The Stationmaster's farewell

CHAPTER SEVEN

Most people sought by the police would take refuge somewhere and make sure that they didn’t venture out in daylight. Bagsy Browne was different. He took the view that nothing would keep him off the streets if he had a mind to go for a walk. Being hunted was a normal state of affairs for him. It never troubled his mind. Refusing to go to earth, he’d strolled around Exeter for most of the day, going into a series of pubs as he did so. Newspapers carried a description of him and he was, in any case, well known in the city, but nobody recognised him because he was clean-shaven and wearing smart clothing for once. Feeling immune from arrest, he became bolder. Instead of keeping to the shadows, he marched along High Street early that evening with his usual jauntiness. It proved to be a mistake. There was still enough light in the sky to illumine his features and one passer-by took a close look at him. The man was so certain that he knew him that he followed his quarry through a maze of streets. Unaware that he was being trailed, Browne suddenly veered off into an alleyway so that he could relieve himself against a wall. When he’d finished, he turned to find that his way was blocked by a thickset man in his fifties with a square chin.

‘Hello, Bagsy,’ he said.

‘Sorry,’ said Browne, gruffly, ‘you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘I’d know you anywhere.’

‘You must be seeing things, my friend.’

‘I can tell you by your stink.’

Bagsy’s fists bunched. ‘Say that again, you turd!’

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because I used to look after you,’ said the man, taking a step closer. ‘I’ve seen Bagsy Browne with his hair and his beard shaved off before — except that you had no name in prison, did you? We gave you a number instead.’

Bagsy glared at him. ‘It’s Wyatt, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I remember you now. You were one of those cruel bastards who baited me.’

‘You only got what you asked for.’

‘Get out of my way.’

‘But we have so much to talk over, Bagsy,’ said Wyatt, grinning. ‘We shared such happy times in prison, didn’t we?’ He spat on the ground in disgust. ‘If it had been left to me, we’d have locked you up and thrown away the key.’

‘I won’t ask you again,’ cautioned Browne.

‘Why don’t we take a little walk? I’m sure that Superintendent Steel will be delighted to see an old acquaintance. In fact, he’s so keen to meet you again that he put a notice about you in the newspaper.’

‘I saw it.’

‘Then why didn’t you heed it?’

‘Nobody stops me from doing what I want.’

‘So you wanted to get caught — is that it?’

‘No,’ said Browne, lunging forward to grab him by the shoulders. ‘I wanted the chance to pay you back for all the hours of torment you gave me in prison.’ He punched Wyatt on the nose and blood spurted. ‘It’s not so easy when you haven’t got those other mangy warders to help you, is it?’

Wyatt was enraged. Wiping the blood with the back of his hand, he fought back and landed some telling punches. Browne had to give ground for a moment. Gathering his strength, he began to trade blows with the prison warder. The result was a foregone conclusion. Strong and determined he might be, but Wyatt was up against a man seasoned by dozens of brawls. As the two of them grappled, Browne suddenly tripped him up and pushed him to the ground. Kicking him hard in the groin, he then grabbed his head and banged it repeatedly on the paving stone. Only when Wyatt began to beg for mercy did Browne relent.

He searched the man’s pockets, took what money he could find and fled. Wyatt was left groaning in agony and regretting his decision to accost the former prisoner. Browne, meanwhile, made his way back to Rockfield Place and ran up the stairs to Adeline’s room. When he opened the door, she was sitting in front of the mirror as she applied powder to her cheeks.

‘There you are,’ he said, tossing the stolen money on to the bed, ‘I’ve brought you another gift, Ad.’

She was more concerned by his appearance. ‘There’s blood on your coat,’ she said, ‘and a bruise on your face. Have you been fighting?’

He sniggered. ‘No — I was just teaching someone a lesson.’

The unwelcome arrival of Edward Tallis had astounded Colbeck and sown instant terror into the heart of Leeming. They had been discussing the case over a drink in the bar at the Acland Tavern when the superintendent popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Charging across to them, he leant menacingly over their table.

‘I was told that I’d find you here,’ he snarled.

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Colbeck, recovering his poise. ‘You must have had a long and tiring journey. May we offer you a drink?’

‘No, Inspector, but you can offer me an explanation.’

‘For what, dare I ask?’

