The Railway Detective's Christmas Case E-Book

Edward Marston

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Railway Detective
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 418

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

'A rattling good tale' - DAILY MAIL December 1864. As a cold winter wind scours the Worcestershire countryside, an excursion train comes through a tunnel in the Malvern Hills to be confronted by a blockage on the line ahead. Although a disastrous derailment is averted, the passengers are alarmed. Cyril Hubbleday, the man in charge of the excursion, alights to investigate further, but the angry altercation with the driver is cut short by a shot from a sniper, straight through Hubbleday's head. Christmas is coming all too soon and Inspector Robert Colbeck and Sergeant Victor Leeming are under pressure to solve the case quickly. However, with enemies in the shadows behind the seasonal trip, and with strong criticism from the local constabulary, the hunt for a cold-blooded killer is far from straightforward.

Leseprobe

PRAISE 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

THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE’S CHRISTMAS CASE

Edward Marston

To George and Toni Demidowicz, our dear friends, wonderful guides to the Malvern Hills and its surrounding areas

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEDEDICATION CHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEEN ABOUT THE AUTHORBY EDWARD MARSTONCOPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

1864

A cold December wind was scouring the platform but the hundred or more passengers waiting at the railway station were impervious to its bite. They were in such high spirits that nothing could trouble them. They had enjoyed a free cooked breakfast with a cup of hot tea to wash it down. By the time they reached the station, everyone was buzzing with excitement. Thanks to the generosity of their employer, the workers and their families were being rescued from the stink and smoke of the Black Country and taken to the scenic beauty of the Malvern Hills. It was a day they would never forget.

Presiding over the excursion was Cyril Hubbleday, the works manager, a big, solid, middle-aged man, impeccably dressed and wearing the tall, shiny top hat that set him apart from anyone else on the platform. Hubbleday was making his way through the waiting throng, beaming at children, smiling politely at their mothers, and nodding at the employees whose work lives he controlled.

Derek Churt saw him coming and braced himself. Arm in arm with his wife, Agnes, he had his other hand on his young son’s shoulder.

‘Say nothin’, Aggie,’ he warned his wife.

‘We ought to say thank you,’ she argued.

‘Do as I say, woman.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s not him as is paying for all this – it’s Mr Appleby.’

‘Ah, yes …’

Like her husband, Agnes Churt was short, thin and wiry. She had lost the youthful bloom that had attracted him to her years earlier, and now had pinched features and rounded shoulders. Like her husband and son, she was wrapped up warmly and wearing a scarf and gloves she had knitted. It was not long before Hubbleday came right up to them.

‘Good day to you!’ he said, raising his top hat.

‘Same to you, sir,’ replied Churt, dutifully.

‘Unless I’m mistaken, you work in a paint shop, don’t you?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘That’s right. Chort … Chart … something like that?’

‘Churt, sir. Derek Churt.’

‘Then you must be Mrs Churt,’ said the works manager, running an eye over Agnes. He bent over the child. ‘And who do we have here?’

‘It’s our son,’ explained Churt. ‘Peter.’

Hubbleday grinned. ‘Hello, Peter.’

‘Mornin’, sir,’ said the boy, responding to a nudge from his father.

‘Have you been to the Malverns before?’ asked Hubbleday.

‘I been nowhere, sir.’

‘That’s what most of the children say.’ He patted the boy on the head. ‘You look like a bright lad, Peter. Let’s hope you follow in your father’s footsteps and work for us one day. Would you like that?’

‘Yes, please, sir.’

‘Make it your goal in life.’

After patting him on the head once more, Hubbleday moved on to the next family and distributed a smile among them. Agnes waited until the works manager was out of earshot before making a comment.

‘Will there really be a job for our Peter?’ she whispered.

‘Doubt it,’ grunted her husband.

‘Mr Hubbleday said there would be, and he seems such a nice man.’

Churt curled a lip. ‘You don’t know him as well as I do.’

When the train steamed into the station and came to a halt, the passengers climbed into the compartments allotted to them with shrieks of pleasure. Hubbleday waited until they were all aboard then clambered into the compartment closest to the locomotive. Like all the other employees of the Oldbury Railway Carriage and Wagon Company there, the works manager was proud of the fact that they had built the carriages in which they were about to travel. Given the nature of the event, it was highly appropriate.

Peter Churt, meanwhile, did what all the other children were doing and stared out of the window of his compartment in sheer wonder. He had never been more than five miles from his home. Until the train was steaming along, he was unaware that, once they had emerged from the permanent dark haze under which they lived, they entered open countryside. The boy had to shield his eyes against the unexpected glare of sunshine. Other delights scudded past every second. He missed nothing. Worcester was a particular revelation to him. Against a clear sky, it looked quite beautiful. As they thundered over the bridge across the River Severn, Peter could see narrowboats moored along the banks and caught a glimpse of the racecourse nearby. The majestic cathedral drew a gasp of delight from him.

‘Why can’t we live here, Dad?’ he asked, innocently.

‘Because we can’t,’ muttered Churt.

‘Why not?’

‘We’re Oldbury folk, born and bred.’

‘It looks so clean.’

‘You heard what your father said,’ Agnes told him.

But her son’s attention had already shifted to something else of interest and he forgot that his parents were even there. It was a journey of discovery for the boy, and he wanted to relish every second of it.

