Peril on the Royal Train (3 page)

‘That’s no excuse, Superintendent.’

‘It’s not an excuse – it’s an explanation.’

‘Theft is theft, whichever way you look at it.’

Rory McTurk gave a nod of agreement. As superintendent of the railway police, he was one of the first on the scene and been appalled by what he found. He was a huge bear of a man with a black beard and bushy eyebrows that all but concealed the deep-set eyes. Relishing his authority, McTurk liked nothing better than ordering people about in his gruff voice. In the presence of the general manager of the Caledonian Railway, however, he was more subdued and deferential. Nairn Craig was a stout man of medium height and middle years with flabby cheeks that quivered as he spoke. Even though he wore the tallest of top hats, he still looked short beside the towering figure of the superintendent.

‘Naturally,’ he said, surveying the scene with an anxious eye, ‘our sympathies must be with the families of the deceased. But we must also concentrate on clearing the track and getting it repaired where it was ripped up. Every hour that we’re unable to run trains on this stretch of line is costing us money. More to the point, it’s a gift to our rivals. The North British Railway will be rubbing their hands. When our passengers and freight customers are denied uninterrupted traffic on the western route in and out of Scotland, they’ll obviously use the eastern route instead. The NBR will profit from our loss.’

‘It was the first thing that crossed my mind, sir,’ said McTurk, pointedly.

The manager blinked. ‘You think that
they
might be responsible?’

‘They’d be at the top of my list of suspects, I know that.’

‘Well,’ said Craig, rubbing his chin, ‘they’ve employed some underhand methods in the past to get the better of us, I grant you, but even they would draw back from something as despicable as this, surely.’

‘All’s fair in love and war, sir – and we’ve been at war with the NBR for many years. I’d put nothing past them. When the procurator fiscal launches his inquiry, I’ll point in their direction.’

‘You must do the same to Inspector Colbeck.’

McTurk was startled. ‘What does he have to do with it?’

‘He’s the man we most need at a time like this, Superintendent. I sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard this very morning. Pray God he answers my plea.’ He saw the evident consternation on McTurk’s face. ‘Colbeck has no peer. You must have heard of the Railway Detective.’

‘I’ve done more than hear about him, sir,’ said McTurk, guardedly. ‘I’ve met the inspector. Our paths crossed when I was working in England. A mail train was robbed in broad daylight. It was a crime that I could easily have solved myself,’ he boasted, ‘but I was severely hampered by Colbeck.’

‘I’ve heard nothing but praise of the man.’

‘Oh, he’s well intentioned, I’ll give him that. But he’s too high-handed for my liking. Besides, he knows nothing at all about the operation of the Caledonian Railway. The only person who can get to the bottom of this outrage is someone with local knowledge – someone like me.’

Craig was brisk. ‘I beg leave to doubt that, McTurk,’ he said. ‘This is beyond you. The procurator fiscal will set up an investigation but his men have no experience of dealing with a catastrophe on this scale. Inspector Colbeck does. He solved a not dissimilar crime in Sussex and was feted by the railway company involved. I read reports of it. As for local knowledge,’ he continued with a flick of the hand, ‘you can provide that, Superintendent. I’m sure that Colbeck will call on your expertise. I look to you to offer it.’

McTurk squared his shoulders. ‘I’d do so unwillingly, Mr Craig.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because this is a Scottish disaster occurring on Scottish soil and only Scotsmen should be entitled to root out the villains behind it. We can do it alone, sir, without interference from south of the border.’

Craig was caustic. ‘This is no time for misplaced patriotism,’ he said, sharply. ‘In my opinion, Scotsmen are much better at committing crimes than solving them. Spend a Saturday night in the rougher districts of Glasgow and you’ll see what I mean. I’m proud of being a Scot but I’m also aware of a bellicose instinct that lurks inside many of my fellow countrymen. You’re a prime example. You can be quickly stirred to action. That’s what makes you such a good railway policeman.’

‘I also have skills as a detective,’ contended McTurk.

‘Confine yourself to your duties, Superintendent. In a situation like this, I want the best man for the task and his name is Inspector Robert Colbeck. My only hope is that he’s on his way here even as we speak. Assist him to the best of your ability.’