‘For this,’ said Tallis, taking a letter from his pocket and flinging it down on the table. ‘Read it.’

Colbeck picked it up. ‘It appears to be from the Bishop of Exeter.’

‘Indeed, it is, and he’s a very angry bishop. He’s demanding that I remove you and Leeming from this investigation and take you back to London.’

‘That would suit me, sir,’ Leeming piped up.

‘Your wishes are irrelevant.’

‘We don’t want to outstay our welcome.’

‘You’ll obey orders and do as you’re told. To begin with, the pair of you can offer an abject apology to the bishop.’

‘Why should we do that, sir?’ asked Colbeck, finishing the letter. ‘He has a colourful turn of phrase, I grant you, but I see nothing here that would make me behave any differently towards him. He’s been rude, high-handed and extremely unhelpful. The sergeant will bear me out on that score.’

‘I will,’ said Leeming. ‘What does the letter say?’

Colbeck handed it to him. ‘I think you should read it, Victor.’

‘Yes,’ added Tallis, lowering himself into an empty chair. ‘And while you’re doing so, remind yourself of the position that the bishop occupies here. He has far more power than the mayor and more influence than anyone in the county. Crucially, Bishop Phillpotts has the ear of Archbishop Sumner. Do you want to bring the wrath of Lambeth Palace down upon us? Is that the intention — to provoke the Archbishop of Canterbury?’

‘The only provocation of which I’m aware is in that letter, sir.’

Leeming was shocked by what he’d read. ‘I never knew that a man of the cloth could be so harsh,’ he said, returning the letter to Tallis. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t write that in blood rather than ink. Did you see what he called you, Inspector?’

Colbeck smiled. ‘Yes, I did. Apparently, I’m a boorish disrespectful oaf.’ He looked at Tallis. ‘You’ve called me far worse than that in the past, sir.’

‘This situation has got to be retrieved,’ asserted Tallis.

‘Yes,’ agreed Leeming. ‘We make our apology and go home.’

‘Be silent, man! We need no inane interjections.’

‘Nobody wants us here, sir.’

‘Especially the killer,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I’m not going to oblige him by quitting the field. As for the bishop’s letter, sir, I’m sorry that it aroused your ire so much that you came all the way to Devon. Had you met Bishop Phillpotts, you might not have been quite so eager to enter his fiefdom. I advise you to reserve judgement until you’ve come eye to eye with the right reverend gentleman.’

Tallis eyed him malevolently. ‘Do I detect a note of sarcasm?’

‘Nothing could be further from the truth, sir.’

‘You must consider how to make amends for your behaviour.’

‘The best way to do that is to solve the crime,’ argued Colbeck, ‘and we’ve more chance of doing that if Bishop Phillpotts is kept on a leash.’

‘Kept on a leash?’ howled Tallis, close to apoplexy. ‘We’re talking about a senior figure in the Anglican Church. He’s entitled to deference. You can’t operate freely in Exeter without his blessing.’

Colbeck indicated the letter. ‘He seems more inclined to curse than bless.’

‘We’ll make an appointment to see him tomorrow — both of us.’

‘I’ll be happy to accompany you to the bishop’s palace. While we’re doing that, the sergeant can take the train to Dawlish.’

‘Why should I do that, sir?’ asked Leeming.

‘I want you to interview Michael Heygate and his wife. He’s the brother of the deceased,’ he explained to Tallis, ‘and he may turn out to be a suspect as well.’

‘Then why not arrest him so that he can be interrogated?’

‘We lack the evidence to do that, sir. If he knows that we harbour suspicions about him, he’ll become defensive and uncooperative. Victor will sound him out.’

‘Do you have any other suspects?’

‘We have two at the moment,’ said Colbeck, ‘but Superintendent Steel favours one over the other. He’s a local villain named Browne and he’s made threats about killing the stationmaster in the past.’

‘Is the fellow in custody?’

‘He’s managed to evade us so far. But he’s still in Exeter.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘We were at the police station earlier when a prison warder staggered in, covered in blood. He recognised Browne as having served sentences in prison and sought to apprehend him. He got a broken nose and a lot of bruises for his pains. Bagsy Browne is still here somewhere,’ said Colbeck, ‘and he won’t be taken easily.’

‘Hasn’t a search for this individual been launched?’

‘Of course, sir, but the police force has limited numbers.’