Alone with his companion in their private compartment, Hubbleday removed his top hat and scratched his bald head. He had lost all trace of his former geniality and resorted to a snarl.

‘I’m starting to hate these excursions,’ he admitted. ‘It’s one thing to give the workers an occasional reward, but Mr Appleby takes it to extremes. An Easter Outing, a Whitsun Treat, a Summer Celebration and now this Christmas Party – we’re spoiling them.’

‘I agree,’ said Drake, quietly.

‘When the men are given an unnecessary holiday, we lose production.’

‘Mr Appleby believes that it helps morale.’

‘I’d prefer to keep their noses to the grindstone,’ said Hubbleday, ‘and I daresay that you feel the same.’

‘I do, Cyril,’ said Drake. ‘Far be it from me to criticise Mr Appleby, but we are a manufacturing concern. Workers are there to work – not to be given days off.’

Ernest Drake was the company accountant, a tall, anxious man in his fifties with eyes glinting behind rimless spectacles. Across his lap was a ledger that contained the names of all those on the excursion. It had been his job to allocate the compartments on the train.

‘At least we don’t have to travel with them,’ said Hubbleday, scornfully. ‘That would be unbearable. The men stink of mothballs, the women reek of cheap perfume and their ugly, snotty-nosed children have no idea how to behave themselves.’

‘It was wise of you to insist on a private compartment,’ said Drake.

‘We deserve some privileges, Ernest.’

‘I’m grateful to you.’

‘We’re managers. They need to be reminded of that.’

Settling back, he stretched out a hand and absentmindedly stroked the top hat beside him as if he were fondling a favourite cat. He soon went off into a reverie. Drake, meanwhile, opened his ledger and took out a copy of the seating plan he had devised. He unfolded it with care. On arrival, they would all be taken on a ride through the Malvern Hills before arriving at Appleby Court. The visitors would then be shown to their places in the dining room by Drake. He had inked in every name with care. As befitted their position, he and Hubbleday would be seated at the top table with the Appleby family.

When they eventually entered a series of cuttings, daylight was replaced by dark shadows and the stunning vistas disappeared. There was another disappointment. Though they were still short of their destination, the train began to slow dramatically. Hubbleday was jerked out of his daydream.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know,’ said Drake.

‘This line was supposed to be clear for us.’

‘Perhaps there’s a reduced speed limit for some reason.’

‘Something’s happened,’ said Hubbleday, getting to his feet. ‘Look – we’re slowing by the second.’

‘I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,’ said Drake.

‘Then I want to know what it is.’

‘All will soon become clear, Cyril.’

‘We have a strict timetable. We must stick to it, or everything is thrown out of kilter. During previous excursions, the trains always ran like clockwork. Why is this one letting us down?’

‘It hasn’t let us down yet.’

‘Can’t you feel what’s happening, man? We’re grinding to a halt.’

‘I think you’re right.’

Drake knew how dangerous it was to argue with the works manager. If his opinion were challenged, Hubbleday could be fiery and vengeful. It was safer to agree with him. Besides, it was now obvious that the train did intend to stop. It began to rock, hiss, squeal deafeningly and shudder, spreading alarm throughout the carriages. Then, without warning, it came to a jarring halt, throwing Hubbleday forwards. He thudded against the wall panel opposite and cursed aloud.

 Regaining his balance, he was quivering with fury. After putting on his hat, he flung open the door and, with considerable effort, jumped down beside the line, finding that they had stopped in a deep cutting. He stormed to the front of the locomotive where the driver and fireman were standing.

‘What the devil is going on?’ yelled Hubbleday.

‘There’s an obstruction, sir,’ explained the driver, indicating with his finger. ‘Someone put sleepers across the track.’

‘We’re expected to arrive on time.’

‘We can’t move until those sleepers are shifted, sir.’

‘Then go and move them at once.’

‘We have to wait for the guard first,’ said the driver. ‘Here he comes.’

He pointed towards the rear of the train where a figure had jumped out of the brake van and was hurrying towards them. Hubbleday’s only interest was in the obstruction thirty yards ahead of them. The sleepers were flanked by two large red flags, signalling danger. Prompt action by the driver had saved the excursion train from almost certain derailment. Instead of praising the man, however, Hubbleday started to blame him for the delay. His howls of rage were short-lived. A shot suddenly rang out and the works manager fell instantly to the ground with blood streaming down his face and with a gaping hole in his top hat.

CHAPTER TWO

Robert Colbeck was seated behind the desk in his office, reading a newspaper report of their latest success in bringing a killer to justice. Victor Leeming, meanwhile, was crouched in front of the grate, warming his hands on the little fire crackling bravely away. The sergeant gave an involuntary shiver.

‘I’m still freezing,’ he complained.

‘Run around the block a few times,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘That will make you feel as warm as toast.’

‘It’s chilly out there.’

‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Don’t you ever feel the cold?’

‘Yes, of course, but I try to ignore it.’

‘You’re not human, Inspector.’

‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck with a smile, ‘I have a dear wife who assures me on a regular basis that I am extremely human. The truth is that I’m too busy to notice the weather.’

‘Well, I notice it,’ said Leeming, ruefully. ‘My teeth are chattering.’

Before he could launch into a recitation of his woes, he was interrupted by the arrival of Edward Tallis. Without bothering to knock, the superintendent opened the door and walked into the room, bringing a draught of cold air with him. Leeming crouched even closer to the fire.

