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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Railway Detective
- Sprache: Englisch
Three thrilling cases for The Railway Detective. With the Great Exhibition in the offing, interest is mounting in the icon of modern technological achievement: the railways. But this triumph of Victorian engineering has a darker side too, as these sinews of empire offer new opportunities for hidden crime and quick escape, vast destruction and dark double-dealings. Detective Inspector Robert Colbeck is the Railway Detective. When a train is robbed or a passenger killed, Colbeck and his trusty sergeant Victor Leeming must take to the rails and use their expert knowledge of crime and railways to untangle webs of murder, blackmail and destruction.
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Seitenzahl: 1213
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013
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CONTENTS
THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE
The Railway Detective Collection
BOOK ONE
EDWARD MARSTON
In loving memory of my father,who spent his working life as an engine driver,and who instructed me in the mysteryof steam locomotion.
With thanks to Janet Cutler
for her expert advice on
Victorian railway companies.
The landed proprietor often refused admission to the trespasser and his theodolite. At Addington the surveyors were met and defied in such force, that after the brief fight they were secured, carried before a magistrate and fined… The engineers were in truth driven to adopt whatever methods might occur to them. While people were at church; while the villager took his rustic meal; with dark lanthorns during the dark hours; by force, by fraud, by any and every mode they could devise, they carried the object which they felt to be necessary but knew to be wrong.
JOHN FRANCIS
A History of the English Railroads (1851)
CHAPTER ONE
London, 1851
Euston Station was one of the architectural marvels of the day. Even the most regular passengers on the London and North Western Railway could still be impressed by the massive portico with its four Doric columns built of adamantine Bramley Fall sandstone, flanked by two pairs of pavilions, and standing on the north side of a large open space. The addition of two hotels, one either side of the portico, introduced a functional element that did not lessen the stunning impact of the facade. Those who passed through the imposing entrance found themselves in the Great Hall, a combined concourse and waiting room. It was a magnificent chamber in the Roman-Ionic style with a high, deeply coffered ceiling that made newcomers gape in astonishment.
Caleb Andrews did not even notice it, nor did he spare a glance for the majestic curved double flight of steps at the northern end of the hall that led to a gallery and vestibule. Only one thing in the station interested him and that was the locomotive he and his fireman were about to drive to Birmingham. Andrews was a short, wiry character in his early fifties with a fringe beard that was peppered with grey. There was a jauntiness about him that belied his age and that concealed his deep sense of dedication to his work. Caleb Andrews was a man who thrived on responsibility.
‘It’s a fine day, Frank,’ he observed. ‘We should have a clear run.’
‘God willing,’ said Pike.
‘God doesn’t come into it, man. We are the people in charge. If we do our jobs properly, everything will go well. The important thing is to get there on time. Do that and we’ll earn ourselves another pat on the back.’
‘That would be nice, Caleb.’
‘It would indeed.’
‘Extra money would be even nicer.’
Andrews gave a hollow laugh. ‘From this company?’
Frank Pike nodded resignedly. Now in his thirties, the big, shambling man from the West Country knew that they would only get their stipulated wage. Fireman Pike had a round, flat, moon face that was marked by routine exposure to the elements and, as a rule, darkened by a somnolent expression. His large hands were badly scarred by his trade. He had the deepest respect for his companion and was delighted to work alongside him. Technically, a conductor was in charge of a train but not when Caleb Andrews was there. The driver always asserted his authority and his colleagues knew better than to arouse his combative streak.
The two men were on the footplate, checking that everything was in readiness. Pike had got up a good head of steam and his fire shovel was at hand to add more fuel from the tender when necessary. The engine was throbbing with suppressed power. Andrews studied his instruments with a mixture of pride and affection. A locomotive was much more than an inanimate piece of machinery to him. She was a trusted friend, a living creature with moods, likes and dislikes, a complex lump of metal with her own idiosyncrasies, a sublime being, blessed with awesome might, who had to be treated correctly in order to get the best out of her.
‘Mr Allan knows how to design an engine,’ he said, appreciatively.
‘She’s one of the best,’ agreed Pike.
‘Mind you, there’s still room for improvement. They ought to let me spend a week or two at Crewe. I could point out a number of things that would make her run better yet use less oil.’
‘You always were a man of opinions, Caleb.’
‘They’re not opinions – they’re plain commonsense. The people who can give the best advice about how to build a locomotive are the men who drive her.’
‘I got no complaints.’
‘That’s because you’re too easily satisfied, Frank.’
‘I do what I’m paid to do, that’s all.’
There was an air of fatalism about Pike. Though Andrews was very fond of him, he had long ago accepted that his fireman lacked any real urgency or ambition. Frank Pike was a reliable workhorse, a quiet, efficient, unassuming, conscientious man who never questioned what he was doing or looked beyond it to something better. Andrews, by contrast, had enough aspiration for the two of them. He was bubbling with energy. While most men of his years were anticipating retirement, all that he could think about was promotion.
Like his fireman, Andrews wore a uniform of light-coloured corduroy and cap. Pulling a watch from his pocket to consult it, he clicked his tongue in irritation.
‘What’s keeping them?’ he said.
‘There’s minutes to go yet, Caleb.’
‘I like to leave on time.’
‘We will,’ said Pike, turning round to look back down the train. ‘I think they’re loading the last box now.’
Andrews put his watch away and gazed back down the platform. It was a short train, comprising an empty first class carriage, a bright red mail coach, a luggage van and a guard’s van. The locomotive and tender bore the distinctive livery of the northern division of the company. The engine was painted green, with main frames a paler shade of the same hue. Smoke box and chimney were black. The dome was green, as was the base of the safety valve, though the casing of the latter was polished brass. Hand-rails were covered polished brass and splashers were brass-headed. Wheels were black. The front cylinder caps were made of iron, polished to a sheen. Before she set out, she was positively gleaming.
‘Come on, come on,’ said Andrews, tapping his foot.
Pike gave a tolerant smile. ‘You’re too impatient.’
‘I want to be on my way, Frank.’
‘So do I,’ admitted the other. ‘I always feel a bit nervous when we’ve so much money aboard. It must worry you as well.’
‘Not in the least.’
‘But we must be carrying a small fortune.’
