Murder on the Great Northern Railway E-Book

Edward Marston

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 407

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

April, 1867. A train departs King's Cross station bound for Lincoln. Among the passengers is a man attired in the garb of one in high ecclesiastical office. He is accompanied by a brawny man carefully carrying a large leather bag, who ensures that they are not joined by any other travellers in their first-class compartment. Back at Scotland Yard that evening, Detective Inspector Colbeck is alerted to news of a brutal murder and robbery on the train. The urgent request for help from the Bishop of Lincoln states that a man has been shot dead and something of great value, a silver model of Lincoln Cathedral, has been stolen. Colbeck is more and more intrigued by the case as he and Sergeant Leeming follow the lines of inquiry, and he is convinced that the killer and thief is still close at hand. But with the city bursting at the seams for the annual Horse Fair, the timing is far from ideal and further complicates a challenging case for the Railway Detective.

Leseprobe

1PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON

‘A master storyteller’

Daily Mail

‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’

Time Out

‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’

Sunday Telegraph

‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues.  Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’

Historical Novels Review

‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’

The Guardian 2

345

MURDER ON THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY

Edward Marston6

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGECHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENABOUT THE AUTHORBY EDWARD MARSTONCOPYRIGHT

7

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1867

The hordes surging into King’s Cross station were too eager to catch their trains that morning to remember that the terminus was built on the site of a smallpox and fever hospital. Desperate to get somewhere, they were in the grip of a fever of their own. The noise was deafening, the anxiety intense, the smell powerful and the jostling universal. Porters were everywhere, conducting passengers to their compartments, putting their luggage inside or, if it was too bulky, passing it up to colleagues on the roof of the carriages to be carefully stacked. Pandemonium was a daily event on the Great Northern Railway.

One porter was wheeling a large, wooden box on his trolley. It was covered in a series of thick ropes. The tall, well-dressed, broad-shouldered man who walked beside the box kept looking around to make sure that they were not being followed. When 8they reached the guard’s van, he handed a document to the guard. As soon as he had read it, the latter stood back so that the porter could help the man lift the box aboard and stow it in a corner.

‘It will be safe and sound there,’ promised the guard.

‘I’m travelling with it,’ insisted the man.

‘You’d be more comfortable in a compartment, sir.’

‘It will never be out of my sight,’ declared the other. ‘I’m paid to watch it every inch of the way and that’s what I intend to do.’ Putting a hand into his pocket, he brought out some coins to tip the porter. ‘Thank you.’

‘God bless you, sir,’ said the latter, moving away.

‘Well,’ said the guard, sizing the passenger up, ‘if we’re travelling together, I ought to know your name. I’m Tom Coveney, by the way.’

‘I’d rather travel in silence,’ insisted the passenger. ‘You’ve got your job to do, and I’ve got mine.’ He sat down in the van. ‘Let me get on with it.’

The guard shrugged. ‘Please yourself.’

Spring sunshine greeted the train as it emerged from the station and headed north, belching smoke and gathering speed as it did so. Locked in the guard’s van, Coveney found his companion strangely uncommunicative. The man said nothing about the wooden box with which he was travelling or why he kept glancing protectively at it. In the end, the guard abandoned his attempt at starting a conversation and sat there in silence. Whenever the train stopped at a station, Coveney got out on the platform. As some passengers alighted, they were quickly replaced by new ones and another stage of the journey began. It was at Peterborough that the sequence was finally broken. No sooner had the train juddered to 9a halt than there was an explosion not far from the engine itself, a thunderous bang that caused panic among those on the platform. The guard leapt out of his van to investigate, trying to pick his way through the crowd of hysterical passengers who had either left the train or were struggling to board it.

His place in the guard’s van was quickly taken. A man in rough clothing, and with a hat pulled down over his face, suddenly burst in and pointed a gun at its sole occupant. Jumping to his feet, the passenger reached for his own weapon, but he was far too slow. Before his hand could even touch his gun, he was hit in the chest by a searing bullet and collapsed in a heap. Putting his weapon back in its holster, the killer dragged the wooden box to the door and flung it open. He grabbed hold of the ropes and lifted the box before swinging it into the hands of a waiting companion, a sturdy man who carried the heavy load with relative ease. As panic continued to rage on the platform, the two of them disappeared through the nearest exit where a horse and cart awaited them. After the box was lifted onto the cart, the men jumped on after it and the driver snapped the reins.

The horse set off at a steady trot, leaving behind a scene of utter confusion and a dead body in the guard’s van. The killer and his accomplice roared with laughter. Their plan had worked perfectly.

10

CHAPTER TWO

When he returned to Scotland Yard that morning, Robert Colbeck found a summons from Superintendent Tallis awaiting him. He walked swiftly to his superior’s office with a quiet smile on his face. Anticipating praise for the way that he had brought his latest case to a satisfactory conclusion, he was looking forward to basking in his superior’s approval. When he knocked on Tallis’s door then opened it to enter the office, however, he could see that the superintendent was in no mood to congratulate him. The older man’s face was puckered with concern. Evidently, something very serious had happened.

‘You sent for me, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘I want you and Sergeant Leeming to go to Lincoln at once,’ snapped the other, reaching for a telegraph. ‘Read this.’