‘Ah, good,’ said Tallis. ‘I’ve caught you together. I have an important new assignment for the pair of you. You must go to the Worcestershire at once.’

‘Christmas is just over a week away, sir,’ protested Leeming, standing up. ‘We need to celebrate it at home. Think of our families.’

‘I’m thinking of the family of the murder victim. They need the reassurance that someone will find and arrest the man responsible for his death.’

‘How much detail do you have, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Very little beyond what is written here,’ said Tallis, waving a telegraph in the air. ‘A man was shot dead beside a railway track. We must respond at once. It’s unfortunate that it comes during the festive season but there is good news to lessen the disappointment.’

‘We’ll be pleased to hear it, sir.’

‘I will be coming with you, Inspector.’

Leeming goggled. ‘You call that good news?’

‘Indeed, I do,’ said Tallis. ‘I am killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. I’ll not only be able to lead the investigation, I’ll have the pleasure of visiting Great Malvern to see if it really is such an ideal place for retirement.’

Colbeck was astonished. ‘You are considering retirement?’

‘None of us can go on indefinitely, Inspector.’

‘But we’ve always regarded you as a permanent fixture here.’

‘Fresh blood is needed from time to time in any organisation,’ said Tallis, briskly. ‘I would have thought you’d welcome my departure. It creates a vacancy, and nobody is more suited to fill it than you.’

Colbeck exchanged a glance with Leeming. Both had been shaken by the news. While they resented the stern military discipline that Tallis imposed, they recognised that he was a conscientious and efficient leader. Leeming was particularly alarmed. The decision meant that Colbeck would almost certainly be promoted, depriving the sergeant of his best friend. Their record of success as a team was unmatched in the Metropolitan Police Force. Leeming did not relish the idea of working with an inspector of less ability and, perhaps, with a more hostile attitude towards those ranked beneath him. There could be trouble ahead.

Colbeck took a more realistic view. When he studied the superintendent, he could see that Tallis’s long years in the army and his subsequent dedication to law enforcement in the capital had taken their toll. The man looked old, weary and lacking the sense of duty he had always exuded. There had also been a period when Tallis had been forced to take time off to recover from a worrying illness that was as much mental as physical. On his return, he seemed to have renewed energy and purpose, but neither was visible now. He was a shadow of his former self.

‘Are you unwell, sir?’ asked Colbeck, solicitously.

Tallis stiffened. ‘Do I look unwell?’

‘No, no, sir, but this talk of retirement is worrying. Has it been prompted by medical advice?’

‘It’s been prompted by the relentless passage of time.’

‘Then you should stay here and rest,’ suggested Leeming. ‘The last thing you should do is to put yourself through the rigours of a murder investigation. Leave it to younger men like us.’

‘Are you daring to give me advice?’ asked Tallis, eyelids narrowing.

‘All that the sergeant meant,’ said Colbeck, coming to the latter’s rescue, ‘is that this is the wrong time of year to visit somewhere like the Malverns. You should see the area at its best in the summer, not when its inhabitants are about to hibernate throughout winter.’

‘The decision has been taken, Inspector. We will go there together.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘I know that you prefer to work alone but, with my help, you’ll be able to solve the crime in half the usual time.’

‘Wouldn’t you be better off staying here, sir?’ asked Leeming. ‘London is seething with crime. This is where you’re really needed, not charging off to the countryside in answer to a hopeful summons.’

‘It was not a summons,’ said Tallis. ‘It was a demand.’

‘Whoever sent the telegraph had no right to demand anything of us. What sort of a man is he?’

‘The telegraph did not come from a man. It was sent by a woman – Lady Emily Foley, to be exact. And, judging by her tone, she expects her orders to be obeyed at once. Let us go and find out why, shall we?’

Lady Emily Foley was a tall, stately woman in a fur coat and fur hat. Now approaching her sixtieth birthday, she was the daughter of the 3rd Duke of Montrose and had inherited his aristocratic mien. Having married into the Foley family in her late twenties, she had lost her husband after a mere fourteen years and, as a result, taken control of extensive estates in Staffordshire, Herefordshire and Worcestershire. She also became Lady of the Manor of Great Malvern and she never, for a moment, let anyone forget it.

When the railway station was built there, it was done under her direction. That was why a waiting room was constructed solely for her use so that she did not have to rub shoulders with the lower orders. She was now seated beside the fireplace, warming herself while deliberately keeping her back to the window. Harold Unwin, the stationmaster, needed almost a minute to gather enough courage to enter the room. He was a tubby man of middle years and medium height. After scratching his beard and adjusting his uniform, he tapped on the door and opened it tentatively.

‘Excuse the interruption, Lady Foley.’

‘Close that door. I do not want cold air in here.’

‘Of course not,’ he said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. When she turned to face him, he gave a respectful nod then held up a letter. ‘I’ve brought a message from Mr Appleby.’

‘I’ve no wish to read it.’

‘Would you rather hear it?’

‘No, Mr Unwin, I would rather tear it up and put it on the fire. As you well know, Mr Appleby and I are not on speaking terms. We ceased communication of any kind several months ago. Besides,’ she added, ‘I know exactly what his letter says.’

He was startled. ‘You do?’