‘What manner of man is their superintendent?’

‘He’s a fine policeman, hampered by lack of resources. He objected to our presence at first, but I think he’s come to accept that we could be useful.’

‘Yes,’ muttered Leeming, ‘even if all we do is to serve tea in the station refreshment room.’ He raised his voice. ‘Superintendent Steel ought to see that letter, sir. I gather that he’s had a lot of difficulty with the bishop over the years.’

‘Yet he’s held his own,’ said Colbeck. ‘I admire him for doing that.’

‘Where exactly was the murder committed?’ asked Tallis.

‘We’re not entirely certain, sir, but a missing diary may give us a clue.’

‘To whose diary are you referring?’

‘The stationmaster’s, sir,’ replied Colbeck. ‘It transpires that Joel Heygate had a passion for birds.’

Peter had brought some welcome pleasure into the household. He not only cheered Maud Hope up, he acted as a distraction. There were times when she was able to forget that she was in pain. The canary was a tuneful companion but she didn’t mind that. He filled the room with sweetness and song. However, not even Peter was able to divert her now. As she sat beside his cage in the armchair, she didn’t even notice that he was there. Dorcas was late coming home. That disturbed her. Her daughter was a sensitive young woman who’d been profoundly rocked by the death of her one real friend at the railway station. Maud had told her to stay away from work until she felt better but Dorcas was driven by a keen sense of loyalty. Against her parent’s wishes, therefore, she’d gone to the refreshment room that morning and should have returned an hour ago. Since her husband was also late, Maud was left alone to fear for her daughter’s safety.

When she finally heard the front door being unlocked, she almost swooned with relief. If it was Nathaniel Hope, at least he’d be able to comfort her and go out in search of Dorcas. Maud would not have to suffer alone. She made an effort to get to her feet but the arthritis bit sharply into her hip and forced her to sit back down again. The pain made her head swim. Her hip was still throbbing when Dorcas came into the room. Maud let out a cry of gratitude.

‘Thank heavens!’ she exclaimed.

‘Are you all right, Mother?’ asked Dorcas, going to her.

‘I was frightened that something had happened to you.’

‘Mr Woodford made me work late because I was in charge of the refreshment room. I had to count up all the money and put it away in the safe.’

Maud was impressed. ‘You were in charge?’

‘Yes, I never thought I’d cope but I did somehow.’

‘What about Mrs Rossiter?’

Dorcas sighed. ‘She had to go home, Mother. She was … unwell.’

She told Maud about the way in which the manageress had dressed and behaved that morning and how Woodford had refused to let her continue serving refreshments. Dorcas also explained that Inspector Colbeck had questioned both her and Mrs Rossiter.

‘Why did he want to talk to you?’ asked Maud, anxiously.

‘He thought that I might be able to help.’

‘But you know nothing whatsoever about the murder.’

‘I knew Mr Heygate. In fact, I think I knew him better than anybody at the station. That’s why he trusted Peter with me. How is he?’ she went on, crouching down to peer into the cage. ‘Hello, Peter, have you missed me?’ The bird chirped a reply. ‘There you are — he understands what I said.’

‘He’s been good company for me all day.’

‘Did you feed him and change his water?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Maud. ‘I spoilt him good and proper.’

Dorcas took off her hat and coat. ‘Thank you, Mother.’ She went into the passageway to hang them up on a peg. ‘I feel so weary,’ she said, coming back into the parlour. ‘I’ve been on my feet all day.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

‘What about it?’

‘Will you be the manageress again or will Mrs Rossiter be back?’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any chance of seeing her for a while. She’s not very well at all. According to Mr Woodford, the inspector wants her to see a doctor. He said that he’d look into it.’

‘What business is it of the inspector’s?’

‘He took pity on her,’ said Dorcas. ‘Inspector Colbeck is a very kind man and not at all like the policemen on duty in the streets. Because he could see how nervous I was, he treated me very gently. I’m sure that he was gentle with Mrs Rossiter as well.’ She flopped into a chair. ‘I wish I could say the same about Mr Woodford.’

‘Was he unkind to her?’

‘Yes, he spoke very harshly to Mrs Rossiter. He seemed to forget all the good service she’d given over the years and threatened to dismiss her on the spot.’

‘That’s dreadful!’ exclaimed Maud.