‘Who sent it?’ asked Colbeck, taking the telegraph from him. 11

‘Someone called Alexander Courtney.’

‘He’s the Dean of Lincoln Cathedral.’

Tallis was surprised. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘I remember reading of his appointment, sir.’ He studied the telegraph. ‘Why is he sending a message to us?’

‘Something of great value has been stolen from a train that stopped at Peterborough on its way to Lincoln. As you can see, the man guarding the item was shot dead. We are asked to send you immediately.’

‘Sergeant Leeming and I will be on the next train there, sir,’ said Colbeck, handing the telegraph back. ‘There’s an understandable note of outrage in the summons.’

‘What could the killer have stolen?’

‘Let’s not waste time on speculation. When we reach Lincoln, I’ll send you full details as soon as possible.’

‘Make sure that you do that.’

‘I’ll send a reply to the Dean from the telegraph station at King’s Cross. I’ll give him some much-needed reassurance. Please excuse me, sir. We need to be on our way.’

And before Tallis was able to speak, Colbeck left the office at speed. There was no time to waste. A new and intriguing assignment beckoned.

In Lincoln itself, Alexander Courtney was locked in conversation with Bishop John Jackson, a slim, grey-haired man in his mid-fifties who was still shocked by the crime. Dean Courtney, by contrast, was a solid individual with heavy jowls and an air of spirituality. He was quick to defend his action.

‘It was important to move swiftly, Bishop,’ he explained.

‘But why involve Scotland Yard?’ asked the other. ‘The murder 12and theft occurred in Cambridgeshire. Is this not a case to hand to their constabulary? And surely the railway police in Peterborough station itself would wish to be involved. The crimes occurred right on their doorstep.’

‘I wanted the best man and that is unquestionably Inspector Colbeck.’

‘His name is unfamiliar to me.’

‘He has been featured in national newspapers many times. Since he has had so many successes linked to the railway system, he is known as the Railway Detective.’

‘Will such a remarkable person be available to us?’

‘Even as we speak,’ said Courtney, ‘he is on his way here. Ten minutes ago, we received a telegraph from him, confirming the fact. Take heart. Colbeck is coming.’

‘How do we break the terrible news to Gregory Tomkins?’ asked the Bishop, hoarse with anxiety.

‘Hopefully, we may not need to.’

‘Crimes of such magnitude will certainly be reported in the press. He is bound to become aware of the fate of his masterpiece.’

‘Tomkins leads a life of almost monastic dedication. I doubt if he even reads a daily newspaper. He only needs to know the full details of what happened when the villains have been arrested and condemned to death.’

‘You seem very confident that they will be caught.’

‘Were I a betting man – which I am not – I’d place a large wager on Colbeck. His record of success is amazing. That’s why I sent that telegraph. Don’t forget,’ said the Dean, ‘that I was on that train in Peterborough station when the explosion went off. Like everyone else, I was confused and frightened. It was only when I left my compartment and went to check on Langston that 13I realised what had happened. The explosion had been set off to divert everyone’s attention. When I got to the guard’s van, I saw that Michael Langston had been shot dead and that the precious gift he was bringing to us had been stolen.’

‘We must get it back!’ insisted Bishop Jackson.

‘Colbeck will find it somehow. Do as I do and place your hopes in him.’

‘I find it difficult to do so. We can’t rely on a detective from London. What we require is someone who can perform miracles.’

The Dean was confident. ‘Such a man will be here in due course.’

Victor Leeming was no friend of railways. He resented the fact that he and Colbeck were regularly despatched to solve crimes in faraway places. It meant long, tedious journeys in noisy trains that rocked along so fiercely that he was unable to sleep. What made his suffering worse was that his companion, Robert Colbeck, was so supremely at ease when being hurled along in the compartment of a train. Because they were not alone, conversation about the case was impossible. All that Leeming could do was to examine the few facts that they had and wonder how long it would be before he was able to return to his family in London.

‘Take heart, Victor,’ whispered Colbeck. ‘We’ll be there in half an hour.’

Leeming sat up hopefully. ‘In Lincoln?’

‘No, in Peterborough. That’s where the crimes occurred. We’ll get off there so that we can find out full details.’

‘Will this train wait for us?’

Colbeck shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. We’ll have to catch the next one.’

Leeming rolled his eyes in despair.

14When the train came to a halt in Peterborough station, the detectives were among the first passengers to alight. Seeing the stationmaster outside his office, they hurried across to him. Leeming put his valise down and took out his notebook in readiness. Colbeck explained who they were and why they needed a description of what had happened at the station earlier. Nathan Powell was delighted to help. He was a short, tubby, middle-aged man with a beard covering the lower half of his face. Powell was clearly distressed.

‘Nothing like this has ever happened to us,’ he moaned. ‘My staff are known for their efficiency. Passengers always feel safe and well looked after here.’

‘Where exactly was this explosion?’ asked Colbeck.

‘It was in a storeroom at the far end,’ said Powell, pointing a finger. ‘How anyone got inside it is a mystery. It’s always kept locked and there’s a railway policeman standing outside it.’

‘Was he injured in the blast?’

‘Yes, Inspector, and so were several passengers. It was bedlam here.’