‘He is complaining that I had the sense to send a telegraph to Scotland Yard instead of letting him respond to the emergency. Appleby is a ditherer. He is also a newcomer and therefore unable to speak for this wonderful part of the country. I, of course, do have the requisite status to act as its spokesperson. That is why I took prompt action.’ Voice rising imperiously, she got to her feet. ‘If he had not brought another of those appalling excursion trains here, the murder would never have occurred.’

‘The messenger who delivered this letter is waiting outside.’

‘Send him away without a reply.’

‘Yes, Lady Foley.’

‘And, if any reporters arrive, be sure to stress that I was the person with the initiative to summon the finest detectives in the kingdom. I settle for nothing but the best,’ she said, thrusting out her chin. ‘Mr Appleby, by contrast, will be dealing with those well-meaning buffoons from the Worcestershire Constabulary.’

‘Now, that’s unfair …’

‘Did I ask for your opinion, Mr Unwin?’

‘No, but … well, I think our police do a good job.’

‘To some extent, I agree. When it is within their limited competence, they are reasonably efficient. But we are not talking about arresting drunken revellers or chasing naughty boys out of people’s orchards. This is a case of cruel murder. It will spread fear throughout the area and far beyond it. That,’ she concluded, ‘is why I will stay here until the detectives from Scotland Yard arrive at this station.’

After nodding obediently, Unwin let himself out.

Jerome Appleby was a silver-haired man in his sixties. He was anything but a typical Midland industrialist. Those who met him for the first time thought that he had the air of a country parson – gentle, caring, dedicated to his calling. In fact, he was a hard-headed businessman, who, having made a great deal of money, was moved to share it with those less fortunate than he had been. Appleby was also a man of action. When news of the murder reached him, he was waiting at Malvern Link railway station with a fleet of carts and carriages to transport the excursionists to his home. He instantly commandeered a trap and drove the horse at speed the four or more miles needed. Arriving at the scene of the crime, he was shocked to see the body of his works manager beside the track, albeit covered by a tarpaulin.

The one redeeming factor of the crisis was the response of Ernest Drake. Taking charge of the situation, the chief clerk had apologised to the passengers for the delay and insisted that everyone remain in their carriages. The gunshot, he told them, had been fired by a farmer whose cow had wandered onto the line. It therefore had had to be put down. When they left the train at Malvern Link, the passengers were bound to notice that Cyril Hubbleday was no longer leading the outing, but they would soon be diverted by the various treats laid on for them.

Hearing how his chief clerk had behaved, Appleby was full of praise. Now that the flags and sleepers had been moved from the line, he insisted that the train continue to its original destination. They were unable to stop the children peering through the window with ghoulish fascination at what they thought was a dead farm animal. The passengers, however, were relieved to be on their way again. Among the many mouth-watering promises made to them was that they would see live reindeer at Appleby Court. That thought had excited the children more than anything else. A slaughtered cow could not compete with such an attraction.

By the time that Appleby had driven back to Malvern Link, the families were waiting patiently in their respective vehicles. They gave him a spontaneous round of applause. He basked in their approval then led them off on their parade through the hills, his broad smile concealing his inner turmoil.

One question tormented him – who had killed his works manager?

CHAPTER THREE

Victor Leeming had always hated travelling by train. It was therefore ironic that he worked exclusively with a man whose expertise in solving crimes committed on the rail network had earned him the title of The Railway Detective. Ordinarily, Colbeck would make any journeys by train more palatable for the sergeant by discussing the crime they had been sent to solve. Because they were not alone, that was now impossible. The presence of Edward Tallis, seated opposite them in an otherwise empty compartment, turned an unpleasant trip into an extended ordeal for the sergeant. He began to feel sick.

‘To be quite honest,’ said the superintendent, ‘I didn’t know that we could reach Great Malvern by train.’

‘The station was opened four years ago,’ explained Colbeck, ‘and is, by all accounts, quite remarkable.’

‘In what way, Inspector?’

‘It was designed by a celebrated architect, who also designed the Imperial Hotel nearby. First-class passengers staying at the hotel can reach it by means of the Worm, a subterranean passage that runs from the station for their exclusive use.’

‘How ever do you find out these things?’ asked Tallis, tetchily. ‘You seem to be a walking encyclopaedia of railway development.’

‘The new station caught the interest of one or two London newspapers, sir. They were impressed by what they saw as unique features. Such news items always arouse my curiosity.’

‘What are these unique features?’ asked Tallis.

‘The most striking,’ replied Colbeck, ‘are to be found on the platforms. The canopies are supported by iron columns. The capitals on them are works of art, apparently, and were designed by a local sculptor. I hope to meet the gentleman at some point.’

‘May I remind you that this is not a social visit? We are there to catch a cold-blooded killer.’

‘In my experience, sir, killers are often hot-blooded. I think we should reserve judgement on this particular individual until we apprehend him.’

‘And the sooner, the better,’ said Leeming. ‘My children want me home for Christmas.’

‘When you are engaged in a murder investigation,’ Tallis reminded him, ‘you do not possess a family. It must disappear from your mind.’

‘Nothing disturbs the sergeant’s concentration,’ said Colbeck. ‘I can vouch for that. Like me, he will do everything in his power to bring this case to a swift and satisfactory conclusion. But let me return to the reason you are here with us,’ he went on. ‘Are you seriously contemplating retirement?’