‘I don’t care if we’ve got the Crown Jewels tucked away in the luggage van,’ boasted Andrews, sticking out his chest. ‘Makes no difference at all to me. Besides, we have plenty of guards on board to watch over the mail and the money. No,’ he went on, ‘the only thing that unsettles me is time-keeping. I’ve a reputation to maintain.’ He heard a shrill blast on a whistle. ‘At last!’ he said with relief. ‘Stand by, Frank.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘Then let’s take her to Birmingham.’
With a venomous hiss of steam and a loud clanking of wheels, the engine moved slowly forward as she pulled her carriages on the first stage of their fateful journey.
By the time they hit open country, they had built up a steady speed. Caleb Andrews was at the controls and Frank Pike shovelled more coal into the firebox at regular intervals. The train surged on, rattling noisily and leaving clouds of dark smoke in its wake. Its iron wheels clicked rhythmically on the track. Having driven over the route many times, the two men were familiar with every bridge, viaduct, tunnel, change of gradient and curve in the line. They were also known to many of the people who manned the various stations, and they collected endless waves and greetings as they steamed past. Andrews acknowledged them all with a cheerful grin. Pike lifted his shovel in response.
It was a glorious April afternoon and the men enjoyed the warm sunshine. After the harsh winter they had endured, it was a pleasant change. Their work took them out in all weathers and they had little protection against wind, rain, snow, sleet or insidious fog. Driver and fireman had often arrived at their destination, soaked to the skin or chafed by an icy blast. Even the heat from the firebox could not keep out all of the cold. Today, however, it was different. It was a perfect day. Lush, green fields surrounded them and trees were in first leaf. The train was running smoothly over the flanged rails.
Forty miles passed uneventfully. It was only when they had raced through Leighton Buzzard Junction that they had their first hint of trouble. One of the railway policemen, who acted as signalmen, stood beside the line and waved his red flag to stop the train. Andrews reacted immediately. Without shutting off steam, he put the engine into reverse so that her speed was gradually reduced. Only when she had slowed right down was the tender hand-brake applied along with the brake in the guard’s van. Since she had been moving fast, it had taken almost half a mile to bring her to a halt.
Driver Andrews opened the cylinder cocks with the regulator open, so that steam continued to flow without working on the pistons. The water level in the boiler was maintained. Andrews leant out to look at the bulky figure of another railway policeman, who was striding towards them in the official uniform of dark, high-necked frock coat, pale trousers and stovepipe hat. He, too, had been signalling with his red flag for the train to stop. Andrews was annoyed by the delay.
‘You’d better have good cause to hold us up,’ he warned.
‘We do,’ said the policeman.
‘Well?’
‘There’s a problem with the Linslade Tunnel.’
‘What sort of problem?’
‘You’re not going through it, Mr Andrews.’
Tossing his flag to the ground, the policeman suddenly pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at the driver. Following his example, a group of armed men emerged swiftly from behind the bushes on either side of the line and made for the mail coach and the guard’s van. The latter was easy to enter but the locked doors of the mail coach had to be smashed open with sledgehammers before they could rush in and overpower the mail guards in their scarlet uniforms. While that was happening, someone was uncoupling the mail coach from the first class carriage in front of it.
As he watched the burst of activity, Caleb Andrews was outraged.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘The train is being robbed,’ replied the policeman, still holding the weapon on him. ‘All you have to do is to obey orders. Stand back.’
‘Why?’
‘Do as I tell you.’
‘No.’
‘Stand back!’ ordered another voice, ‘or I’ll shoot you.’
Andrews looked up to see a well-dressed man at the top of a shallow embankment, aiming a rifle at him. There was an air of certainty about him that suggested he was more than ready to carry out his threat. Pike tugged anxiously at his friend’s elbow.
‘Do as they say, Caleb,’ he advised.
Andrews was truculent. ‘Nobody tells me what to do on my engine,’ he said, as he was pulled back a little. ‘I won’t let this happen.’
‘They have guns.’
‘They’ll need more than that to frighten me, Frank.’
‘Will we?’ asked the bogus policeman.
Having hauled himself up onto the footplate, he levelled the pistol at the driver’s temple. Pike let out a cry of protest but Andrews was unmoved. He stared at the interloper with defiance.
‘Take her on, Mr Andrews,’ said the other, crisply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Drive the train, man.’
‘Not without the mail coach, the luggage van and the guard’s van.’
‘You won’t be needing those.’
‘I’ve got my responsibilities,’ argued the driver.
‘Your only responsibility is to stay alive,’ said the policeman, letting him feel the barrel of the weapon against his skull. ‘Now – are you going to obey orders?’
Andrews put his hands on his hips. ‘Make me,’ he challenged.
For a moment, the other man hesitated, not quite knowing what to do in the face of unexpected resistance. Then he moved quickly. Grabbing the pistol by the barrel, he used the butt to club the driver to the floor, opening up a gash on the side of his head that sent blood oozing down his cheek. When the fireman tried to intervene, the gun was pointed at him and he was forced to step back. Badly dazed, Andrews was groaning at their feet.
‘Don’t hit Caleb again,’ pleaded Pike.
‘Then do as I tell you. Start her up.’
‘Let me see to that wound of his first.’
‘No,’ snapped the other, turning the pistol towards Andrews. ‘Drive the engine or your friend is a dead man.’
Pike obeyed at once. More concerned about the driver’s safety than his own, he released the brake as fast as he could. Andrews, meanwhile, had recovered enough to realise what had happened to him. With a surge of rage, he threw his arms around the ankle of the man who was trying to take over his beloved locomotive. His recklessness was short-lived. It not only earned him two more vicious blows to the head, he was dragged to the edge of the footplate and tossed to the ground.
Horrified at the treatment of his friend, Pike could do nothing to help him. With a loaded pistol at his back, he set the train in motion and prayed that Caleb Andrews had not been too badly injured in the fall. The locomotive, tender and first class carriage trundled forward, leaving the mail coach, luggage van and guard’s van behind. Had he been able to glance over his shoulder, Frank Pike would have seen a disconsolate group of guards, surprised by the speed of the ambush, relieved of their weapons and forced to dismount from the train and remove their shoes.
When the engine had gone a hundred yards and started to pick up speed, the man who had pretended to be a railway policeman gave Pike a farewell slap on the back before jumping off the footplate. He made a soft landing on a grassy verge and rolled over. The fireman soon saw why he had been abandoned. Ahead of him in the middle distance was the opening of the Linslade Tunnel, but there was no way that he could reach it. A whole section of track had been levered off its sleepers and cast aside. Those behind the ambush were bent on destruction.