McTurk’s gurgling reply was muffled by his beard. He was seething. He’d not only been put in his place by the general manager, he’d been ordered to cooperate with a man he despised. The only way to assuage his anger was to prove that he could solve the crime on his own account and that’s what he determined to do.

After clearing his throat, he spoke obediently.

‘Very well, Mr Craig,’ he said, ‘I’ll do all I can to help.’

But he vowed inwardly that Colbeck would get no welcome from him.

For a man who hated railways as much as Victor Leeming, even a small journey was something of a trial. If he couldn’t walk somewhere, the detective sergeant’s preferred mode of travel was a horse-drawn cab. Indeed, he’d often thought that his life would have been much easier and far less stressful if he’d joined the army of London cab drivers. There was much to be said for serving those citizens who could afford the luxury of a cab. Some of them would tip the driver handsomely. And though he’d be out in all weathers, Leeming would at least see more of his wife and children. As a detective, he was at the mercy of distant crimes. Today was a case in point. Being sent off to Scotland for an indeterminate period was his notion of purgatory. He felt deprived. Seated in a train racing north with a rhythmical rattle, he grimaced and made an already unappealing face look positively grotesque.

‘Scotland is a foreign country,’ he moaned. ‘They speak a different language up there.’

‘They speak the same language but with a different accent,’ said Colbeck.

‘That’s not true, sir. When I was in uniform, I worked with a constable from Glasgow and could only understand one in every five words he spoke. If he lost his temper – and he did that whenever drink was taken – then I couldn’t hear a word that I recognised. It was probably just as well. Knowing him, they’d have been vile.’

‘You’ll soon get used to Scottish idiosyncrasies, Victor. It’s only if we come up against someone who speaks in a broad dialect that we may have trouble. In any case,’ Colbeck went on, ‘language difficulties have never deterred you in the past. You managed very well when we had that spell in France.’

Leeming scowled. ‘That’s not how I remember it.’

Though their investigation had had a successful outcome, it had left the sergeant with some searing memories. He’d not only been forced to endure a choppy crossing of the English Channel in both directions, he’d been pitched into a nation of gesticulating Frenchmen and their bold women, then beaten up so badly by Irish navvies that he’d had to withdraw from the fray and return home to recuperate. Leeming didn’t want a repeat of the experience in Scotland.

‘At least, we won’t have to
sail
anywhere,’ he said.

‘You never know,’ teased Colbeck. ‘They have plenty of lochs and rivers up there. We may have to use a boat at some stage. That shouldn’t worry you, Victor. After all, you’re an experienced sailor now.’

It was a reference to a case that had taken them across the Atlantic Ocean to make two arrests in New York City and to extradite the criminals. It was an episode that still featured regularly in Leeming’s nightmares. He was an unashamed landlubber. If it were left to him, he decided, he’d banish sailing ships along with the entire railway network.

Not for the first time, Colbeck seemed to read his thoughts.

‘Would you rather travel to Scotland by means of stagecoach, Victor?’ he asked. ‘It would be tedious, tiring and take us days. Thanks to this express train, we’ll be there this evening.’

‘But we have no details,’ protested Leeming. ‘We don’t know where the crash actually occurred and what precisely happened. And we certainly don’t have a clue who or what might have caused it.’

‘The telegraph mentioned rock on the line.’

‘How can we possibly find out how it got there?’

‘We follow the obvious guidelines.’

‘I didn’t know that we had any, Inspector.’

Colbeck smiled. ‘That’s because you’re too busy thinking about Estelle and the children. Forget your family. The sooner we solve this crime, the sooner you’ll be reunited with them. Now,’ he added, ‘what day is it today?’

‘Monday.’

‘That gives us our first clue, Victor.’

Leeming was baffled. ‘Does it?’

‘Of course,’ said Colbeck. ‘If today is Monday, the crash took place on Sunday. Immediate suspects must be rabid sabbatarians.’

‘Who on earth are they?’

‘People who believe we should observe the Sabbath in every particular. It should be a day of rest on which everyone attends church or chapel instead of riding around on the railways. From the moment the trains reached Scotland, there were demands that they didn’t operate on Sundays.’

‘Would these sabbatarians actually wreck a train?’