‘I am, indeed.’

‘Have you discussed the matter with the commissioner?’

‘Yes, I have. He urged me to remain.’

‘I would do the same in his position, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘Scotland Yard will seem empty without you cracking the whip over the rest of us.’

Tallis sniffed. ‘I can do without your advice, Sergeant.’

‘You’ve been an inspiration to us.’

‘And without your barefaced lies.’

‘Great Malvern is a spa town,’ observed Colbeck. ‘Are you intending to seek the Water Cure, sir?’

‘The only water that interests me is the small amount I add to my whisky.’

‘Having lived a full life, I fancy that you might find the place rather dull.’

‘That is its attraction, Inspector,’ said Tallis. ‘I will shed the multiple cares of office and escape from the inane comments that people like the sergeant feel obliged to make. Dullness is what I seek. I’ll embrace it gladly.’

‘What will you do all day?’ asked Leeming.

‘I will awake each morning with a smile of contentment.’

‘I do that when I see my wife and children.’

‘In time, I daresay, I will start work on my memoirs.’

‘You may find that difficult in a town like Great Malvern,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Your military exploits in India and your career in the Metropolitan Police Force define you as a man who thrives on excitement.’

‘I’ve always liked a challenge, it’s true.’

‘You’d have dozens every day if you remain at Scotland Yard, sir.’

‘That’s why I have to leave,’ insisted Tallis, ‘so please stop trying to talk me out of it. The time has come to move to pastures new.’

‘Then we must respect your decision.’

‘If you do write your memoirs,’ said Leeming, hopefully, ‘will there be any mention of me?’ He collected a withering stare from the superintendent. ‘I was just wondering, sir …’

The journey to Appleby Court exceeded all expectations. They were taken on a winding route through the Malvern Hills and shown wonders of nature that simply did not exist in the Black Country. Their lungs were filled with clean air for once. When they first caught sight of their host’s country house, they were astounded. Set in an estate of a hundred acres, it was a veritable palace. Waiting for them on the lawn in front of the main entrance were four skittish reindeer, harnessed to a small, brightly painted cart. When the children were told that they could take it in turns to be driven around the lawn, they laughed with joy. All memory of the dead cow under the tarpaulin was instantly wiped away.

Peter Churt queued patiently for his turn in the cart, squealing with delight as the reindeer took him and his companions in a wide circle. When he got back to his parents, he was ecstatic.

‘Can we have one as a pet?’ he pleaded.

‘No, son,’ said his father.

‘I’d feed it and look after it.’

‘We can’t afford it.’

‘Besides,’ said Agnes, ‘we have nowhere to keep it.’

‘We’ll find somewhere,’ argued the boy.

‘It’s out of the question, Peter.’

‘You heard,’ said Churt. ‘Reindeer don’t belong in Oldbury.’

Head falling to his chest, the boy sighed. Almost instantly, he recovered when he saw that Appleby was handing out a little parcel to each of the children, warning them not to open it until Christmas Day. Peter rushed to stand in line to claim his gift. He then rushed back to his parents to show them the parcel.

The meal was served in the sumptuous dining room, an ornate space easily able to accommodate the numbers involved. Tables had been set out and laden with the kind of food that children only ever saw on their birthdays. Ernest Drake was on hand to direct everyone to their appointed seats. From its position, the Churt family had a good view of the top table. While everyone else was eating their food, Churt’s attention was focussed on the empty chair beside their benefactor. His wife looked down at his plate.

‘Eat your cake,’ she suggested.

‘I will in a minute, Aggie.’

‘What are you staring at?’

‘It’s that empty chair. Mr Hubbleday should be sitting there.’

‘Maybe he’s not hungry,’ she said, ‘or maybe he’s been took ill.’

‘He’d never miss a chance like this to show off.’

‘Then where is he, Derek?’

A smile spread slowly across her husband’s face. He picked up his cake and ate it with relish. For the first time since they had left home, he started to enjoy the outing. He even applauded Appleby’s speech with a degree of enthusiasm.

By the time that the train had reached Malvern Link, Colbeck had persuaded Tallis that it was best if they divided their resources. While the superintendent went on to Great Malvern, a mile or so away, Colbeck and Leeming would alight at the earlier station and find a way to visit the scene of the crime before the afternoon light faded too much. It meant that Tallis would have the pleasure of meeting Lady Emily Foley, a person of evident standing in the very town he was considering for his retirement. When the train chugged out of Malvern Link station, Leeming heaved a sigh of relief.

‘You got rid of him at last,’ he said.

‘It’s only a temporary freedom, Victor. The superintendent will be with us for the whole of the investigation. This case might be his farewell to Scotland Yard.’

‘I’d much rather he stayed there and let us work on our own.’

‘Yes, having him breathing down our necks will be a problem. Whenever he’s taken part in our investigations before he’s always made things more difficult for us. In fact—’

Colbeck broke off as he saw a sturdy uniformed railway policeman approaching them. When he explained who they were, the man’s face lit up with pleasure as he saw the opportunity to be involved.

‘I’m Constable Berry,’ he said, deferentially, ‘and I heard about the murder when the excursion train stopped here. I made a point of going to the site.’

‘You’d know the exact spot, then.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Is the body of the victim still there?’

‘No, sir,’ said Berry. ‘Policemen from the Worcester Constabulary moved it to the hospital there.’