Seized by panic, Pike did what he could to avert disaster but it was in vain. Though he put the engine into reverse and tried to apply the brake, all that he did was to produce a firework display of sparks as the wheels skidded crazily along the rails. Seconds before he ran out of track, Pike had the presence of mind to leap from the footplate. Hitting the ground hard, he rolled over then watched in alarm as the locomotive veered over sharply, like a giant animal shot for sport.
The noise was deafening. Ploughing after the engine, the tender and the first class carriage ended up as a tangled mass of iron, seen through a fog of billowing smoke and angry steam. Frank Pike had to hold back tears. When he jumped to the ground, he had twisted his ankle but he ignored the pain. Pulling himself up, he turned his back on the hideous sight and limped back along the line to the fallen driver, hoping that Caleb Andrews was still alive.
CHAPTER TWO
As soon as he entered the room, Robert Colbeck knew that a serious crime must have been committed. The air was thick with pungent smoke and Superintendent Edward Tallis only reached for his cigar case when he was under severe pressure. Seated behind his desk, the older man was scanning a sheet of paper as if trying to memorise important details. Colbeck waited patiently for the invitation to sit down. Tall, slim and well-favoured, he was impeccably dressed in a dark brown frock coat, with rounded edges and a high neck, well-cut fawn trousers and an Ascot cravat. Catching the light that streamed in through the window, his black leather shoes were shining brightly. In the prosaic world of law enforcement, Inspector Robert Colbeck stood out as the unrivalled dandy of Scotland Yard.
Tallis tossed him a cursory glance then waved a podgy hand.
‘Take a seat,’ he barked. ‘We have much to discuss.’
‘So I understood from the urgency of your summons,’ said Colbeck, lowering himself onto a chair. ‘I came as soon as I could, sir.’
‘And not before time. We have a robbery on our hands.’
‘What kind of robbery, Superintendent?’
‘The worst kind,’ said Tallis, putting the sheet of paper aside. ‘A mail train was ambushed on its way to Birmingham. It was carrying a large consignment of gold sovereigns for delivery to a bank in the city. The thieves got away with every penny.’
‘Was anyone hurt in the process?’ asked Colbeck with concern.
‘Only the driver, it seems. He was foolish enough to offer resistance and suffered for his bravery. The fellow is in a sorry state.’
‘Poor man!’
‘Save your sympathy for me, Inspector,’ said Tallis, ruefully. ‘All hell broke loose when word of the crime reached London. I’ve been hounded by the commissioners, harried by the railway company, hunted by the Post Office and badgered by the Royal Mint.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘I thought I caught a whiff of cigar smoke.’
‘Anybody would think that I was the culprit.’
‘Only a bold man would ever accuse you of breaking the law, sir.’
Tallis bristled. ‘Are you being facetious, Inspector?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’ll brook no disrespect.’
‘I appreciate that, sir.’
Tallis glared at him. The Superintendent was a stout, red-faced, robust man in his fifties with a military background that had deprived him of his sense of humour and given him, in return, a habit of command, a conviction that he always made the right decisions and a small scar on his right cheek. Tallis had a shock of grey hair and a neat moustache that he was inclined to caress in quieter moments. A lifelong bachelor, he had no family commitments to deflect him from his work in the Detective Department of the Metropolitan Police Force.
‘This is no time for drollery,’ he warned.
‘I was merely making an observation, Superintendent.’
‘Keep such observations to yourself in future.’
Colbeck bit back a reply. There was an unresolved tension between the two men that came to the surface whenever they were alone together, and the Inspector had learnt to rein in his urge to provoke Tallis. The Superintendent had a violent temper when roused. Colbeck had been at the mercy of it once too often. He probed for information.
‘What exactly happened, sir?’ he asked, politely.
‘That is what I’m endeavouring to tell you.’
‘I’m all ears.’
Clasping his hands together, the Superintendent recited the salient details of the case, stressing the importance of prompt action by Scotland Yard. Colbeck listened carefully to the account. Several questions raised themselves and he put the obvious one to Tallis.
‘How did they know that the train was carrying so much money?’
‘That’s for you to find out, Inspector.’
‘They must have had help from an insider.’
‘Track him down.’
‘We will, sir,’ promised Colbeck. ‘What interests me is that the locomotive was forced off the tracks and badly damaged.’
‘It will be out of service for weeks, I’m told.’
‘Why on earth did they do such a thing? I mean, the gang had got what they wanted from the train. There was no need to derail the engine like that. What was the intention?’
‘Ask them when you catch up with them.’
‘The other thing that worries me,’ said Colbeck, reflectively, ‘is the ease with which the security arrangements were breached. The money was loaded in boxes that were locked inside Chubb safes. I read an article about those safes when they were installed. They were reckoned to be impregnable.’
‘Two keys are needed to open them.’
‘As well as a combination number, Superintendent.’
‘Only one key was carried on the train,’ noted Tallis. ‘The other was in the possession of the bank to whom the money was being sent.’
‘Yet, according to you,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘the safes were opened and emptied within a matter of minutes. That could only be done with a duplicate key and foreknowledge of the combination number. There’s collusion at work here.’
Tallis heaved a sigh. ‘This robbery was extremely well-planned, Inspector. I deplore what was done but I have to admire the skill of the operation. We’ve never had to deal with anything on this scale before. That’s why we must solve this crime quickly and bring the malefactors to justice,’ he went on, banging a fist on the desk in exasperation. ‘If they are seen to get away with such a daring exploit, there’ll be others who will surely try to copy them.’
‘I doubt that, Inspector. Most criminals, fortunately, have no gift for organisation and that’s the essence of this robbery. Several men were involved and their timing must have been excellent.’
‘Yes,’ conceded Tallis, grudgingly. ‘They knew what they wanted and took it – including the mail bags. The Post Office is hopping mad about that.’
‘It’s the people whose correspondence has gone astray who should be really alarmed,’ said Colbeck, thinking it through. ‘Those mail bags were not taken out of spite. Some envelopes will contain money or valuable items that can be sold for gain, and – by the law of averages – there’ll be letters of a highly sensitive nature that may give the villains opportunities for blackmail.’
