouldn’t have to work part-time for me on night patrol.’

Quinnell was scandalised. He was just about to issue a sharp rebuke when he became aware of Woodford, standing self-consciously in the open doorway and listening to the heated exchange. Steel also noticed the new stationmaster for the first time. He treated him to a long and hostile glare.

‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘what do you want?’

Woodford cleared his throat. ‘It’s about the canary …’

When they caught the train in London, Colbeck was in his element. Rail journeys were a constant source of pleasure to him because there was so much of interest to see out of the window. Leeming, on the other hand, disliked the noise, the rattle and the sense of imprisonment he always felt on a train. Though they would be travelling first class for most of the way on the broad gauge of the Great Western Railway, the sergeant was not appeased. Uppermost in his mind was the fact that Exeter was the best part of two hundred miles from the wife and children he adored. Murder cases took time. It might be weeks before he saw them again.

Until they reached Chippenham, the compartment was too full to permit a proper conversation. It suddenly emptied at the Wiltshire station, allowing them to set off on the next stage alone. Colbeck tried to cheer his companion up.

‘What did you do yesterday, Victor?’

Leeming was surly. ‘I can’t remember. It seems like an age ago.’

‘Didn’t you celebrate Guy Fawkes Day with the children?’

‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that.’

‘Did you have a bonfire?’

‘Yes,’ said the other, rallying. ‘I’d been building it all week. I made them a guy as well. It looked a bit like Superintendent Tallis, now I come to think of it.’

Colbeck laughed. ‘Did it have a cigar in its mouth?’

‘Yes, it did — a big one. I carved it out of a piece of wood. The children loved it when the guy caught fire. They danced around it and so did Estelle.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I’m going to miss them, Inspector.’

‘It’s an occupational risk, I’m afraid.’

‘My wife has still never got used to it. What about yours, sir?’

‘I’m not actually married yet,’ corrected Colbeck, ‘but Madeleine has known me long enough to realise that there’ll be sudden absences on my part. Fortunately, it’s a price she’s prepared to pay.’

‘At least she understands what you do. I tell Estelle very little of what we get up to. It would worry her sick if she knew the kinds of dangers we face — best to keep her ignorant.’

‘I can’t do that with Madeleine because she’s actually been involved in some of our assignments. She knows the hazards that confront us.’

‘What if the superintendent finds out that she’s helped us in the past?’

‘I’ll take great care to ensure that he doesn’t find out, Victor. You know his opinion of women. He scorns the whole sex. Mr Tallis would never admit that there are times in an investigation when female assistance is vital. We’ve seen it happen with our own eyes.’

The detectives had first met Madeleine Andrews when her father was badly injured during the robbery of the train that he was driving. What had begun for Colbeck as a chance meeting had developed into a close friendship, then slowly evanesced into a loving partnership. Madeleine had been able to offer crucial help during a number of cases and it had drawn them even closer together.

‘Did you send Miss Andrews a note before we left?’ asked Leeming.

‘It was rather more than a note.’

‘She’ll be upset that you’re going away when the wedding is in sight.’

‘That’s unavoidable,’ said Colbeck, flicking a speck of dirt from the arm of his coat. ‘Madeleine will be too busy to pine, however. She has work of her own to keep her busy and, now that her father has retired, she has company throughout the day. Time will pass quickly.’

‘It seems to be dragging at the moment,’ muttered Leeming.

‘Address your mind to the case in hand.’

Leeming obeyed and sat up. ‘What do you think we’ll find in Exeter?’

‘I daresay we’ll find a lot of commotion. A stationmaster is an important figure in a city like that. His death will have shocked everyone. The other thing we’ll find, of course, is an unwelcoming police force. They’ll object strongly to our barging in on their murder — and rightly so. We’ll have to win them over.’ He winked at Leeming. ‘I’ll leave you to do that, Victor.’

‘My ugly mug will never win friends, sir.’

‘It won the hand of a lovely young woman.’