‘I daresay that everyone’s attention was focussed on the blaze,’ said Colbeck.

‘I forced my way through the crowd to get there and joined my porters in throwing buckets of water over the flames. Passengers were screaming and struggling to move away from the fire. Most of them simply fled.’

‘Did you hear a gun being fired?’

‘No, Inspector. The roar of the fire blocked out everything else.’

The stationmaster was still deeply upset about the incident and tears came into his eyes at one point. He dabbed at them with a handkerchief, then continued his report. Leeming scribbled madly 15in his notebook. Seeing that the train was now ready to depart, Powell moved away so that he could despatch it before returning to continue his narrative. It was long and detailed. When the stationmaster’s account finally ended, the sergeant had a question for him.

‘How did the killer know where to find what he was after?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, the item of luggage he was after could have been anywhere on the train. How did he find it so easily?’

‘There’s an obvious answer to that,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Someone saw the man getting into the guard’s van with it at King’s Cross. He sent that information to the telegraph station here.’ He turned to Powell. ‘Do you have a reliable man on duty there?’

‘Ralph Bickerton is very reliable,’ said the stationmaster.

‘Does he have a good memory?’

‘He never forgets a thing, Inspector.’

‘Then let’s meet him,’ said Colbeck.

The stationmaster led them to the telegraph station and introduced the person in charge of it. Bickerton was a stringy man in his fifties with a bald head and eyelids that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. He was duly impressed to hear that Scotland Yard detectives were involved in the case.

‘Have you been busy today?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I’m always busy, Inspector. I’ve despatched and received messages all morning.’

‘Do you always read them in full?’

‘Of course I do. It’s part of my job.’

‘I believe that a telegraph may have been sent today from King’s Cross station.’

‘There was more than one,’ said Bickerton. ‘Passengers travelling 16here wanted to let relatives or friends know when they were likely to arrive.’

‘Did you have any unusual telegraphs?’

‘Yes, I did, Inspector. One was very unusual.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was so short – only two words.’

‘What were they?’

‘“Guard’s van”.’

‘To whom was the telegraph sent?’

‘It was to a big, ugly man named Percy Gull. He came to the station early and kept popping in to see if there was a message for him. When his telegraph did arrive, he grinned and went straight out of here.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bickerton,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve solved a problem for us. We need another favour. Please describe this individual to Sergeant Leeming. Every detail is vital to us. Forget about the name Percy Gull. It’s clearly a false one to hide his identity. What first struck you about this man?’

‘The smell,’ replied Bickerton.

‘What smell?’ asked Leeming, notebook in hand.

‘He stank to high heaven.’

‘There you are,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘We’ve picked up his scent already.’

17

CHAPTER THREE

Bishop Jackson was in his office, staring in disbelief at a letter he had been given. There was a tap on the door, then it opened to admit the Dean. The newcomer saw the dismay in the other man’s face.

‘Has something happened?’ he asked.

‘No,’ replied the other, ‘something has not happened.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Knowing the train that the detectives from London had caught, I sent Canon Smale to the station to welcome them. He waited in vain.’ He waved the letter. ‘This tells me that the train in question arrived on time but that there was no sign of Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming.’

‘There must be some mistake,’ said Courtney worriedly.

‘I agree. It seems that you were the one to make it. In boasting 18about Inspector Colbeck’s rare qualities, you raised my hopes. This missive has dashed them. They were not on the train promised. So much for your faith in Colbeck!’

‘I refuse to believe that he let us down.’

‘Then where is the man?’

‘There has to be an explanation,’ said the Dean, clearly ruffled. ‘Everything I’ve heard about Inspector Colbeck suggests that he’s a man of his word.’

‘Then why have us waiting for the wrong train?’

‘All will be explained in due course, Bishop.’

‘I’m sure that it will,’ agreed the other, tone changing, ‘and I apologise for being a trifle tetchy. I’ve no doubt that the inspector had an extremely good reason for changing trains. It may well be that he alighted at Peterborough so that he could gather full details of what happened there earlier today.’ He gave a smile of apology. ‘Forgive me. I was wrong to blame Inspector Colbeck for being late when he was, in fact, only being thorough.’

Courtney nodded gratefully. ‘It’s the obvious explanation.’

‘Let’s move on to an important decision,’ said Bishop Jackson. ‘As we both know only too well, the Horse Fair is due to open here in a couple of days. The world and his wife will descend on Lincoln. Crowds have already started moving in.’

‘I’m told that every hotel and inn in the city is fully booked.’

‘I think that we can offer our visitors from Scotland Yard better accommodation than they would find in a hostelry. After all, they’re here to solve a terrible crime, not to buy themselves a horse.’

Courtney was decisive. ‘I’ll meet the next train from London in person,’ he said. ‘I’m confident that Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming will be on it. They deserve a proper welcome from me.’

19After what seemed like an age, they got their first glimpse of Lincoln Cathedral. As they peered through the window in their compartment, it suddenly appeared at the top of an escarpment, gazing down on the city below. Its sheer size and air of majesty took Leeming’s breath away. Caught in the bright sunshine, it was absolutely dazzling.

‘It looks even bigger than York Minster,’ he said, mouth agape.

‘William Cobbett described it as the finest building in the whole world.’

