Authors: Edward Marston
‘It’s a lady and a very handsome one at that.’
‘Did she say what her business was?’
‘No, sir. The only person she wishes to see is you.’
Colbeck got to his feet. ‘Then you’d better bring her in.’
Moments later, a tall, stately woman in her thirties came into the office and waited until the door had been closed behind her before she yielded up her name.
‘Inspector Colbeck?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘My name is Hannah Critchlow,’ she said, ‘and I’ve come in response to the request you inserted in the
Liverpool Times
.’
He was curious. ‘You’ve come all the way from Liverpool?’
‘This is not something I wished to discuss with the local police. I had other reasons for being in London, so I decided to speak directly to you. I hope that I can rely on your discretion.’
‘Completely,’ he said. ‘Do sit down, Mrs Critchlow.’
‘
Miss
Critchlow,’ she corrected.
‘I beg your pardon.’
Hannah Critchlow lowered herself into a chair and he
resumed his seat behind the desk. Colbeck was surprised to hear that she was unmarried. She had a sculptured beauty that was enhanced by her costly attire. She also had a distinct poise about her and would never go through life unnoticed by members of the opposite sex. Without being told, he knew that she had travelled by train to London in a first class carriage. Colbeck felt a quiet excitement. Given the trouble she had taken to see him, he believed that she would have something of value to impart.
‘Before we go any further,’ she said, ‘there is one thing that I must make clear. I am not here in search of any reward.’
‘But if you can provide information that will lead to the arrest of the murderer, the railway company will be very grateful to you.’
‘I don’t want their gratitude.’
‘What do you want, Miss Critchlow?’
‘The satisfaction of knowing that this villain is caught. From the reports in the newspaper, it seems to have been an appalling crime. The culprit should not be allowed to get away with it.’
‘He won’t,’ said Colbeck, levelly. ‘I can assure you of that.’
‘Good.’
While he had been appraising her, she had been sizing him up and she seemed pleased with what she saw. It encouraged her to confide in him. After clearing her throat, she leaned slightly forward.
‘I believe that they call you the Railway Detective,’ she said.
‘My nickname is immaterial. The only name that interests me at this point in time is that of the murder victim.’
‘When I tell you what it is, Inspector, you will see that your nickname is not at all irrelevant. The gentleman who was thrown from the Sankey Bridge was – if I am right – a railway engineer.’
‘Does he have a name, Miss Critchlow?’
‘Yes.’ There was a long pause. ‘Gaston Chabal.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I happen to know that he was coming to England around this time to take a closer look at our railway system. He had an especial interest in the London and North-West Railway so that would account for his presence on the train in question.’
‘Gaston Chabal.’
‘Yes, Inspector – if I am right.’
‘I have a feeling that you are,’ he said, writing the name down on a piece of paper in front of him. ‘Would it be impertinent of me to ask how you come to know this gentlemen?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied, adjusting her skirt. ‘My sister and I visited Paris earlier this year. In a small way, we are art collectors. We attended the opening of an exhibition one afternoon. M. Chabal was one of the guests.’
‘Could you describe his appearance?’
‘He was very much like you, Inspector.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. M. Chabal was not what I had expected a railway engineer to be any more than you are what I envisaged as a detective. I mean that with the greatest of respect,’ she went on. ‘Most policemen I’ve encountered have had a more rugged look to them. As for Gaston – for M. Chabal – he seemed to be far too modish and fastidious to be involved in work on the railways.’
‘He was French. They pay attention to their appearance.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘He was very French.’
‘Did he live in Paris?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You have no address for the gentleman?’
‘It was only a casual encounter, Inspector,’ she said, ‘but I do know that he was an admirer of our railway system. It’s much more advanced than the one in France. He felt that he could learn useful lessons by studying it.’
‘To some extent, that’s true,’ said Colbeck, ‘but our system has many vices as well as virtues. We do not have a standard gauge on our railways, for a start. That causes immense problems.’