‘It’s a possibility we have to bear in mind, Victor. Religion can ignite the most violent passions. We’ve seen it happen before.’

‘But if they planned this disaster, they must have known there’d be a risk of death for anybody on board that train. “Thou shalt not kill” is what the Bible tells us. Would they ignore that commandment in order to remind people that Sunday is the day of rest?’ Leeming scratched his head. ‘That doesn’t make sense, sir.’

‘I agree,’ said Colbeck, ‘but extremism has a way of blinding people to such contradictions. They act on impulse. And if lives are sacrificed in pursuit of their cause, they may even see it as a justifiable way to gain publicity.’

When the driver and his fireman went into the engine shed, they were astonished at what they found. Across the full length of their locomotive was a message in large, crude letters –
NOT FOR USE ON SUNDAYS
. The paint was still wet.

Word travelled fast on the railway system. News of the disaster crossed the border and went rapidly down the line. When the detectives stopped at any station where there was time to get out and stretch their legs, they made a point of questioning railway staff about what had happened and they learnt new details from each conversation. They knew exactly when and where the crash had occurred and had been treated to some fevered speculation regarding its cause. At Carlisle, the terminus of the London and North Western Railway, they had to change trains. While doing so they found additional information in a newspaper on sale at the station. Colbeck would have liked an opportunity to explore the ancient city to see its sights but there was no possibility of that. Besides, Leeming was a reluctant tourist at the best of times. It was no use pointing out to him that Carlisle had been an English stronghold for centuries, charged with keeping the fiery Scots at bay. It was now a thriving community of over twenty thousand souls with a variety of industries that had burgeoned since the arrival of the railways. Its long and battle-scarred history fascinated Robert Colbeck. To his companion, however, it was simply a place that was uncomfortably distant from his beloved family.

Passengers had been forewarned of the destruction of the goods train. A fleet of coaches, cabs and other horse-drawn vehicles had been hastily assembled to take them around the obstruction so that they could join a train on the other side and continue their journey north. Those travelling south on the Caledonian Railway were offered the same option in reverse but many were deterred by the prospect of delay and inconvenience. Goods trains were summarily cancelled. There was no way of carrying vast quantities of freight on carts and wagons past the blockage. In some places, narrow roads deteriorated into mere tracks. The important thing, the company felt, was to keep the passengers they still had in motion and to ensure that they went in a wide sweep around the site so that were not disturbed by a glimpse of the carnage there. Informed by telegraph that the line would be out of action for days, freight customers were already looking for an alternative means of sending their goods to and from Scotland. The North British Railway, its main rival, was the first to prosper from the Caledonian’s misfortune.

‘This crash will cost the company a great deal of money,’ observed Colbeck. ‘And its reputation for reliability will be badly damaged.’ He looked across at Leeming, gazing abstractedly out of the window of the train. ‘Did you hear what I said, Victor?’

The sergeant came out of his reverie. ‘What was that, sir?’

‘You were miles away.’

‘Was I? Then I apologise.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘How much farther do we have to go?’

‘We’ll soon reach the Lowther Hills at this rate,’ said Colbeck with a tolerant smile. ‘You’ve been daydreaming for ages. You didn’t even notice that we slipped across the Scottish border. Is something on your mind?’

‘It is, Inspector.’

‘Go on.’

‘I keep asking the same question over and over again.’

‘Oh?’

‘What on earth are we
doing
here?’

Colbeck was amused by the expression of mild panic on the sergeant’s face. It was always the same. Leeming hated venturing out of London, yet, once embroiled in a case, he always acted with commitment and determination. When physical violence was involved, Colbeck had learnt that there was no better man to have at his side. Leeming was a born fighter. It was only before they were really engaged in an investigation that he was morose and homesick. The inspector had his own reason for wanting to bring the visit to Scotland to a speedy conclusion. Married the previous November, he was still enjoying the delights of his new estate and missed his wife every bit as keenly as Leeming was missing his spouse. Detective work, however, took precedence. Madeleine had understood that when she’d married Colbeck and accepted the situation without complaint. Unlike the sergeant’s wife, she’d been able to take part in the investigative process in the past, so she had a clearer insight into what it entailed.