‘Who was he?’

‘Cobbett was a remarkable man who published Rural Rides, an account of his travels to various parts of the kingdom. He was very forthright in his opinions.’

‘I agree with him,’ said Leeming, heaving a sigh as the cathedral suddenly vanished. ‘I’d love to see it properly.’

‘Oh, you will,’ said Colbeck. ‘I can promise you that.’

The train was slowing now, bringing other things of interest into view. There was a flurry of activity in the streets. People and horses were everywhere. The market was teeming with customers. When the train finally came to a halt, the detectives were the first to get out onto the platform. They made their way towards the main exit. Colbeck was tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd. His height made him stand out from the herd. Greatly relieved, the Right Reverend Alexander Courtney spotted him and started to make his way towards him. When he eventually confronted Colbeck, the Dean’s manner was effusive.

‘Thank heavens you’ve come, Inspector!’ he said, offering his hand. ‘You’re the answer to a prayer.’

‘We responded at once to your summons, Dean,’ explained Colbeck, identifying him by his apparel. ‘We broke our journey 20at Peterborough so that we could gather full details of the crimes that occurred there.’

‘I should have realised that that was what you would do.’ Turning to Leeming, the Dean gave him a warm handshake. ‘You are also welcome, Sergeant Leeming. The very sight of both of you lifts my spirits.’

‘Two crimes were committed at Peterborough,’ said Leeming. ‘We know about the murder but have no idea what was stolen by the killer.’

‘Lincoln Cathedral,’ explained Courtney.

Leeming was startled. ‘But we’ve just seen it through the window of our compartment. Nobody could steal anything as big as that.’

‘You misunderstand me. I travelled to London with a private detective to receive an extraordinary gift. It was a large model of the cathedral, donated to us by a brilliant silversmith who was born in Lincoln and for whom the task was a labour of love.’

‘It was also an act of great generosity,’ observed Colbeck.

‘Tomkins wanted to create the miniature cathedral before his skill began to fade.’

‘Would that be Gregory Tomkins, by any chance?’

Courtney was surprised. ‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘His reputation goes before him. I’ve seen his work on display in the windows of a shop owned by Peat, Hatherly and Tomkins. It’s quite brilliant.’

‘Tomkins began his career here in Lincoln, but his fame reached the capital, and he was lured there by the promise of financial gain. He was made a partner in a respected business – but he never forgot his birthplace.’

‘Tell us about this private detective,’ said Colbeck.21

‘His name was Michael Langston, and he was highly recommended. We went to London together last night and were shown the silversmith’s masterpiece before it was placed into a wooden box with a large amount of padding to protect it. Early this morning,’ said the Dean, ‘we caught the train back to Lincoln. Langston, who was armed, travelled with the box in the guard’s van.’

‘That information was sent to the telegraph station at Peterborough. We have proof of that. The killer knew exactly where to strike, taking advantage of the panic caused by an explosion in a storeroom. Everything seemed to have been planned with military precision.’

‘Why would someone want to steal the silver cathedral?’ wailed the Dean. ‘It would have no intrinsic value to the killer. It goes without saying that the man who shot Langston dead has no acquaintance whatsoever with Christian values.’

‘What he does have,’ noted Leeming, ‘is a source of wealth.’

‘News of the theft will be in newspapers throughout the country. It will cause enormous shock and regret. Who would dare to buy such an item?’

‘You would,’ argued Colbeck. ‘The killer and his associates intend to sell it to you.’

Courtney was shocked. ‘But it came to us with no price tag. Gregory Tomkins was left a huge amount of money in the will of a rich uncle. He wanted us to share in his good fortune. That was how he was able to offer his masterpiece to us as a gift.’

‘It’s suddenly acquired a high value. Be warned.’

‘We’d never dream of paying for it, Inspector.’

‘Then you will have no chance of getting it back. You will have to deal with the thieves to bring them out into the open. It’s the 22only way they will be arrested and made to pay for their crimes.’

Disappointed, the Dean sagged. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘What happened to the body of the private detective?’

‘It’s being held in Peterborough. It will be transferred to Lincoln so that his family can arrange a funeral. They will be devastated by news of his murder. But let me take you away from this maelstrom,’ he went on, indicating the exit. ‘There is a carriage waiting for us.’

‘Excellent,’ said Colbeck, walking beside him.

‘Bishop Jackson is dying to meet you. I explained to him that you had a rare talent for solving crimes committed on the railway.’

‘We’ve never searched for a silver cathedral before,’ muttered Leeming. ‘This could be our biggest test yet.’

When she arrived at the house, Lydia Quayle was given a warm welcome by Madeleine Colbeck and taken into the drawing room. The visitor studied her friend.

‘You look disappointed,’ she said.

‘It’s not because of your arrival, Lydia. That’s always a pleasure. It’s the fact that Robert has been sent all the way to Lincoln on what sounds like a very complex case.’

‘Oh dear! It’s such a long way to go.’

‘His letter contained the briefest of details. A man was shot dead on the train going there and something that he was guarding was stolen.’

‘How dreadful!’ exclaimed Lydia.

‘It’s going to be a long and difficult investigation.’

‘That means that Alan may be called upon again.’