‘Luckily, Inspector Colbeck came to her rescue. Afterwards, he persuaded her to go home and took her there in a cab.’

‘It sounds to me as if Agnes Rossiter is really ill.’

‘She is, Mother, but it’s not like an ordinary disease.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I heard the inspector discussing it with Sergeant Leeming. He said that Mrs Rossiter was so overcome by grief that it had affected her mind.’

Illumined by dozens of candles, the cathedral was at its most beautiful and imposing, its ancient walls and soaring columns acting as an echo chamber for the choir. When she let herself in that evening, the rehearsal was at its height, well-trained voices merging in perfect harmony and rising up to heaven with mellifluous adoration. Agnes Rossiter was in no mood to join in the praise of a God who’d signally failed her. The loss of her first husband had been a shattering experience but the death of Joel Heygate was somehow even more devastating. She’d known happiness with her husband and could look back on years of pleasure. Fond memories could console her. Such memories of Heygate didn’t exist. What the stationmaster had represented was the promise of a better life for her, an enrichment of her world, a redemption. Instead of sharing a dull and arid existence with her sister, she would have been a married woman again with all the position and sense of fulfilment that it brought. Yet it was not to be. Her last chance of true happiness had been snatched away. She felt utterly betrayed.

She might be in God’s house but she no longer felt either welcome or respectful there. Indeed, the whole edifice seemed to her to be a huge architectural mistake, dedicated to a supreme being who didn’t exist or, if he did, had a brutal streak. She had felt the full impact of that brutality, a helpless victim who’d had all hope and ambition squeezed out of her life by a malign act. It was infuriating. As her rage mounted inside her, she suddenly gathered up the skirts of her black dress and ran down the nave, screaming at the top of her voice. The choir were still singing as she raced past them, ran up the altar steps and made for the crucifix, snatching it up and brandishing it like the standard of a defeated army.

It was minutes before they could overpower her.

When they were shown into the library at the bishop’s palace next morning, Colbeck was surprised how timid Edward Tallis appeared. Ordinarily, he was fearless, having seen action during his army career and having confronted armed criminals many times. Yet here he was, looking round tentatively like a small child who has stumbled into a strange room. Colbeck knew that the superintendent was a devout man but had never expected him to be quite so reverential in the presence of a bishop. He suspected that Tallis’s attitude might change when he actually met Henry Phillpotts. He also suspected that they were deliberately being kept waiting. It gave Colbeck the opportunity to take a closer look at the bookshelves, filled to capacity with leather-bound tomes and a veritable treasure trove of smaller volumes. He was interested to see so many collections of poetry tucked away among the endless religious studies. Milton occupied pride of place on one shelf.

Without warning, the door opened and the bishop sailed in with his secretary trotting at his heels. Phillpotts made for the chair behind his desk.

‘I’m sorry for the delay,’ he said without a trace of apology in his voice, ‘but I had to speak to the choirmaster. Apparently, we had a madwoman in the cathedral yesterday, daring to grab the crucifix from the altar. The police had to be called to remove her. For an act of such wanton sacrilege, she needs locking up in perpetuity.’

‘I beg to differ, Bishop,’ said Colbeck. ‘As it happens, I know the lady and was told about the incident by Superintendent Steel. Her name is Mrs Agnes Rossiter and she deserves compassion rather than condemnation. When you’re apprised of the full details, you may reach the same conclusion. However,’ he went on, indicating his companion, ‘you haven’t met Superintendent Tallis yet, have you?’

Introductions were made and they all sat down. Tallis perched on the edge of his chair, wishing that he could have a cigar to settle his nerves. Colbeck was completely at ease. Ralph Barnes sat at the side of the desk, interested to view the encounter. The bishop pretended to peruse a document in front of him before setting it aside and looking up. He gave Tallis a thin-lipped smile of disdain.

‘I take it that you’ve come to rid us of Inspector Colbeck and his assistant,’ he said. ‘Please make your apology then take the pair of them away from Exeter.’

‘If one of my detectives has inadvertently upset you, Bishop,’ said Tallis with deference, ‘then I apologise on his behalf. What I will not do, however, is to withdraw him from the investigation.’

Phillpotts bridled. ‘Didn’t you read my letter?’

‘I read it several times.’

‘Then why is there any prevarication?’