Leeming smiled nostalgically. ‘That was different.’

‘I think you’re unaware of your charms,’ teased Colbeck.

‘I know what I see when I look in the mirror to shave every morning.’

The sergeant had no illusions about his appearance. He was a sturdy, bull-necked man with the kind of unprepossessing features more suited to a desperate criminal. Though wearing much the same attire as Colbeck, he somehow looked scruffy and disreputable. Beside the inspector, most men would be outshone. He was tall, slim and elegant with exaggerated good looks and a stylishness that marked him out as the dandy of Scotland Yard. He might have been a minor aristocrat sharing a compartment with a bare-knuckle boxer who’d mistaken it for third class.

‘There is something else we can expect,’ predicted Colbeck.

‘What’s that, sir?’

‘We’ll get interference from the Church.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The bonfire was held in the cathedral close, Victor. A cathedral presupposes a bishop. He’ll be mortified that a heinous crime was committed on his doorstep, so to speak. As well as a grudging police force, we’ll be up against an angry bishop who’ll be barking at our heels throughout.’ An image formed in his mind. ‘Try to imagine Superintendent Tallis in a cope and mitre.’

Leeming gurgled.

As soon as the telegraph was received at Torquay railway station, it was sent to the bishop’s palace. Henry Phillpotts was taking tea with his wife and secretary when the telegraph was handed to him. When he read it, he spluttered.

‘What’s wrong, Henry?’ asked his wife.

‘Was there trouble at the bonfire celebrations?’ guessed Barnes.

‘Trouble!’ echoed the bishop. ‘I’ll say there was trouble. Foul murder was committed. The body of the stationmaster was found among the embers.’

‘That’s dreadful!’ said his wife, bringing both hands to her face.

‘It’s an unforgivable stain on the cathedral close, my dear. How dare someone abuse our hospitality in that way! It’s a desecration. And there’s another thing,’ he said, handing the telegraph to his secretary. ‘Why wasn’t I told earlier? Why did Mr Quinnell wait until late afternoon before having the grace to apprise me of these distressing details? He should have been in touch at once. So should the police and so — I regret to say — should someone at the cathedral. Heads need to be knocked together over this outrage.’

‘Calm down, Henry,’ advised his wife.

‘There’ll be dire repercussions. We must return to Exeter immediately.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Yes, my dear, it is.’

‘But I do so love having you here.’

Deborah Phillpotts was a gracious lady in her seventies with a poise and refinement that belied the fact that she’d borne eighteen children. She’d married Phillpotts when he was vicar of a parish in County Durham. It was not long before he was appointed chaplain to the bishop and she knew that he was destined for higher things. Married for over half a century, she’d been a devoted wife and mother, supporting her husband at all times and enjoying the fruits of his success. Belonging as they did to the clerical aristocracy, they lived in a style comparable to that of the Devonshire nobility. It gave both of them a patrician air.

Having read it, Ralph Barnes passed the telegraph back to the bishop.

‘Heygate was a decent fellow,’ he said. ‘I liked him. When his wife and child were killed in an accident, he coped with the situation bravely. In some ways, I suppose it’s a relief that they’re not alive to suffer this terrible blow.’

‘I’m more concerned about the terrible blow to us, Ralph,’ said Phillpotts. ‘It’s deliberate. He was killed outside the cathedral for the express purpose of defiling consecrated ground and taunting me.’

‘I’m not sure that you should take this too personally, Bishop.’

‘How else can I take it?’

‘We need to know more details of the case. All that the telegraph gives us are the bare bones, as it were. What have the police discovered and who is this Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard?’

‘I don’t know and I’m not sure that I want someone from London coming to lead the investigation. This is a local matter that must be sorted out promptly by local means. We don’t want news of this horrendous crime to be disseminated throughout the whole country.’ He rose to his feet. ‘If only we had a police superintendent in whom I could place more trust.’

‘I thought that the fellow had been doing quite well,’ remarked his wife.