Madeleine smiled. ‘Yes, there’s a good chance that Detective Constable Hinton will indeed be asked to help them. Robert has the highest regard for him – and so, of course, do you.’ 23

‘Don’t you dare start teasing me again,’ warned Lydia, wagging a finger. ‘Alan and I are just … good friends.’

‘He dotes on you, Lydia.’

‘I wish that he did but work always comes first. He’s desperate to gain promotion and can only spare limited time for me.’

‘You’re always at the forefront of his mind.’

‘I hope not, Madeleine. Thinking about me would be a terrible distraction. In a murder investigation, especially, he must concentrate on the matter in hand. I accept that in the same way that you do.’

‘It’s something that I accepted when I married Robert. He’s a wonderful husband but we only spend time together between the various cases assigned to him. He never seems to lead an investigation here in London. Superintendent Tallis always chooses to send him far and wide.’

‘Yet you never seem to be lonely,’ said her friend.

‘I’ve no time for it, Lydia. As well as being a wife, I’m a mother and a daughter. That means I have a delightful child to look after and a father who is here whenever he can be to play with her.’

‘How is Mr Andrews?’

‘Actually,’ said Madeleine, sadly, ‘he’s not in the best of health. He says that it’s just a cold and he’s afraid to give it to Helena Rose by coming here.’

‘People rarely have a cold at this time of year,’ argued Lydia.

‘Then he’s the exception that proves the rule.’

‘His granddaughter must miss him dreadfully.’

‘She asks for him every day. He’s such an important person in her life.’

‘And in yours, Madeleine.’

‘Yes, of course. My father has his weaknesses, but we love 24him just the same. I just wish that he wouldn’t speak out of turn sometimes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he does blurt things out sometimes. Last week, for instance, he suddenly asked me why you and Alan are not married yet.’

‘We’re not friends in that way,’ said Lydia, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a laugh. ‘Besides it’s none of your father’s business.’

‘That won’t stop him offering his opinion.’

‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’

Yes, of course,’ said Madeleine. ‘It was wrong of me to tell you what he said, and I apologise.’ She tugged a bell-pull to summon a maidservant. ‘Time for a cup of tea, I think.’

‘Oh. Yes, please!’

‘I thought we’d take Helena Rose to the park this afternoon.’

‘That would be lovely!’

‘You are her favourite aunt, after all.’

When they met Bishop Jackson at the cathedral, the visitors were struck by his dismay at the dreadful crime that had occurred. His face was a study in grief. For his part, the Bishop was taken aback by Colbeck’s educated voice and elegant appearance. He was less impressed by Leeming, whom he found a trifle coarse and decidedly rumpled. They were in the Bishop’s private apartment at the cathedral. He gave them a grateful welcome.

‘Thank God you’ve arrived, Inspector,’ he said. ‘The Dean has been telling me about the extraordinary reputation you have amassed over the years.’

‘It pales beside your own reputation,’ said Colbeck. 25

Jackson was modest. ‘Oh, I think not.’

‘Your achievements here have been remarkable. You welded together the counties of Nottinghamshire and Lincoln, stimulated the educational work of the diocese and raised the tone of the clergy. They are no mean achievements.’

‘Indeed, they are not,’ added the Dean, standing beside him.

‘Let’s concentrate on this heinous crime, shall we?’ suggested the Bishop. ‘Is there any hope of reclaiming the miniature cathedral and arresting those responsible for stealing it?’

‘There’s every hope,’ Colbeck assured him. ‘Remarkable as this gift appears to be, however, it’s the murder of Michael Langston that must take priority. Only a brave man would have taken on such a dangerous assignment.’

‘I agree,’ said the Dean. ‘Langston was fearless.’

‘But how did anyone know that the silver cathedral was being brought here?’ asked the Bishop. ‘We did our best to keep everything secret.’

‘How many people here were aware of what was happening?’ asked Leeming.

‘A mere handful of us.’

‘And they were all sworn to secrecy,’ said the Dean.

‘That means details of its transfer here may have been leaked, by accident, in London,’ said Colbeck. ‘We will investigate both possible sources. Somebody found out when the gift was being brought here and it cost Michael Langston his life.’

‘I need to speak to his wife and family in person,’ said the Dean. ‘You might care to accompany me, Inspector.’

‘I’d be glad to do so,’ said Colbeck. ‘But let me first tell you both what we learnt from our conversation with the stationmaster at Peterborough. Sergeant Leeming took detailed notes from him. 26The first thing you must know is that we are up against a cunning enemy. My guess is that the gang is probably four in number at least – one in London to send details by means of telegraph of where exactly on the train the cargo was being kept, one who started the fire at Peterborough station, the man who killed the guard and the accomplice who helped to carry the heavy box out of the guard’s van.’

‘Which one shot Michael Langston?’ asked the Dean.

‘We will find out in due course.’

‘What about your theory that the gang will offer to sell it to us?’

‘It’s not a theory,’ argued Colbeck. ‘As it is, the miniature cathedral is of no use to these men. They hardly stole it to marvel at its appearance. It is a source of money to them. I suggest that you brace yourself for their demand.’

‘It pains me that we will have to deal with heartless criminals,’ said the Bishop.