‘That never occurred to me.’
‘I’ll wager that it occurred to them.’
‘The scheming devils!’ said Tallis, extracting a cigar case from his pocket. ‘Robbery, blackmail, wanton destruction of railway property – these men must be rounded up, Inspector.’
Colbeck rose purposefully to his feet. ‘The investigation will begin immediately, Superintendent,’ he said, firmly. ‘What resources do I have at my disposal?’
‘Whatever you ask for – within reason.’
‘I presume that the railway company will be offering a reward?’
Tallis nodded. ‘Fifty guineas for anyone who can provide information that will lead to an arrest,’ he said, selecting a cigar from the case. ‘This is a poor advertisement for them. It’s the first time their mail train has been robbed.’
‘I take it that I’m to work with Victor Leeming on this case?’
‘Sergeant Leeming is on his way here, even as we speak.’
‘Good,’ said Colbeck. ‘When he arrives, we’ll take a cab to Euston Station and catch the next available train to the scene of the crime. I want to see exactly where and how it all happened.’
‘You’ll need this, Inspector.’ Tallis picked up the sheet of paper. ‘It has all the relevant names on it – except those of the criminals, alas.’
Colbeck took it from him. ‘Thank you, Superintendent.’ His eye ran down the list. ‘The driver is the crucial person – this Caleb Andrews. I hope to speak to him in due course.’ Tallis lit his cigar. ‘You may need to have a clairvoyant with you.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr Andrews is still in a coma, and not expected to survive.’
The table in the stationmaster’s office at Leighton Buzzard was not the most comfortable bed but the patient was quite unaware of that. Lying on the bare wood, with a blanket draped over him, Caleb Andrews seemed to have shrunk. His head was heavily bandaged, his face pallid, his breathing laboured. One arm was in a sling, one leg in a splint. He looked as if he were hanging on to life by the merest thread.
Keeping vigil beside the makeshift bed, Frank Pike was torn between fear and guilt, terrified that his friend might die and filled with remorse at his inability to protect the driver from attack. There was another dimension to his anguish. With a pistol held over him, he had been forced to drive the locomotive off the track, something that was anathema to any railwayman. It was no consolation to him that Caleb Andrews had not been able to witness the awful moment when their engine plunged into the grass verge and shed its load of coal and water. Pike winced as he recalled it. His employers were bound to blame him.
He reached out a hand to touch the patient’s shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, Caleb,’ he said. ‘I had no choice.’
The older man’s eyelids flickered for a second and a soft murmur escaped his lips. Pike needed no interpreter. Caleb Andrews was reproaching him. The driver had been in the same situation as him and he had shown that there was, in fact, a choice. It was between refusal and compliance. While one man had the courage to refuse, the other had opted for compliance. It made Pike feel as if he had betrayed a dear friend and colleague. He drew back his hand involuntarily, no longer entitled to touch Andrews.
Covered in blood, the body had been carried all the way back to the station so that a doctor could be sought. The fractured leg and the broken collarbone were not the real cause for concern. It was the head injuries that made the doctor pessimistic. All that he could do was to clean and bind the wounds. Given their severity, he could offer no hope of recovery. Whatever happened, Pike realised, he would come in for censure. If the driver lived, he would be sure to admonish his fireman for cowardice. If he died, there would be many others who would point an accusatory finger at Frank Pike. Among them was Caleb Andrews’s daughter, a young woman whom Pike would not hurt for the world. As an image of her face came into his mind, he let out a gasp of pain.
‘Forgive me, Madeleine!’ he begged. ‘It was not my fault.’
‘What about the railway policemen who should have patrolled that line?’ asked Victor Leeming. ‘Why were they not on duty?’
‘Because they were bound and gagged,’ explained Colbeck, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘Apparently, they were found behind some bushes in their underwear. The robbers had borrowed their uniforms.’
‘What about their shoes?’
‘Those, too, were missing.’
‘Along with the shoes from all the people on board the train,’ said Leeming. ‘Are we looking for criminals with a passion for footwear?’
‘No, Victor. We’re searching for people who know that the simplest way to slow someone down is to make him walk in stockinged feet. By the time one of the guards reached the station to raise the alarm, the robbers were miles away.’
‘With all that money and several pairs of shoes.’
‘Don’t forget the mail bags. They were a secondary target.’
‘Were they?’
Sergeant Victor Leeming was puzzled. His brow wrinkled in concentration. He was a stocky man in his thirties, slightly older than Colbeck but with none of the Inspector’s social graces or charm. Leeming’s face had a benign ugliness that was not helped by his broken nose and his slight squint. Though he was not the most intelligent of detectives, he was always the first choice of Robert Colbeck, who valued his tenacity, his single-mindedness and his capacity for hard work. Leeming was a loyal colleague.
The two men were sitting in a first class carriage of a train that rumbled its way through Buckinghamshire. When it passed Leighton Buzzard Junction, it slowed by prior arrangement so that it could drop the detectives near the scene of the crime. Colbeck peered through the window as the wrecked locomotive came into sight.
‘They’ve repaired the line,’ he said, pointing to the track that curved ahead of them, ‘but I suspect it will take a lot longer to mend the engine and the carriage. They’ll need a crane to lift them.’
‘There’s no shortage of railway policemen,’ said Leeming, studying the knot of people beside the line. ‘I can count a dozen or more.’
‘All with their shoes on.’
‘What sort of reception can we expect, Inspector?’
‘A hostile one. They resent our interference.’
‘But we’re here to solve the crime.’
‘They probably feel that it’s their job to do that.’
Colbeck waited until the train shuddered to a halt then opened the door of the carriage. Taking care not to snag the tails of his coat, he jumped down nimbly on to the track. Leeming descended more slowly. Having deposited two of its passengers, the train chugged slowly off towards the Linslade Tunnel.
The newcomers took stock of the situation. Several people were gathered around the stricken engine and carriage. Others were standing in forlorn groups. Colbeck sought out the man whose name has been given to him as the person in charge. Inspector Rory McTurk of the railway police was a huge individual with a black beard and shaggy eyebrows. When he was introduced to them, McTurk was patently unimpressed by Colbeck’s tailored elegance and by Leeming’s unsightly features. He put a note of disapproval into his gruff voice.