‘That’s a pity. It would have been helpful to know precisely where the man was shot dead.’

‘I can show you that, Inspector. I stood near the spot with the driver and fireman. They were in a terrible state – and still are.’ He indicated the excursion train standing nearby in a siding. ‘Perhaps you should take statements from them first.’

‘I’ll insist on doing so,’ said Colbeck. ‘Lead the way.’

Berry took them along the track and into the siding. The empty excursion train looked rather forlorn without its passengers. When he had introduced himself and Leeming to the two men on the footplate, Colbeck heaved himself up beside them. The sergeant followed him and took notes.

The railwaymen were still patently in a state of shock. Callum Paterson, the fireman, a craggy Scotsman with a fringe beard, could hardly bring himself to speak. Letting the driver, Stanley Lomas, do all the talking, Paterson confined himself to a series of nods and grunts. Lomas was a moon-faced man in his forties with a high voice that was reduced to a squeak when he became emotional.

‘It could have been either Callum or me,’ he said. ‘We were standing so close to Mr Hubbleday. One of us might have been shot dead.’

‘In your own words,’ said Colbeck, ‘please describe what happened.’

‘We knew Mr Hubbleday, you see. We’ve driven excursion trains for him a number of times and never had a whisper of trouble, did we, Cal?’ The fireman signalled agreement with a grunt. ‘Think of his poor wife and children. A man goes on a journey he’s made lots of times and he comes home in a wooden box.’ Tears welled up in his eyes. ‘It’s a tragedy, Inspector.’

Colbeck agreed. It took time and patience to get a coherent account out of Lomas, leaving Colbeck to wonder if the man was in a fit state to drive the train back to the Black Country. When he’d extracted all he felt he would get from the driver, he thanked him and jumped down beside Leeming.

‘Did you hear all that, Sergeant?’

‘Yes,’ moaned Leeming, ‘I heard it, but I didn’t write it all down. It’s so cold that my hands were shaking. I kept dropping my pencil.’

‘Constable Berry can confirm the details on our way to the scene of the crime.’

‘It’s an honour to work with you, Inspector,’ said Berry, as they moved away. ‘We’re not entirely cut off from the world here, you know. I’ve read newspaper reports about your successes.’

‘We’ve had our share of failures as well,’ admitted Colbeck. ‘Now then, we need to find some transport.’

‘Ted Bridger will get us there in no time at all. He drove me earlier on, so he knows exactly where to go.’

‘Excellent.’

Berry took them out of the small, rather nondescript station. Bridger turned out to be old, slight and in poor health. When they approached his carriage, he was talking quietly to his horse.

‘Ted is almost deaf,’ warned Berry. ‘Let me handle him. Oh,’ he went on as a thought struck him, ‘and welcome to the Malverns!’

Before he met Lady Emily Foley, the superintendent had the sense to ask the stationmaster about her. Unwin explained that she exerted great power in the area, owning large tracts of it and insisting, whenever new houses were built, that they were well spaced, had large gardens and maintained many trees. Tallis realised that he was about to meet a woman with exacting standards.

After knocking on the door of her private waiting room, he entered quickly, closed the door behind him and whisked off his top hat.

‘Good day to you, Lady Foley,’ he said. ‘I am Superintendent Tallis from Scotland Yard.’

‘I hoped for a quicker response,’ she complained.

Turning to look at him, she was impressed by his bearing and air of authority. For his part, he was struck by her grandeur. Sitting bolt upright, she was an arresting sight, features finely chiselled and eyes sparkling brightly. Tallis was a lifelong bachelor and had always preferred male company but there was something about her that stirred an interest in him that he had never felt before.

‘I expected you to arrive with minions,’ she said, tartly.

‘Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming are far from being minions,’ he told her. ‘They are highly experienced detectives.’

‘Then where are they?’

‘I told them to get off the train at Malvern Link so that they could collect details about the murder before being taken to the spot where it occurred. Incidentally,’ he added, ‘the railway station there is vastly inferior to this one. I couldn’t fail to notice that yours has considerable charm.’

‘That was largely my doing.’

‘I applaud your taste, Lady Foley.’

‘You’re here to solve a heinous crime, not to admire local architecture. How soon do you expect to make an arrest?’

‘It’s impossible to put a timescale on detective work,’ he said, cautiously. ‘It is slow and methodical so that no detail – however minor – is missed. We have caught killers before in a matter of days, but it sometimes takes weeks, if not months.’

She was aghast. ‘You’re here for months?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Our Christmas celebrations will be ruined.’

‘My minions, as you call them, would also suffer. Both are married men with a family. They would much rather spend Christmas at home with their loved ones. That will act as a spur to them to make as early an arrest as possible. Now,’ he said, ‘if I may, I would like to hear the full details of this distressing event.’

‘I don’t have the full details, Superintendent.’

He gaped. ‘Then why did you contact us for help?’

‘Nothing happens here that escapes my notice,’ she boasted. ‘The moment I heard that a murder had been committed, I sent that telegraph to Scotland Yard. Mr Appleby, I knew, would be certain to contact the Worcestershire Constabulary, but I wanted someone with far greater abilities.’

‘Who is Mr Appleby?’

‘You may well ask!’ she sneered.