‘My sympathy is with the man who created that work of art. It must have taken ages to make it,’ said Colbeck. ‘How is Gregory Tomkins going to react when he hears about the theft of his masterpiece?’

The Dean sighed. ‘The poor fellow is going to be horrified.’

Seven decades had taken their toll on the silversmith. The former young apprentice with boundless energy and patience had now turned into an old man plagued with ailments and whose shoulders were permanently hunched. Long white hair framed a face that was comprehensively lined. Gregory Tomkins was too tired to work a full day any more so confined his time at the shop to afternoons. When the cab dropped him off there, he raised his 27hat in thanks, then paid the driver before shuffling into the shop. He was welcomed by everyone working there and waved a hand in greeting. Oliver Peat, one of his partners, a short, sleek, anxious man, took him aside to whisper a warning.

‘You have a visitor, Gregory,’ he said. ‘He’s waiting in your office.’

‘Is he a potential customer?’ asked Tomkins, eyes kindling.

‘I fear not. His name is Superintendent Tallis, and he’s come from Scotland Yard to have a private word with you.’

‘What about?’

‘He will tell you.’

‘I’m not in trouble with the police, am I, Oliver?’

Peat smiled. ‘I hardly think so. You’re the most law-abiding man in London.’

‘Then why is he bothering me?’

‘Go and find out,’ advised his partner. ‘He’s been waiting for some time.’

‘It’s not illegal to be old is, is it?’ asked Tomkins. ‘If it is, I must plead guilty. I’m starting to feel the pangs of senility.’

‘Nonsense! You have the gift of eternal youth.’

‘Tell that to my dear wife!’

With a loud cackle, Tomkins went to the rear of the shop and let himself into his office. It was also his place of work and examples of his craft were everywhere. A drawing of his version in silver of Lincoln Cathedral was on the table. Edward Tallis was fascinated by its intricate detail. As the old man entered the room, the superintendent turned to him.

‘You are a genius, Mr Tomkins,’ he said. ‘Mr Peat was right to call you a brilliant craftsman.’

‘I was at one time,’ agreed the silversmith, ‘but the years have 28played havoc with my fingers and, worst of all, with my eyesight. I can only work for short, intense periods before my sight weakens. When that happens, I’m peering through a dense fog.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. As Mr Peat will have mentioned, I need to tell you something of significance. Before I do so,’ warned Tallis, ‘you might care to sit down.’

The silversmith quivered. ‘Why? Is it bad news?’

‘The worst kind, I fear.’

‘Oh dear!’

‘I’m afraid that it’s very distressing.’

Tomkins sagged and Tallis had to reach out to support him. He eased the old man onto a chair. Before speaking, the superintendent took a deep breath.

‘There is no easy way to tell you this,’ he began. ‘Having admired your drawing of Lincoln Cathedral, I can see how much detail you’ve included. The result is magnificent. Your version in silver is a triumph.’

‘It went off to Lincoln early this morning, Superintendent.’

‘I’m all too aware of that. Sadly, it did not reach its destination.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Tomkins in alarm. ‘The Dean himself came to accept it from me. He brought a private detective with him – a Michael Langston – who promised to safeguard my gift. He vowed to sleep with it last night.’

‘Langston did his best to take care of it, sir.’

‘What’s happened? And why are you here? For Heaven’s sake, man,’ he went on, rising to his feet, ‘tell me the truth. Is my cathedral in safe hands?’

‘I’m sorry to tell you that it is not. Your masterpiece was stolen from the train at Peterborough station and Langston was shot dead in the process.’ 29

‘My God!’ exclaimed Tomkins.

Unable to cope with the terrible news, the silversmith began to sway on his feet and emit a sound like the cry of a wounded animal. By moving quickly, Tallis was able to catch him as the old man lost consciousness and began to fall to the floor.

30

CHAPTER FOUR

Before she could go off to the park with the others, Madeleine Colbeck was diverted by news that caused a sudden change of plan. One of her father’s neighbours, Kathleen Dyer, an elderly woman who used a walking stick, had made the long journey across London to inform her that Madeleine’s father was ill.

‘It’s very good of you to tell me, Mrs Dyer,’ said Madeleine, ‘but I’m already aware that he has a bad cold.’

‘It’s worse than that now.’

‘Worse?’

‘As you know, we live next door to Caleb. We didn’t get a wink of sleep last night because we could hear him coughing on the other side of the bedroom wall. It was a dreadful sound. When I spoke to him this morning, he looked so poorly. I told him he needed to see a doctor, but he said there was no call for that – but 31there was. My husband and I felt you ought to know. That’s why I came here by cab to warn you.’

‘Then I’ll gladly repay the fare,’ decided Madeleine, ‘and I’ll travel back with you in another cab. I hadn’t realised how ill he was.’

‘Caleb is a good neighbour to us. Coming here was the least I could do for him.’

‘I’m very grateful, Mrs Dyer. It’s obviously an emergency.’

‘Oh, it is,’ sighed the old woman. ‘He sounded so bad in the night that I was surprised to see him still alive in the morning. I’ve worried about Caleb all morning. That’s why I simply had to come.’

Michael Langston and his family lived in a house in the suburbs of Lincoln. When the cab stopped outside it, Dean Courtney paid the driver, then walked to the front door with Colbeck. After ringing the bell, the Dean turned to his companion.