‘I would blame the Great Western Railway for that. Mr Brunel insists on using the broad gauge instead of coming into line with the others. And we have too many companies competing with each other to serve the same towns and cities.’
‘You seem to know a lot about railways, Miss Critchlow.’
‘I’ve spent a lot of time travelling on them.’
‘So have I,’ said Colbeck. ‘To come back to M. Chabal, do you happen to know if was married or not?’
Her reply was prompt. ‘He was a bachelor.’
‘Nevertheless, he’ll have had a family and friends who need to be informed of his death, not to mention his employers. Have you any idea how we might contact them?’
‘No, Inspector.’
‘Do you know if he was engaged on any particular project?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, a finger to her chin. ‘He did mention that he would be working with a British contractor in northern
France, but I can’t remember exactly where.’
‘It must be the railway between Mantes and Caen. It’s the only large project in that part of the country. Thomas Brassey is in charge of its construction. Yes, that must be it,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Thank you, Miss Critchlow. At least I know where to start looking now.’
‘I hope that I’ve been able to help your investigation.’
‘Without question. You’ve cleared up one mystery for us. Is there anything else you can tell me about Gaston Chabal?’
‘I’m afraid not. I only met him that once.’
‘Was he a handsome man? Did he speak good English?’
‘Most people would have thought him handsome,’ she said, choosing her words with care, ‘and his English was faultless. He once gave a lecture here in London on railway engineering.’
‘Bold man. That’s rather like carrying coals to Newcastle. Do you know when and where he delivered this lecture?’
‘No, Inspector.’
‘A pity. It might have been another way to track him.’
‘If it really is the man I think.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Well, I won’t take up more of your time, Inspector Colbeck. I’ve told you all I can so there’s no point in my staying. Goodbye.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ he insisted, getting up to cross to the door. ‘Are you staying in London?’
‘Only until tomorrow.’
‘Then permit me to call a cab for you, Miss Critchlow. And if you are an art collector, allow me to recommend the name of a British painter – Ambrose Hooper. I think very highly of his work.’
He opened the door to let her go out first then followed her down the corridor. When they left the building, he hovered
on the pavement until an empty cab came into sight. Flagging it down, Colbeck assisted her into the vehicle and made sure that he heard the name of the hotel that she gave to the driver. The man flicked his reins and the horse set off at a steady trot in the direction of Trafalgar Square. Colbeck did not return to his office. Hannah Critchlow had given him a crucial piece of information, but he was much more interested in what she was concealing than in what she had actually divulged. When the next empty cab came along Whitehall, therefore, he put out an arm to stop it.
‘Where to, guv’nor?’ asked the driver.
‘Camden.’
Madeleine Andrews had always been fond of drawing but she did not know that she possessed a real talent until Robert Colbeck had come into her life. Not for her a rural landscape, or a jolly scene at a fair or even a flattering portrait of her sitter. Like her father, her passion was for locomotives and she had sketched dozens of them over the years, honing her skills without even realising that she was doing it. With Colbeck’s encouragement, she had shown some of her sketches to a dealer and actually managed to sell two of them.
Bolstered by her modest success, Madeleine always tried to find at least some time in a day to work on her latest drawing. When she had cleaned the house, finished the washing-up and been out to do the shopping, she was back at her easel. Sitting near a window in the living room to get the best of the light, she was in the perfect position to see the cab as it drew up outside. When she saw Colbeck alight, she put her work aside and rushed to open the door.
‘Robert! How lovely to see you!’
‘I need your help,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Is there any chance that you could spare me an hour or two?’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ll tell you in the cab.’
‘Give me a moment.’
Madeleine went back into the house to leave a short note for her father, then she collected her hat and coat. Colbeck was waiting to help her into the cab before climbing up to sit beside her. Their conversation was conducted to the rhythmical clip-clop of the hooves. He told her about his visitor from Liverpool. Madeleine was interested.
‘What made you think she was hiding something?’