‘My detectives were engaged by the South Devon Railway and it only lies within the power of Mr Quinnell to dispense with their services.’

‘Quinnell doesn’t understand the implications of this crime,’ said the bishop, fussily. ‘It was committed as a direct affront to me by a man who has already behaved atrociously by fouling my lawn in broad daylight.’

‘The bishop is alluding to Bagsy Browne,’ explained Colbeck.

Phillpotts glowered. ‘Browne is an incorrigible heathen.’

‘From what I hear,’ said Tallis, ‘he’s a very violent man. When a prison warder tried to arrest him last night, Browne beat the fellow to a pulp.’

‘He must be caught, tried and hanged.’

‘I accept that he must be caught and tried,’ said Colbeck, ‘but he should only face execution if he turns out to be the stationmaster’s killer.’

‘We know he’s the killer. Isn’t it blindingly obvious?’

‘Not to me, Bishop.’

‘I, too, would need more evidence,’ said Tallis. ‘When we heard about the attack on the warder last evening, the inspector made an interesting point.’

‘It made me look at Browne in a slightly different way,’ said Colbeck, taking his cue. ‘If he really was a ruthless killer, why didn’t he murder the prison warder? After all, he had every reason to loathe the man. Yet he let him off with a beating. It may be that Browne is not the wild animal you portray him as, Bishop.’

‘He’s been a thorn in my flesh for years,’ said Phillpotts, scowling. ‘Isn’t that true, Ralph?’

‘Yes,’ replied the secretary, dutifully.

‘List a few of his outrages.’

Barnes winced. ‘There are so many,’ he said, ‘that I don’t know where to start. I suppose one of the worst examples of his loutish behaviour was during the procession held through the streets last Christmas when there was snow on the ground. Browne dislodged the bishop’s mitre with a snowball. Then there was wilful damage to church property in Teignmouth,’ he went on, ‘and — most reprehensible of all in my opinion — he was caught half-naked with a loose woman on consecrated ground. They had to be prised apart.’

‘These crimes were all personal attacks on me,’ declared the bishop.

‘They’re thoroughly shameful,’ said Tallis, ‘I agree. But they’re not of the same order as the killing and burning of the stationmaster.’

‘You’re not listening to me, man — there’s a pattern here.’

The bishop treated them to another sermon, emphasising the importance of the Church and the villainy of those who mocked and subverted it. In trying to grind Tallis into submission, however, he was achieving just the opposite. Colbeck could see the superintendent’s hackles slowly rising. Tallis might have verged on the obsequious at the start but he was rapidly losing respect from the bishop. As the holy tirade grew louder, Tallis brought it to a premature close by interrupting it with a shout of protest.

‘That’s enough, Bishop Phillpotts!’ he said, standing up. ‘You’ve convinced me that I was right to send Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming here and would never dream of withdrawing them at your behest.’

‘Do you dare to oppose my will?’ blustered Phillpotts.

‘I’ve come to see the situation in a new light.’

‘This is a local crime that should be solved locally without interference from people who know nothing of Exeter and my position within this county.’

‘Actually,’ said Barnes, piously, ‘it’s a much wider area than merely Devon. The diocese extends from the borders of Somerset and Dorset to the Isles of Scilly in Cornwall. Bishop Phillpotts has the care of an untold number of souls.’

‘That’s irrelevant,’ said Tallis.

The bishop sat up indignantly. ‘It’s a measure of my importance.’

‘I acknowledge that, Bishop, but I challenge your self-appointed right to send my officers packing. They are well versed in the art of detection and will remain here until the case is solved.’

Colbeck rose to his feet. ‘It’s in everyone’s interest that the killer is caught and brought to justice,’ he said, smoothly, ‘and the fewer handicaps we have to face, the sooner we can achieve that result. In short, Bishop, instead of trying to steer the investigation in the wrong direction altogether, I suggest that you simply let us get on with our job. We have no desire to remain in Exeter a minute longer than necessary.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better, Inspector,’ said Tallis.

‘This is insufferable,’ said Phillpotts, cheeks reddening. ‘I find your attitude both insolent and disgraceful. I will be writing to the commissioner at Scotland Yard to voice my displeasure.’

‘You have every right to do so, Bishop.’

‘This matter will not end here.’

‘It will only end when we have the killer in custody,’ said Colbeck.