‘So you’ve come at last, have you?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck, weighing him up. ‘I trust that we can count on your full cooperation, Mr McTurk.’
‘Inspector McTurk,’ corrected the other.
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘We’ll give you all the help you need – and some guidance.’
‘Do you think that we’ll need guidance, Inspector?’
‘Yes,’ said McTurk, brusquely. ‘Railway lore is a complicated thing. You’ll need someone to take you through it. As for the robbery,’ he continued with an air of complacency, ‘I’ve already made preliminary enquiries among those who were on board the train, and I’m in a position to tell you exactly what happened.’
‘I’d prefer to hear it from the lips of the witnesses,’ insisted Colbeck. ‘That way we eliminate any narrative flourishes you might feel impelled to introduce.’
McTurk was indignant. ‘I’ll tell you the plain facts. Nothing else.’
‘After we’ve spoken to those who actually travelled on the train, if you don’t mind. Second-hand evidence is always suspect, as you know.’ Colbeck looked around. ‘Where are they?’
‘The mail guards are there,’ said McTurk, sourly, indicating the men who wore scarlet uniforms. ‘The two railway policemen who were aboard are at the station along with Fireman Pike and the guard.’
‘What about the driver, Caleb Andrews?’
‘He’s at Leighton Buzzard as well, Inspector. They took him to the station and sent for a doctor. Driver Andrews was badly hurt.’
‘How badly?’
McTurk was blunt. ‘This may turn into a murder investigation.’
‘Does he have a family?’
‘Only a daughter, according to his fireman. We’ve sent word to her. She’ll have heard the worst by now.’
‘I hope that tact and consideration were shown,’ said Colbeck, glad that McTurk himself had not imparted the distressing news. Discretion did not appear to be one of the Scotsman’s virtues. ‘Victor?’
‘Yes, Inspector?’ said Leeming, stepping forward.
‘Take full statements from the mail guards.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’ll speak to the others later.’
Leeming went off to interview the men who were sitting on the grass without any shoes and feeling very sorry for themselves. Colbeck was left to survey the scene. After looking up and down the line, he climbed the embankment and walked slowly along the ridge. McTurk felt obliged to follow him, scrambling up the incline and cursing when he lost his footing. The detective eventually paused beside some divots that had been gouged out of the turf. He knelt down to examine them.
‘They brought the money this way,’ he decided.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The sovereigns were in bags that were packed into wooden boxes, Inspector. They were very heavy. It would have taken two men to carry each box and that meant that they had to dig their feet in as they climbed the embankment.’ He glanced down at the line. ‘What happened to the mail coach, the luggage van and the guard’s van?’
‘They were towed back to Leighton Buzzard and put in a siding.’
‘They should have been left here,’ said Colbeck, sharply, ‘where the robbery actually took place. It would have made it easier for me to reconstruct events.’
‘Railways run on timetables, Inspector Colbeck,’ the Scotsman told him. ‘As long as that rolling stock remained on the line, no down trains could get beyond this point.’ He curled a derisive lip. ‘Do you know what a down train is?’
‘Of course, Inspector McTurk. I travel by rail frequently.’ He looked back in the direction of Leighton Buzzard. ‘We’ll need to examine them. They may yield valuable clues.’
‘We’ve already searched the mail coach and the luggage van.’
‘That’s what troubles me,’ said Colbeck, meeting his gaze. ‘If you and your men have trampled all over them, evidence may unwittingly have been destroyed. Please ensure that nobody else has access to that rolling stock until we’ve had the chance to inspect it.’ McTurk glowered at him. ‘It’s not a request,’ warned Colbeck. ‘It’s an order.’
McTurk turned away and waved an arm at the cluster of railway policemen gathered below. One of them scampered up the embankment to be given a curt order by his superior. The man then went back down the incline and trotted in the direction of the station. Having asserted his authority, Colbeck gave his companion a disarming smile.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, suavely. ‘Your willing cooperation makes my job so much easier.’
McTurk remained silent but his eyes smouldered. He was much more accustomed to giving orders rather than receiving them. Colbeck swung on his heel and followed the marks in the grass. McTurk went after him. After picking their way through the undergrowth, they came to a narrow track that twisted its way off through a stand of trees. Colbeck noticed the fresh manure.
‘This is where they left their horses,’ he said, ‘and the boxes must have been loaded onto a carriage. They chose their spot with care. It’s hidden by the trees and only a short distance from the railway.’
‘Wait till I get my hands on the rogues!’
‘They’ll face due process in a court of law, Inspector.’
‘I want a word with them first,’ growled McTurk, grinding his teeth. ‘They stripped two of my men and trussed them up like turkeys.’
‘With respect,’ said Colbeck, reprovingly, ‘there are more serious issues here than the humiliation of two railway policeman. We are dealing with an armed robbery during which the driver of the train was so badly injured that he may not survive.’
‘I’d not forgotten that – and I want revenge.’
‘Don’t take it personally, Inspector McTurk. That will only cloud your judgement. Our job is to apprehend those responsible for this crime and, if possible, to reclaim the stolen money and mail bags. Revenge has no place in that scheme of things.’
‘It does for me,’ affirmed McTurk. ‘Look what they did,’ he added, jabbing a finger at the wreckage below. ‘They destroyed railway property. That’s the worst crime of all to me.’
‘Caleb Andrews is railway property,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘His life is in the balance. When they’re hauled off to Crewe, the locomotive and the carriage can be repaired but I don’t think that your engineering works runs to spare parts for injured drivers.’ He raised his eyes to a sky that was slowly darkening. ‘I need to make best use of the light I still have,’ he announced. ‘Excuse me, Inspector. I want to take a look at the rolling stock that was foolishly moved from the scene of the crime.’
‘We only followed instructions,’ complained McTurk.
‘Do you always do as you’re told?’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Then here’s another instruction for you,’ said Colbeck, pointedly. ‘Keep out of my way. The last thing I want at this moment is some over-obedient railway policeman getting under my feet. Is that understood?’
‘You need my help.’
‘Then I’ll call upon it, as and when necessary.’
‘You won’t get far without me,’ cautioned McTurk.
‘I fancy that I will,’ said Colbeck, easing him gently aside. ‘You cast a long shadow, Inspector. And I want all the light that I can get.’