‘When a married woman tells me that she is single, then I know that she is lying to me. Nobody as fetching as Hannah Critchlow could reach that age without having had dozens of proposals.’
‘She might have turned them all down,’ said Madeleine.
‘That was not the impression I got. She not only has a husband,’ Colbeck went on, ‘but my guess is that he’s connected with a railway company in some way – though not the GWR.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because of a criticism she made to me about the broad gauge. It was not the kind of remark I’d expect a woman to make – unless her name was Madeleine Andrews, that is. But then, you have a genuine fascination with railways.’
‘It’s only natural. Father is an engine driver.’
‘Hannah Critchlow is different,’ he said. ‘When she talks about railways, she sounds as if she’s quoting somebody else – her husband, most probably. It was another instance of her concealing something from me. And I didn’t believe for a
second that she had chanced upon this railway engineer at an art exhibition.’
‘Why not?’
‘Wait until you meet her, Madeleine.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s a very self-possessed woman with typical English reserve. Such people do not make casual conversation with foreigners. I fancy that she and Gaston Chabal became friends elsewhere. You’d be doing me a huge favour if you could find out the truth.’
‘What makes you think that she’d confide in me, Robert?’
‘You’re a woman. You might be able to break through her defences. It took an enormous effort for her to come forward like this. She must have found Scotland Yard – and me, for that matter – rather intimidating.’
‘You’re not in the least intimidating,’ she said, squeezing his arm affectionately. ‘You’re always extremely charming.’
‘Well, my charm did not work on her, Madeleine – yours might.’
He spent the rest of the journey schooling her in what to say and how to say it. Madeleine was an attentive pupil. It was not the first time he had employed her on an unofficial basis and she had proved extremely helpful in the past. Colbeck knew that he could rely on her to be gently persuasive.
‘Does the superintendent know about this?’ she said.
‘Mr Tallis?’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Hardly. You know his opinion of women – they should be neither seen nor heard. If he realised what I was doing, he’d probably roast me over a spit.’
‘Even if your methods bring results?’
‘Even then, Madeleine.’
They eventually reached their destination in the Strand and pulled up outside a fashionable hotel. He gave her another kiss.
‘Good luck!’ he said.
It had taken Hannah Critchlow almost a week to gather up enough courage to get in touch with Inspector Colbeck. Now that she had done so, she felt both relieved and anxious. But her overriding emotion was sadness and, no sooner did she return to her hotel, than she burst into tears. It took her a long time to compose herself. When there was a tap on her door, she assumed that it would be a member of the hotel staff. Opening the door, she saw instead that she had a visitor.
‘Miss Critchlow?’
‘Yes,’ said the other, guardedly.
‘My name is Madeleine Andrews. I wonder if I might have a private word with you? I’m a friend of Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Then why are you bothering me? We’ve nothing to say to each other. I told the inspector all that I know.’
‘That’s untrue,’ said Madeleine, holding her ground.
‘Good day to you.’
‘As Hannah Critchlow, you gave him a certain amount of information but, as Mrs Marklew, you may be able to provide more. Why give him one name when you are staying here under another?’
Hannah was suspicious. ‘Who
are
you?’
‘I told you. I’m a friend of the inspector. If I explained how he and I came to meet, you’ll understand why I’m here.’
Hannah Marklew hesitated. She was unsettled by the fact that her disguise had been so easily pierced and she knew that she could be severely reproached for misleading a detective.
At the same time, she found Madeleine personable and unthreatening. There was another telling factor. Her visitor had a sympathetic manner. She was on Hannah’s side.
‘You’d better come in, Miss Andrews. It is “Miss”, I presume?’
‘Yes, Mrs Marklew.’
Madeleine went into the room and the other woman shut the door behind them. Hannah indicated a chair but she remained standing when Madeleine sat down.
‘What did Inspector Colbeck tell you about me?’ said Hannah.
‘That you had provided the name of the murder victim and thereby moved the investigation on to another stage. He also told me how eager you were to see the killer brought to justice.’
‘I am, Miss Andrews.’