Phillpotts turned to his secretary. ‘Show these gentlemen out.’

‘Yes, Bishop,’ said Barnes, moving to the door.

After an exchange of muted farewells, the visitors went out. When they left the building, Tallis was able to let his true feelings show. Taking out the bishop’s letter, he waved it in the air.

‘This is not Holy Writ,’ he said.

‘The bishop evidently thinks that it is, sir.’

‘He has all the attributes of a tyrant.’

In that respect, Colbeck mused, Tallis and the bishop were very similar: men of power who hated to have their authority questioned and who sought to quash any sign of what they felt was opposition. While Phillpotts operated in a spiritual sphere, Tallis was restricted to the temporal and both of them followed a policy of aggressive and unequivocal dictatorship. What Colbeck had witnessed in the library was, in microcosm, a skirmish between Church and State. Tallis had been the victor.

‘The fellow is not fit to hold his bishopric,’ he said, thrusting the letter back in his pocket. ‘He should be shunted into instant retirement.’

‘He probably feels the same way about us, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and is writing to the commissioner at this very moment to have us summarily dismissed.’

‘He’s nothing but a sanctimonious bully.’

‘Leave him to us, sir. He’s not your problem any longer. Now that you’ve put him in his place — your forthrightness, may I say, was exemplary — you can return to London to supervise the policing of the capital.’

‘Oh, I’m not stirring from here now.’

‘But the sergeant and I can manage on our own.’

‘Not if you have to withstand sniping from the bishop,’ said Tallis, seriously. ‘You need me to keep him at bay. Besides, an extra pair of hands is always useful in an investigation and this case is one of such unimaginable horror that I wish to make my contribution to it. I’m staying to see it through.’

Colbeck’s heart sank.

Madeleine could not keep away from it. Now that the wedding was imminent, she took every opportunity she could to walk past the place where the ceremony would be held. St Pancras New Church had been built over thirty years earlier and, like the rival Camden Chapel, looked more like a Greek temple than a traditional Anglican church. It stood on Euston Road and was intended to serve the population in the southern part of the parish. As she made her daily visit that morning, Madeleine looked up in awe at the spacious Ionic portico that ran the length of the western facade. Spearing the sky was a magnificent tower that enjoyed a view over the whole of Camden Town and its neighbouring parishes. She could scarcely believe that she’d be married to Robert Colbeck in such an imposing edifice and she recalled how nervous she’d been when they attended services there together to hear the banns being read. It would not be long before they were stepping out of the church as man and wife.

It made her reflect on the immense changes Colbeck had brought about in her life. As a rule, someone of her modest upbringing could never aspire to befriend — let alone to marry — a person from a distinctly higher class. Before he joined the police force, Colbeck had been a barrister, a well-educated man who’d inherited a large house and a clutch of servants. In social and intellectual terms, the gap between them had been wide, yet it had narrowed dramatically over the years. Quick to learn and keen to study, she’d borrowed countless books from Colbeck’s library. Then there was her skill as an artist. Under his tutelage, it had developed and blossomed, giving her immense pride. Madeleine had never been short of confidence but the fact that she could command an income of sorts was a huge fillip. What had really bonded her and Colbeck together, however, was her readiness to join in his investigative work when required. Though she lacked his insight and deductive powers, Madeleine had nevertheless been able to offer significant help at times and hoped to render it again, especially when she could do so as Mrs Colbeck.

Tearing herself away from the church, she walked slowly home, luxuriating in thoughts of her wedding day and of the blissful married life that would follow it. When she let herself into the house, she was still dreaming fondly of the future. Caleb Andrews brought her out of her reverie.

‘This came while you were out, Maddy,’ he said, giving her a letter.

‘It’s from Robert!’ she exclaimed, opening it at once.

Andrews stuck out his chest. ‘If he needs any assistance in Exeter,’ he said, ‘tell him that I’ll be happy to join him there — even if it means travelling on Brunel’s railway. I may not be a trained detective but I’ve got great experience of the world. That must count for something.’ He saw the distress on her face. ‘What’s the matter? Has something happened?’

‘Robert sends his apologies,’ she said, her lower lip trembling. ‘It seems that his case is going to take much longer than he anticipated.’ She looked hopelessly at her father. ‘What if it’s not solved by the time of the wedding?’