On the walk back to the station, Sergeant Leeming gave his superior an edited version of the statements he had taken from the mail guards. Not wishing to be left out, Inspector McTurk trailed in their wake. Colbeck was sceptical about what he heard.
‘Something is missing, Victor,’ he concluded.
‘Is it?’
‘Every man tells the same tale, using almost identical language. That means they’ve had time to rehearse their story in order to cover their blushes.’
‘What blushes?’
‘They were at fault. They were on duty in a locked carriage yet they were caught napping by the ambush. How? Their assailants were quick but they still had to smash their way into the mail coach.’
‘It was all over in a matter of seconds,’ said Leeming. ‘At least, that’s what they told me.’
‘Did they tell you why nobody fired a shot in anger?’
‘No, Inspector.’
‘Then that’s what we need to establish,’ said Colbeck. ‘The train was stopped over a mile from the station but a gunshot would have been heard from here. It’s the reason that the robbers took care not to fire themselves. They didn’t wish to give themselves away.’
‘I never thought of that.’
‘They did – and the mail guards should have done so as well. The very least they should have managed was a warning shot. Help would have come from the station.’
‘Now that you mention it,’ recalled Leeming, scratching his chin, ‘they did seem a little embarrassed when I questioned them. I put it down to the fact that they had no shoes on.’
‘They’re hiding something, Victor.’
‘Do you think they might be in league with the robbers?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘If that had been the case, they’d have fled when the crime was committed. My guess is that they helped the robbers in another way – by being lax in their duties.’
Light was starting to fade noticeably so the Inspector lengthened his stride. Leeming increased his own speed but Inspector McTurk was panting audibly as he tried to keep pace with them. When they reached Leighton Buzzard Station, they saw that there was a sizeable crowd on the station. Colbeck ignored them and led the way to the rolling stock that was standing in a siding. The railway policeman who had been dispatched by McTurk was standing officiously beside the guard’s van.
Handing his top hat to Leeming, Colbeck first clambered up into the luggage van to examine the huge safe in which the money had been locked. Designed and built at the factory of one of England’s most reputable locksmiths, John Chubb, the safe was made of inch thick steel plate. It was three feet high, wide and deep, with a door formed by the hinged lid that swung back on a guard-chain. On the front wall of the safe were keyholes to twin locks, whose interior mechanism was almost six inches deep.
Colbeck admired the quality of construction. The positioning of the locks, and the need for a combination number, confronted any burglar with almost insurmountable problems. Cracksmen whom he had arrested in the past had always admitted how difficult it was to open a Chubb safe. Yet, in this case, the doors of the safe were gaping. Colbeck made a quick search of the van but found nothing that could be construed as a clue. He left the van, dropped to the ground and moved across to inspect the broken handles on the doors of the mail coach. One blow from a sledgehammer was all that had been required. Opening a door, Colbeck hauled himself up into the coach.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ called McTurk.
‘Am I?’ he replied.
‘I searched it thoroughly myself.’
‘I’m sure that I’ll see your footprints, Inspector.’
‘You’ll find nothing, I can tell you that.’
Colbeck beamed at him. ‘Thank you for your encouragement,’ he said. ‘It’s heartening to know we have your sage counsel to call upon.’
McTurk replied with a snort but Colbeck did not even hear it. He had already stepped into the coach to begin his search. Instead of being divided into separate compartments, the carriage consisted of one long space that had been adapted to enable mail to be sorted in transit. A table ran the length of one wall and, above that, was a series of wooden pigeonholes into which letters and parcels could be slotted. There were no signs of a struggle.
Robert Colbeck was meticulous. Beginning at one end of the coach, he made his way slowly forward and combed every inch. The search was painstaking and it produced no evidence at first but he pressed on nevertheless, bending low to peer into every corner. It was when he was almost finished that he saw something that appeared to have fallen down behind the table. It was a small white object, resting against the side of the coach. Colbeck had to get on his knees and stretch an arm to its fullest extent to retrieve the object. When he saw what it was, he gave a smile of satisfaction and went across to the door.
Inspector McTurk and Sergeant Leeming waited beside the track.
‘I told you there was nothing to see,’ said McTurk, triumphantly.
‘But there was,’ Colbeck told him. ‘You missed something.’
‘What?’
‘This, Inspector.’ He held up the card that he had found. ‘Now we know why the mail guards were taken unawares, Victor,’ he went on. ‘They were too busy playing cards to do their job properly.’
‘No wonder they kept their mouths shut,’ said Leeming.
‘My guess is that the policemen were in there with them. Instead of staying at their post in the luggage van, they preferred to pass the time with a game of cards.’ Colbeck leapt down to stand beside McTurk. ‘I fear that some of your men are unable to follow your excellent example, Inspector,’ he declared. ‘Unlike you, they do not know how to obey instructions.’
CHAPTER THREE
It took some while to persuade Frank Pike to abandon his bedside vigil. Consumed with grief, he seemed to feel that it was his bounden duty to remain beside the injured driver, as if his physical presence in the stationmaster’s office were the only hope of ensuring recovery. Having instructed his sergeant to take statements from the other people involved, Robert Colbeck turned his attention to Pike and, with a mixture of patience, sympathy and cool reason, eventually coaxed him into another room, where they could talk alone.
‘What about Caleb?’ asked Pike, nervously.
‘Mr Hayton, the stationmaster, will sit with him,’ explained Colbeck, putting his hat on the table. ‘If there’s any change in his condition, we’ll be called immediately.’
‘I should have done more to help him, sir.’
‘Let me be the judge of that, Mr Pike.’
‘When that man hit Caleb, I just went numb. I couldn’t move.’
‘It’s been a very distressing experience for you,’ said Colbeck, taking the chair behind the table. ‘I daresay that you’re still suffering from the shock of it all. Why don’t you sit down and rest?’
‘I feel that I should be in there with Caleb.’
‘Think of the man who attacked him. Do you want him caught?’
‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Pike with sudden urgency. ‘I do.’
‘Then you’ll have to help us. Every detail you can provide may be of value.’ He indicated the bench and the fireman slowly lowered himself on to it. ‘That’s better,’ he said, producing a pencil and pad from his inside pocket. ‘Now, in your own time, tell me what happened from the moment that the train was flagged down.’