‘That’s exactly what I am doing.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘He owns some grubby little works in the Midlands,’ she said, deprecatingly, ‘and organises the occasional excursion here for his employees. One of those employees was shot dead the other side of Malvern Link. That is all I can tell you.’ She wagged a gloved finger at him. ‘An ugly red stain has appeared on our little paradise, Superintendent. Please remove it.’

‘We will not disappoint you, Lady Foley.’

‘I should hope not.’

‘Our full resources are at your command.’

‘I just want a quick resolution to this crisis.’

‘You will have it.’

He held her gaze for a long time, marvelling at her poise and decisiveness. As a rule, he felt embarrassed at being alone with a woman but this one was different. He felt almost comfortable. It was she who terminated the conversation.

‘You may leave now,’ she said, crisply. ‘Get on with your work. This is my private domain. Given your position, you will be familiar with the laws of trespass.’

While they were driven along, Colbeck and Leeming were given a slightly fuller version of events than they had heard from the engine driver. Berry had mastered the salient details and gave a clear account. Having dealt with railway policemen many times, they found that the majority resented Scotland Yard detectives taking charge of cases they felt belonged to them. A much smaller group, however, welcomed Colbeck’s arrival and put themselves willingly at his beck and call. Raymond Berry belonged to the latter camp, an overenthusiastic admirer of Colbeck who felt blessed to meet and work alongside him. He never stopped trying to impress the detectives.

‘By the way,’ he told them, ‘it will be safe to go onto the track. I know the timetable by heart. There won’t be a train in either direction for at least thirty-five minutes.’

‘That’s reassuring to hear,’ said Colbeck.

In due course, Berry tapped the driver on the shoulder and the carriage slowed to a halt. The passengers got out. Berry signalled to Bridger that he should wait for them. He then led the detectives across the grass towards the cutting. When they reached the edge, Berry pointed to the sleepers and red flags that lay beside the track.

‘That’s what brought the train to a halt,’ he said.

‘Where was the victim standing when he was shot?’ asked Colbeck.

‘About thirty yards away, Inspector.’

‘And the killer was waiting up here on this side, was he?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The driver told us he saw nothing when he looked up. He and the fireman were not even sure from which direction the shot came.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Show me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Take the sergeant down there and stand beside him close to where you believe Mr Hubbleday was standing at the time.’

‘Do I really need to go?’ asked Leeming, eyeing the steep gradient. ‘I’m not really dressed for it, sir.’

‘You’ll manage,’ Colbeck assured him. ‘Have you forgotten that cutting near the Sapperton Tunnel in Gloucestershire? You scrambled up and down it like a mountain goat. There was hardly a mark on your clothing.’

‘I’ll help you if you like, Sergeant,’ volunteered Berry, offering a hand.

‘I can manage,’ said Leeming, waving him away. ‘You watch.’

He went bravely down the incline, gathering speed as he did so and sliding more than once. But he somehow maintained his balance and reached the bottom without a blemish on his clothing. Berry was more reckless. Desperate to earn praise from the detectives, he descended at a faster pace, tripping halfway down, and finishing the rest of the journey on his backside. Clambering to his feet, he burst out laughing. He then took Leeming along the track to the point where he knew the driver, fireman and works manager had been standing when the shot rang out.

Colbeck, meanwhile, walked along the top of the cutting in search of a vantage point. The killer had chosen an isolated spot and deliberately brought the excursion train to a halt somewhere below him. Having fired the murderous shot, he had been able to escape without the slightest fear of being seen.

Prowling along the grass, Colbeck looked for any clues as to the exact position taken by the man. There was no sign of a spent cartridge or of any footprints. What he did find, however, was a shallow depression in the grass that suggested someone had laid there, full length. It was a start.

CHAPTER FOUR

Madeleine Colbeck was delighted when her best friend called on her that afternoon. After giving her a welcoming kiss, she took Lydia Quayle into the drawing room. The latter was able to take a good look at her. She saw the concern in Madeleine’s eyes.

‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, Lydia.’

‘Have you had a message from Robert?’

Madeleine nodded. ‘He’s been put in charge of a murder investigation in somewhere called Great Malvern. It’s in the Midlands, apparently,’ she said. ‘With Christmas so close, I’ve been praying that he would be dealing with crimes here in London.’

‘He’s bound to be here on Christmas Day, surely.’

‘Not necessarily. If the superintendent feels that Robert must put his job before his family, then that is what might well happen.’

‘How did you learn about this latest assignment?’

‘Robert sent me a brief letter by hand. You can guess who delivered it.’

Lydia smiled. ‘Alan Hinton?’

‘He asked me to pass on his best wishes to you.’

‘That was nice of him.’

‘Detective Constable Hinton is far more than nice to you. He is devoted. One of these fine days, you might actually notice.’

Lydia laughed. ‘Stop teasing and tell me what Robert’s letter said.’

‘He warned me that he might be away from London indefinitely.’

‘The Midlands are not that far away, are they?’ asked Lydia. ‘If he’d been sent somewhere like Scotland, I’d understand the position he’d be in. But he’s bound to be able to sneak home at some point to see his wife and daughter.’

‘I very much doubt it.’

‘But he’s done so many times before.’

‘That was different.’

‘The superintendent didn’t even know that he’d popped back home to be with you and Helena for a night. What’s to stop Robert doing the same thing again?’

‘He hasn’t gone alone.’

‘Of course, not – I daresay he’s taken Victor Leeming with him.’