‘Leave most of the talking to me,’ he suggested.

‘I’ll be happy to do so,’ replied Colbeck.

‘I’ve met the family before. They were delighted that Langston had been recruited for such an important task. It was a real feather in his cap.’ The door was opened by a maidservant. ‘Is Mrs Langston at home?’

‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘She and her father are in the drawing room.’

As they entered the house, both men removed their hats. After tapping on a door, the servant opened it to usher them into the room.

‘You have visitors,’ she explained.

Sarah Langston was on her feet at once, her face shining with 32hope. She was a startlingly pretty woman in her thirties. As soon as she saw the Dean, however, she was overcome by a sense of dread. Colbeck saw the look of fear in her eyes. The other person in the room was her father, a tall, slim, watchful man in his sixties, who got up to stand beside her.

‘Good day to you, Dean Courtney!’ he said. ‘I’m hoping that you bring good news about Michael with you.’

‘Alas, I do not, sir.’ He indicated his companion. ‘This is Detective Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard. We are very lucky to have his services.’

‘Where is Michael?’ asked Sarah. ‘He should be home by now.’

‘I’m afraid that your husband will not be returning, Mrs Langston,’ said Colbeck softly. ‘Earlier today, there was an unfortunate incident in Peterborough station. Your brave husband was shot dead.’

‘Dead?’ she cried, stepping back in horror.

‘It’s my sad duty to tell you that he died while performing an important service to the cathedral. He will always be remembered for that.’

But she was no longer listening. Eyes darting and body trembling, she was stunned by the enormity of the news. Her face crumpled. As she fainted, her father managed to catch her. Colbeck’s sympathy for her welled up inside him. The woman was in despair. It made him even more determined to find and arrest the person who had killed her husband.

When the cab arrived outside her old house, Madeleine asked the driver to wait for her. After helping Kathleen Dyer out of the vehicle, she thanked her once more. The old woman let herself 33into her own home. Madeleine knocked on the front door of her father’s house. There was no response. When she knocked louder, there was still no sound from within. Suddenly alarmed, she took a key from her reticule and used it to open the door before stepping into her former home. There was no sign of her father.

‘Father!’ cried Madeleine, running upstairs. ‘Where are you?’

When she opened the door of his bedroom, she had the answer. Caleb Andrews was lying on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket. He did not appear to be breathing. When she knelt beside him in a complete panic, he opened a bleary eye.

‘Hello, Maddy,’ he said, ‘I was just dreaming about you.’

During their time as detectives, Colbeck and Leeming had slept in all manner of places, but they had never enjoyed the luxury afforded by Riseholme Hall before. Built in the previous century, it was the official residence of the Bishop of Lincoln and was situated in a park in West Lindsey. Seen from the outside, it was stunning. Leeming gaped at it.

‘We’re going to stay there?’ he said in disbelief.

Colbeck nodded. ‘So it appears.’

‘I thought they’d put us up in the heart of the city.’

‘You’re forgetting that the Horse Fair is happening very soon. That means the place will be packed with crowds. Everywhere will be fully occupied. We, on the other hand, will have bedrooms of our own and a country setting to admire when we look out of the window.’

‘It’s breathtaking,’ said Leeming, gazing from the carriage in which they were travelling. ‘Wait until we tell the superintendent about this. He’ll be green with envy.’34

‘We’re here to solve serious crimes,’ Colbeck reminded him, ‘not to enjoy a holiday. The murder of Michael Langston is our major concern. Watching the reaction of his poor wife to her husband’s death was very painful. The sooner we identify and catch the killer, the sooner we bring her some comfort.’

‘What about the silver cathedral?’

‘If we find the men responsible for stealing it, we’ll be praised by Bishop Jackson and thanked by the Great Northern Railway.’

‘How much will the villains demand?’

‘Far too much, I daresay. I’ve advised the Dean to draw out the process of haggling with them. It will give us the time to identify who they are.’

‘At the moment, we don’t have a clue.’

‘Yes, we do, Victor. We suspect that these men may well have been in the army and that one of them gives off a nasty smell.’

‘Well, there’s no chance whatsoever of finding him when the Horse Fair is on,’ warned Leeming.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘There’ll be mountains of horse dung everywhere. The whole of Lincoln will stink like mad.’

Gregory Tomkins was slumped in a chair in his office. Edward Tallis and Oliver Peat stood beside the chair, gazing down at him with mingled fear and concern. The old man seemed to be close to his death.

‘I feel dreadful at having to be the bearer of bad news,’ admitted Tallis.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Superintendent,’ said Peat. ‘It was right for Gregory to know the truth as soon as possible. He strained every sinew to complete that silver cathedral. It gave him so much 35joy to create it. That joy has now turned to misery.’

‘He will revive when the thieves are captured, and his masterpiece is in the hands of the people for whom it was intended.’

‘How certain can you be that the silver cathedral can be found?’

‘My best detectives are assigned to the case, Mr Peat,’ said the superintendent. ‘If anyone can catch the villains and reclaim your partner’s masterpiece, it is Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming.’

‘I am heartened by your confidence, Superintendent,’ said Peat, ‘but my fear is this. Will Gregory still be alive to rejoice in their capture?’ He checked his pocket-watch. ‘Where is that doctor? I sent for him half an hour ago.’