Pike licked his lips with apprehension. He clearly did not wish to recount a story in which he felt his own conduct had been grievously at fault, but he accepted that it had to be done. On the other side of the wall, Caleb Andrews was fighting for his life. Even if it meant some personal discomfort for Pike, he knew that he had to be honest. It was the only way that he could help in the search for the men who had robbed the train and forced him to drive the locomotive off the track.
‘When was your suspicion first aroused?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Not until the signalman threw his flag aside and drew a pistol.’
‘Can you describe the fellow?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Pike with feeling. ‘He was as close as you are, Inspector. I looked him right in the face. He was a big man, around my own height, and with ginger whiskers. But it was his eyes I remember most clearly, sir. They was cold as death.’
Notwithstanding the fact that he was still badly shaken, Frank Pike gave a full and lucid account of the robbery, albeit punctuated with apologies for the way that he felt he had let the driver down. Noting down everything in his pad, Colbeck prodded him gently with questions until he elicited all the details. The fireman’s deep respect and affection for Caleb Andrews was obvious. Colbeck was touched. He tried to offer a modicum of reassurance.
‘From what you tell me,’ he said, ‘Mr Andrews was a plucky man.’
‘Caleb would stand up to anybody.’
‘Even when he was threatened with a loaded pistol.’
‘Yes,’ said Pike with a note of pride. ‘He was fearless.’
‘That courage will stand him in good stead now. He has a strong will to live and it should help him through. When his condition is more stable, I’ll arrange for him to be taken home. Meanwhile, I’ll make sure that’s he’s moved to a proper bed.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’
‘I believe that he has a daughter.’
‘That’s true,’ replied the other. ‘Madeleine worships her father. This will be a terrible blow to her. It is to us all, of course, but Madeleine is the person who’ll suffer most. Caleb is everything to her.’
‘What about you, Mr Pike?’
‘Me, sir?’
‘Do you have someone who can help you through this ordeal?’
‘I’ve a wife and child, Inspector. Heaven knows what Rose will say when she hears what happened today. She worries enough about me, as it is,’ he said with a sheepish smile. ‘My wife thinks that working on the railway is dangerous.’
‘You may find it difficult to convince her otherwise, Mr Pike.’
The fireman sat upright. ‘I like my job, sir,’ he attested. ‘It’s the only thing I ever wanted to do. The robbery won’t change that.’
‘I admire your devotion to duty.’ Colbeck glanced down at his notes. ‘Let me just read through your statement, if I may, in case there’s anything you wish to change or add.’
‘There won’t be, Inspector.’
‘You never know. Please bear with me.’
Referring to his notes, Colbeck repeated the story that he had been told. Pike was astounded by the accuracy with which his words had been recorded and, in hearing them again, his memory was jogged.
‘There was one more thing,’ he said.
‘Go on.’
‘It may not be important but it struck me as odd at the time.’
‘Odd?’
‘Yes, Inspector. The man who climbed up onto the footplate called Caleb by his name. He knew who was driving that train.’
‘I wonder how,’ said Colbeck, making another entry in his notebook. He flipped it shut. ‘Thank you, Mr Pike. That information is very pertinent. I’m glad that I double-checked your story.’
There was a tap on the door and it opened to admit Hayton, the stationmaster, a stooping man in his forties. His sad expression made Pike leap to his feet in alarm. He grabbed the newcomer by the shoulder.
‘Has something happened to Caleb?’ he demanded.
‘Calm down, Mr Pike,’ soothed Colbeck, rising from his chair.
‘I want to know the truth.’
‘Leave go of me and you shall,’ said the stationmaster, detaching the fireman’s hand. ‘There’s no need to be so anxious, Mr Pike. The news is good. I came to tell you that the patient has rallied slightly. Mr Andrews even took a sip of water.’
Sergeant Victor Leeming had not been idle. He was working in a little room that was used for storage. Having first taken a statement from the guard on the ambushed train, he interviewed the two railway policemen whose task was to protect the money in the safes. Initially, they denied having left the luggage van and insisted that they had not been playing cards in the mail coach. When Leeming told them that the guard had given evidence to the contrary, they blustered, prevaricated then, under close questioning, they caved in. One of the railway policemen, a surly individual with a walrus moustache, even tried to justify their action.
‘Sitting in a luggage van is very boring,’ he said.
‘You were not there to be entertained,’ observed Leeming.
‘We often slip into the mail van on such occasions. Nothing ever happens when we carry money. The train has never been under threat before. Ask yourself this, Sergeant. Who would even think of trying to rob us? It’s impossible to open those two safes.’
‘Not if you have the keys and the combination. What would have made it more difficult for them, of course,’ said Leeming, ‘is that they’d met stout resistance from two railway policemen hired to guard that money.’
‘We didn’t believe that it could ever happen, Sergeant.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘It was their fault,’ said the man, searching desperately for a way to redeem himself. ‘We were led astray. The mail guards pleaded with us to join them in their coach. They should carry the blame.’
‘If you wanted to play cards,’ said Leeming, reasonably, ‘you could have done that in the luggage van with your colleague.’
‘It’s not the same with only two players.’
‘Tell that to Inspector McTurk.’
The two policemen quailed. They had already given accounts of the robbery to their superior, carefully omitting any mention of their visit to the mail coach. Thanks to the detective, they would now have to confess that they had lied to McTurk. It was a daunting prospect. In the event, it was Leeming who first informed the Scotsman that he had been misled. When he left the storeroom, he found McTurk lurking outside and told him what had transpired.
‘Hell and damnation!’ exclaimed McTurk. ‘They’ll swing for this.’
‘They pulled the wool over your eyes, Inspector.’
‘I’ll make them regret that they did that.’
‘You owe a debt to Inspector Colbeck,’ said Leeming, enjoying the other’s discomfort. ‘Had he not searched the mail van, this dereliction of duty may not have come to light. It explains why those employed to look after the mail and the money were caught off guard.’
‘I’ll see them crucified,’ vowed McTurk.
‘You need to review your safety procedures.’
‘Don’t presume to tell me my job, Sergeant.’
‘Your men were blatantly at fault.’
‘Then they’ll be punished accordingly,’ said McTurk, nettled by the criticism. ‘We have high standards to maintain. But I’ll thank you not to pass comments on our police force. Might I remind you that we’ve been in existence a lot longer than the Detective Department at Scotland Yard?’
‘Perhaps that’s why complacency has set in.’
‘We are not complacent, Sergeant Leeming!’