‘There’s someone else he’s taken.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Superintendent Tallis.’

‘Oh, no!’ cried Lydia. ‘That changes everything.’

‘Exactly. He’ll not only keep a close watch on them, Robert feels that he’ll hamper the investigation so that it takes much longer than it should.’ Madeleine sighed. ‘Can you see now why I’m so worried?’

Edward Tallis was not a man to sit idle. After leaving Lady Foley, he asked the stationmaster to unlock the door to the Worm so that he could walk up to the Imperial Hotel and take stock of it. Having booked a room there for himself, he went back to the railway station to be met by Harold Unwin.

‘Lady Foley has gone,’ he said. ‘She left a message for you, Superintendent.’

Tallis extended his hand. ‘Where is it?’

‘It was a verbal message, sir. To be honest, it was more of a command. Lady Foley expects to be kept abreast of every stage of your investigation.’

‘Why didn’t she ask me that herself?’

Unwin rolled his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t dare to put that question to her.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘In a grand house in Stoke Edith.’

‘Is that far away?’

Unwin pointed. ‘It’s on the other side of the hills, sir.’

‘Is it possible to get there by train?’

‘Yes, it is but I should warn you that a long, dark tunnel is involved.’

‘Why should I worry about that?’

‘Lady Foley refuses to travel through it,’ said Unwin. ‘If she needs to catch a train taking her eastwards, she is always driven here in her carriage and stays in her private waiting room until the train arrives. She is a lady of eccentricities,’ he went on, taking a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘I’ve written her address down for you and I humbly suggest that you abide by her request.’

‘Strictly speaking, I should be dealing with Mr Appleby himself. The crime is linked to that excursion train of his which brought the murder victim here.’

‘Everything that happens in the Malverns gets back to Lady Foley.’

‘I’m afraid that she must wait her turn for any information.’

‘Don’t upset her,’ advised Unwin. ‘She is easily offended.’

‘I’ll run this investigation my way,’ said Tallis, firmly. ‘If I tread on a few toes, so be it. The priority is to identify, chase, and catch the killer as soon as possible. The man is probably still at large in the area. He could strike again.’

Robert Colbeck was known as the dandy of Scotland Yard, always immaculate and not without a touch of vanity about his appearance. As he descended the grassy bank, therefore, he did so with extreme caution, one hand holding his top hat in place. When he reached Leeming and Berry, he looked up towards the place where he believed the killer had been lying.

‘He picked the perfect spot,’ he observed.

‘Yes,’ said Leeming, pointing down the line. ‘The track in that direction is dead straight for well over a quarter of a mile. When the train came round that bend, the driver and fireman would have been able to see those red flags in time to slow down and come to a halt.’

‘How do we know he killed the right man?’ asked Berry. ‘I mean, there were three people standing here together. What if he was really aiming at the driver or the fireman?’

‘He hit his target, I can assure you,’ said Colbeck. ‘I found the marks of a small tripod that would have supported a telescope. He watched the train from the moment it came into sight, then he picked out the man he was after. What puzzles me is how he knew that Mr Hubbleday would oblige him by leaving the train. According to you, no other passenger did so. Was it a lucky guess or could he guarantee that the works manager would almost certainly jump down from his compartment to see why the train had been stopped?’

‘If that was the case,’ said Leeming, ‘the killer must have known Mr Hubbleday.’

‘That was my feeling.’

‘There’s something I haven’t mentioned,’ Berry put in. ‘Excursion trains are very unpopular because they bring hordes of people here. Most of them get off at Malvern Link and explore the hills. Wealthy visitors travel by ordinary trains and go on to Great Malvern for the Water Cure.’

‘What are you trying to tell us, Constable Berry?’ asked Colbeck.

‘People are always writing letters of complaint to the local paper about the regular invasions. In summer,’ he said, ‘we get as many as five thousand flooding into the area on a single day. Think of the noise they make and the mess they leave behind. It’s disgusting,’ he groaned. ‘Go into any pub and you’ll hear folk grumbling. Most of them want to damage the trains seriously, but I’ve heard more than one – when they were drunk enough, that is – threatening to kill someone if it’s the only way to make the hoi polloi from the Midlands understand that they’re not wanted here.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with people from the Midlands,’ said Leeming, defensively. ‘I’ve got an uncle and aunt living in Birmingham – lovely people.’

‘Constable Berry raises a good point,’ said Colbeck, thoughtfully. ‘I could be wrong in my assumption. The sniper may never have met or seen the works manager before. He was there simply to kill someone who was involved in the excursion. In short,’ he concluded, ‘Mr Hubbleday could have been shot as a warning to others.’

Having told his detectives to meet him at the railway station in Great Malvern, the superintendent found himself recalling what Colbeck had said about the capitals on the columns supporting the canopy. He studied them closely and saw that they were superb examples of ironwork. What the sculptor had created was a series of bunches of flowers, fashioned so exquisitely and painted so brightly that they looked almost real. Tallis was entranced. He was still peering at the floral decorations when he heard footsteps approaching. Turning around, he saw a tall, slim, middle-aged man in the uniform of the Worcester Constabulary. The newcomer’s thick eyebrows formed a chevron of disapproval.

‘I am Inspector Vellacott,’ he said, sharply, ‘and Mr Appleby has asked me to take charge of the murder investigation.’