‘Your colleague is still alive. The bad news was a terrible blow, and it will take him time to get used to it.’

‘He was as distressed at the news of Langston’s murder as he was at the fate of his model of Lincoln Cathedral. I was here when he met the private detective yesterday evening. Michael Langston impressed him and said that he felt it was an honour to deliver the gift to Gregory’s birthplace.’

‘How did news of the transfer get into the hands of criminals?’

‘There was no leak at this end,’ insisted Peat. ‘Complete secrecy was maintained at every stage. Our staff is highly trained, I assure you. If there has been a leak of some sort, it must have happened in Lincoln itself.’

‘If that is the case, Inspector Colbeck will find its origin.’

‘Can you be certain that the miniature cathedral will be found?’

Tallis was positive. ‘I give you my word, Mr Peat.’ He glanced at the silversmith. ‘What I can’t promise is that the man who created it will live to celebrate its recovery.’

36One glance at her father told Madeleine Colbeck that he was unwell. His face was a ghastly white and his body seemed to have shrunk. It was a lovely sunny day yet he was shivering with cold. She wrapped him up in a blanket, then started to gather his clothing up before putting it into a bag. Caleb Andrews was puzzled.

‘What are you doing, Maddy?’ he asked.

‘You’re coming to stay with us,’ she told him.

‘But this is my home.’

‘You need looking after.’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

‘You’re not well, Father. Mrs Dyer heard you coughing in the night and feared that you might be dying. She came to the house and told me how bad you were.’

‘It was none of her business,’ he complained.

‘Be grateful to her. She did what any good neighbour would do.’

‘I can manage on my own.’

‘Oh no, you can’t,’ she insisted. ‘That’s why I’m taking you to our house where you’ll be kept warm and seen by a doctor. Don’t you dare to argue,’ she warned as he opened his mouth to protest. ‘We have a spare room where you’ll be very comfortable.’

‘Don’t let my lovely granddaughter see me like this, Maddy.’

‘I won’t, I promise. But you need to be somewhere where we can keep an eye on you. If you stay here, you’ll only upset the neighbours by coughing all night. The doctor will give you something to stop that.’

‘My throat hurts,’ he confessed, ‘and I’ve got this pain in my chest.’

‘The sooner I get you out of here, the better,’ said Madeleine. 37‘Now I want you to promise me something. I have a cab waiting outside. While I load things into it, you must stay right here, all wrapped up. Do you understand?’

‘I suppose so,’ he mumbled.

‘I want to hear you promise.’

‘Leave me be, Maddy. I’m fine.’

But his body betrayed him. He started to cough uncontrollably and put a hand to his chest. The sheer volume and intensity of the sound frightened his daughter.

‘I’ll gather up everything we need,’ she promised and rushed out of the bedroom.

When they returned to the cathedral, Colbeck and Leeming found that there was someone waiting to see them. He was a beefy man in his fifties whose uniform was a little tight for him. Rushing forward, he pumped their hands by way of welcome.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you both,’ he said, looking from one to the other. ‘I am Richard Beard, the chief constable. I am shocked by the two crimes that have taken place and want you to know that I will do all I can to help you solve them.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Colbeck, ‘and music to our ears. Chief constables usually tend to view us as interlopers.’

‘Yes,’ added Leeming, ‘they can’t wait to see the back of us.’

‘That will not be the case here,’ promised Beard. ‘Feel free to call on me at any time. I will support you to the hilt.’

‘It’s an offer we will bear in mind,’ said Colbeck. ‘Though, given the fact that strangers are flooding into Lincoln, I daresay that your men will be at full stretch. A Horse Fair tends to attract criminals as well as those keen to buy and sell.’

‘Wherever there’s a crowd,’ said Leeming, ‘you’ll always get 38pickpockets. As a constable in uniform, I was on duty at race meetings many times. I must have arrested dozens of quick-fingered thieves.’

‘My offer stands,’ said Beard. ‘I have a personal interest in one of the crimes that have taken place. Michael Langston used to be under my command in the Lincoln City Police. He was a first-rate policeman.’

‘Why did he leave the force?’ asked Colbeck.

‘There were two reasons. He hated night duty. It was understandable. Anyone with a wife as lovely as Sarah Langston would be keen to share a bed with her every night. The main reason, however, was that he felt he could make more money as a private detective. And he did,’ Beard went on, ‘because he had built up such a good reputation. Clients trusted him implicitly. He earnt his money without having to the pound the streets in uniform on a rainy night.’ Beard shook his head sadly. ‘Losing Michael deprived me of one of my best men.’

‘Were you asked by Bishop Jackson to fetch something valuable from a London silversmith?’ asked Leeming.

Beard shook his head. ‘No, we were not.’

‘Did you wish that you had been?’

‘Policing this city is a full-time job, Sergeant – especially when there’s a Horse Fair in the offing. If I had been approached by the Bishop, I’d have declined the offer. My officers are all needed here.’

‘I feel sorry for Mrs Langston,’ confessed Colbeck. ‘She must wish that her husband had remained in the city force. Had he done so, he’d still be alive and well.’

‘That’s probably true.’