‘Patently, some of your men are.’
‘Isolated examples,’ argued the Scotsman, barely able to contain his fury. ‘And whatever their shortcomings, at least they look like policemen. I can’t say that about you and Inspector Colbeck.’
‘We belong to the Plain-Clothes Detail.’
McTurk sniffed. ‘There’s nothing plain about your colleague’s attire. He struts around like a peacock.’
‘The Inspector puts a high premium on smartness.’
‘Then he’d be more at home in fashionable society.’
‘I agree with you there,’ said Colbeck, coming into the room in time to hear McTurk’s comment. ‘Fashionable society is often the place where serious crimes are hatched. Were we to wear police uniform, we would disclose our identity at once and that would be fatal. Being able to move invisibly in society gives us an enormous advantage. It’s one of the principles on which we operate.’
‘It’s not one that appeals to me,’ said McTurk, tapping his chest. ‘I’m proud to wear a uniform. It shows who I am and what I stand for.’
‘But it also warns any criminals that you represent danger.’
‘And what do you represent, Inspector Colbeck?’
‘The veiled sarcasm in your voice suggests that you’ve already supplied your own answer to that question,’ said Colbeck, tolerantly, ‘so I’ll not confuse you by giving you my reply. I simply came to thank you for your help and to tell you that we’ll be leaving for London soon.’ He could not resist a smile. ‘On what, I believe, you call an up train.’
‘What about the others?’
‘They’re free to leave, Inspector – with the exception of the patient, that is. The stationmaster has very kindly offered a bed in his house to Mr Andrews, who seems to have made a slight improvement.’
‘That’s cheering news,’ said Leeming.
‘Yes,’ added McTurk. ‘The station can get back to normal.’
‘Normality will not be completely restored,’ said Colbeck, ‘until this crime has been solved and the villains are securely behind bars. Sergeant Leeming and I have done all that we can here. We move on to the next stage of the investigation.’
‘May one ask where that might be?’
‘Of course, Inspector. We’re going to pay a visit to the Post Office.’ He hovered in the doorway. ‘Now, please excuse me while I speak to Fireman Pike. He insists on staying with the driver even though there’s nothing that he can do.’ He waved to McTurk. ‘Goodbye.’
‘And good riddance!’ muttered the other as Colbeck went out. He turned on Leeming. ‘A Detective-Inspector, is he? And how did he get that title?’
‘Strictly on merit,’ said the other.
‘The merit of knowing the right people?’
‘Not at all. He achieved his promotion by dint of hard work and exceptional talent. Inspector Colbeck is highly educated.’
‘I knew that there was something wrong with him.’
‘Don’t you believe in education, Inspector McTurk?’
‘Only in small doses,’ retorted the other. ‘Otherwise, it can get in your way. Book-learning is useless in this job. All that a good policeman really needs is a sharp eye and a good nose.’
‘Is that what you have?’ asked Leeming.
‘Naturally.’
‘Then they let you down, Inspector. Your sharp eye didn’t help you to spot that playing card in the mail coach, and your good nose failed to pick up the smell of deception when you questioned the two policemen who travelled on the train.’
‘That’s immaterial.’
‘Not to me. I put my trust in Inspector Colbeck’s education.’
‘You’d never get me working for that fop,’ sneered McTurk.
‘I can see that you don’t know him very well,’ said Leeming with a short laugh. ‘He’s no fop, I can assure you of that. But you’re quite safe from him. He’d never even consider employing you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you are what you are, Inspector McTurk. Criminals can see you coming a mile away. Let’s be frank about it, shall we? Even if you were stark naked, everyone would know that you were a policeman.’
Herbert Shipperley was a short, thin, harassed man in his fifties with a bald head that was dotted with freckles and a face that was a mass of wrinkles. His responsibilities at the Post Office included supervision of the mail coaches that were run on various lines. News of the train robbery had struck him with the force of a blow and he was quick to see all the implications. Shipperley knew that he would be in the line of fire. Even though it was quite late, he was still in his office when the detectives called on him and introduced themselves. He backed away as if they had come to arrest him.
‘We just wish to ask you a few questions,’ explained Colbeck.
‘I’ve been bombarded with questions ever since people caught wind of the robbery,’ moaned Shipperley. ‘It’s only a matter of time before I have newspaper reporters banging on my door. They’ll blame me as well, whereas it’s the railway company that’s really at fault.’
‘We’re not here to apportion blame, Mr Shipperley. We merely wish to establish certain facts. Sergeant Leeming and I have just returned from the scene of the crime.’
‘What did you learn?’
‘Enough to see that we have a difficult case on our hands.’
‘But you will recover everything, won’t you?’ bleated Shipperley. ‘I need to be able to reassure the Royal Mint and the bank – not to mention my own superiors. The loss of that mail is a tragedy,’ he cried. ‘It threatens the integrity of our service. Imagine how people will feel when they discover that their correspondence has gone astray. Help me, Inspector Colbeck,’ he implored. ‘Give me your word. You do expect to catch the robbers, don’t you?’
‘We hope so.’
‘I need more than hope to revive me.’
‘It’s all that I can offer at the moment.’
‘You might try a glass of whisky,’ advised Leeming. ‘It will calm your nerves. We’re not miracle-workers, I fear. We’ll do our best but we can give you no firm promises.’
Shipperley sagged visibly. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘We’re dealing with a premeditated crime,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was conceived and planned with great care and couldn’t possibly have been committed in the way that it was without the direct assistance of insiders.’
‘You’re surely not accusing me?’ gasped the other, clutching at his throat. ‘I’ve worked for the Post Office all my life, Inspector. My reputation is spotless.’
‘I’m sure that it is, Mr Shipperley, and I can say now that you’re not under any suspicion.’ He signalled to Leeming, who took out his notepad and pencil. ‘We simply want a few details from you, please.’
‘About what?’
‘The procedure for carrying money on the mail train.’
‘We go to great lengths to maintain secrecy.’
‘Word obviously got out on this occasion,’ said Colbeck. ‘We need to know how. Perhaps you can tell me how often you liaise with the Royal Mint or with the Bank of England to carry money on their behalf on the mail train. We’d also like to hear how many of your employees know the exact dates of each transfer.’
‘Very few, Inspector.’
‘Let’s start with the frequency of such deliveries, shall we?’