‘He has,’ agreed Barnes. ‘Superintendent Steel has made the most of limited resources and achieved a degree of success.’

‘Then why is Exeter such an unruly city?’ challenged Phillpotts.

‘It’s no worse than many cities of an equivalent size.’

‘It feels worse, Ralph. We have too many ruffians stalking the streets.’

‘And too ready a supply of beer to stir them up.’

Phillpotts flicked a dismissive hand. ‘That’s a separate issue. What concerns me about Steel is that he’s not a true gentleman.’

‘It’s difficult to remain gentlemanly when dealing with the scum of society.’

‘You know what I mean, Ralph — he doesn’t show me due deference.’

‘That is reprehensible,’ Deborah put in.

‘However,’ said Phillpotts, ‘he’s responsible for law and order. It’s down to him to solve this murder.’ He waved the telegraph in the air. ‘Then we can send this Inspector Colbeck back to London where he belongs.’

The first thing that the detectives saw when they alighted at their destination was an attractive young woman walking along the platform with a birdcage covered by a cloth. From inside the cage, a canary was chirping. Their attention was immediately diverted by the sight of a portly man, bearing down upon them with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. While he was pleased that the men he assumed were Scotland Yard detectives had finally arrived, Gervase Quinnell was not reassured by their appearance. One of them was far too polished and urbane while the other looked as if he should be wearing a collar and chain like a performing bear.

‘You must be Mr Quinnell,’ said Colbeck, offering his hand.

‘I am indeed,’ replied the other, receiving a firm handshake. ‘Your telegraph warned me that you’d arrive on this train.’

Colbeck introduced Leeming, who was busy stretching his limbs after the long journey. The sergeant looked around and blinked.

‘There’s only one platform.’

‘It’s long enough to cope with the demands put upon it, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘Careful timetabling is the answer, as Mr Quinnell will attest.’

‘Exeter St David’s is one of our most well-organised stations,’ boasted Quinnell, taking his cue. ‘Until yesterday, it was blessed in having a stationmaster of outstanding ability. However,’ he added, ‘this is not the place to discuss the matter. Since you may be here for some time, I’d like to offer you hospitality in my own home in Starcross. It’s only six miles or so away. I can supply you with all of the relevant details on our way there.’

‘Thank you for your kind invitation,’ said Colbeck, ‘but we have to decline it. Much as I’d like to see Starcross because of its association with the atmospheric railway, I think it would be more sensible for us to stay in the city near the scene of the crime.’

It was not the only reason that Colbeck had rejected the offer. One minute in Quinnell’s company told him that they were dealing with a conceited and overbearing man who’d be forever looking over their shoulder. Freedom of action was imperative. They would not get that if they were under Quinnell’s roof, and the journey to and from Starcross every day would be tiresome.

‘Very well,’ said Quinnell, clearly offended, ‘you must do as you think fit.’

‘The first thing we need to do is to make contact with the superintendent of your police force,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s a basic courtesy. Also, of course, we need his cooperation. Local knowledge is indispensable and it’s something we lack at the moment. Might we know his name?’

‘It’s Steel,’ replied the other through gritted teeth, ‘Superintendent Steel.’

‘That’s a good name for a policeman,’ noted Leeming.

‘He can be awkward at times and very stubborn. For instance, he’s still claiming that the victim may not be Joel Heygate when everyone else knows that it must be.’

‘He’s simply keeping an open mind,’ said Colbeck, evenly. ‘I applaud that.’ He picked up his valise. ‘The sergeant and I will take a cab to the police station and introduce ourselves.’

‘Perhaps I should come with you.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Quinnell.’

‘But you’re here at my behest.’

‘We’ll keep you fully informed of any developments, sir,’ said Colbeck, anxious to shake him off. ‘Come on, Victor. We have important work to do.’

After bidding farewell to Quinnell, they left him fuming quietly on the platform and headed for the exit. It was only when they were being driven into the city that Leeming asked the question that had been perplexing him.

‘What exactly is the atmospheric railway?’