The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series) (78 page)

‘Was that because he lives nearby?’

‘I cannot say. When he saw the signal, he was to pick up the message and leave a reply for whoever had been here. It all seemed so harmless to me, Inspector. I did not realise I was breaking the law.’

‘You were not, Madame.’

‘I feel as if I was now.’

‘What was this gentleman’s name?’

‘He did not tell me – I swear it.’

‘Could you describe him?’

‘He was shorter than you, Inspector, and he had broader shoulders. He was not good-looking but he had a pleasant face. I liked him. His hair was thick and turning grey.’

‘Could you give me some idea of his age?’

‘Ten years older than you at least.’

‘Why did he pick here?’ wondered Colbeck. ‘I can see that he could rely on you do what he asked, but why did he single you out in the first place? Was he ever a customer here?’

‘No, Inspector,’ she said.

‘Then how did you meet?’

‘It was some time ago,’ she said, hiding her embarrassment behind a nervous laugh, ‘and we did not really meet in the way that you imply. He used to wave to me through the window as he passed the shop and we became…’ She licked her lips to get the words out more clearly. ‘…we became acquainted, as you might say. Then, out of the blue, he stepped into the shop one day.’

‘When was this?’

‘Weeks ago. I did not even recognise him at first.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he was not wearing his uniform. When he used to go past regularly, he always looked very smart. That’s why I trusted him, Inspector,’ she said. ‘He was a policeman.’

The Lamb and Flag was a favourite haunt of Victor Leeming’s because it had three outstanding features. It was within
walking distance of Scotland Yard, it served excellent beer and it was a tavern that Edward Tallis would never deign to enter. Leeming could enjoy a quiet drink there without fear of being caught in the act by his superior. When he got there, a few of his colleagues were already in the bar and they were very pleased to see him again. They chatted happily with him until Robert Colbeck came in through the door. Understanding at once that the two men wanted to be alone, the others greeted the newcomer with a respectful smile then drifted away. Colbeck brought drinks for himself and his sergeant before choosing a table in the far corner. Leeming quaffed his beer gratefully.

‘I needed a taste of that,’ he said, wiping the froth from his upper lip. ‘I’ve been very busy today, Inspector.’

‘I hope that I didn’t overtax you, Victor.’

‘Not at all. It felt marvellous to be back.’

‘Albeit unofficially,’ Colbeck observed.

‘Quite so, sir.’

‘Did you learn anything of value?’

‘Eventually,’ said Leeming, taking another long sip as he gathered his thoughts. ‘I went to the police station and discovered that Pierce Shannon had been locked up there on May 27th.’

‘Disturbing the peace?’

‘And causing damage to property, most likely, but he wasn’t charged with that. Because he couldn’t pay his fine, he was kept in his cell, pending a transfer to prison, but the fine was then paid by an anonymous benefactor.’

‘The very man who visited him in prison, I daresay.’

‘I can confirm that. I spoke to Horace Eames.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He spends his time making lifeboats now, sir, but he used to be a policeman in Limehouse. It was Eames who let this old friend of his speak to Shannon in his cell. When he gave me his name, I wanted to make sure that we had the right man so I went to the magistrate’s court to check their records.’

‘Well done, Victor.’

‘Sure enough, the very same person had paid the fine.’

‘That’s conclusive.’

‘Do you know what Luke’s other name was?’

‘Yes – Rogan.’

Leeming’s face fell. ‘You’ve already found out,’ he complained.

‘Let’s call it a joint operation, Victor. We’ve each confirmed what the other managed to ascertain. While you were in a boatyard, I was at a dress shop in Paddington.’

‘A dress shop?’

‘It was the place where Shannon was told to leave a message for his paymaster. A French lady owns the shop. She and Rogan seemed to have developed something of a friendship.’

‘He was a policeman in that district. So was Horace Eames at one time. They worked together.’

‘I went to the station and they told me all about Rogan. It seems that he was a ladies’ man,’ said Colbeck. ‘He developed a habit of enjoying favours from some of the women he encountered on his beat. And not the kind that ever charge for such services, I should add. In return, he kept a special eye on their property. He was a good policeman, apparently, but too fond of disobeying orders. In the end, he was dismissed from Paddington and became a private detective.’

‘That’s what Eames told me.’

‘Did he give you an address for him?’

‘He has an office somewhere in Camden.’

‘What about his home address?’

‘Eames couldn’t tell me that, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘When he left the police force, Rogan moved from his house in Paddington.’

‘Not all that far,’ said Colbeck, taking a sheet of paper from his inside pocket. ‘He needed to keep an eye on the window of that dress shop for a signal that was to be put there. It must have been chosen because of its proximity to his home.’ He put the paper on the table. ‘Take a look at that, Victor.’

‘What is it, sir?’

‘A list of people attending a lecture given by Gaston Chabal.’

Leeming picked it up. ‘Where did you get this from?’

‘The man who organised the event,’ said Colbeck, taking a sip of his whisky. ‘He’s very methodical. As you can see, the names are all in alphabetical order. Check those that begin with an “R”. Do you recognise someone?’

‘Luke Rogan,’ said the other, pointing to the name.

‘Now, what is a private detective doing at a meeting that had such specialised interest? He knows nothing about civil engineering. I must be the only policeman in London who would have listened to Chabal with any alacrity.’

‘So what was Rogan doing there?’

‘Following him,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, he even followed the man to Paris. Chabal’s mother-in-law told me that he felt someone was watching him. I believe that Rogan stayed on his tail until the moment when he had the opportunity to kill him. I’m also fairly certain that he was wearing a police uniform when he committed the murder.
If Chabal was afraid that somebody was stalking him,’ he added, ‘the one person who would not arouse his suspicion was a police constable.’

‘A bogus one.’

‘Chabal was not to know that.’ He had a second sip of his drink. ‘Look at that list again, Victor. Can you see another name that you recognise?’

Leeming let his eye run down the neat column of names. ‘Yes,’ he declared, ‘I know this one – Alexander Marklew.’ He tapped the piece of paper. ‘That’s it, Inspector,’ he went on with a note of triumph in his voice. ‘We’ve found the link we needed.’

‘Have we?’

‘Of course. The only way that Rogan would even have known that that lecture was taking place was if someone took him there. That someone must be Mr Marklew. We’ve come full circle, Inspector,’ he said, pausing to pour down some more beer. ‘We’re back with the most obvious suspect of all.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘A jealous husband.’

‘Husbands are not jealous of things they know nothing about.’

‘But he
did
know. He used a private detective to find out.’

‘No, Victor. I don’t accept that. Alexander Marklew is a person I’d expect to be at such a lecture, but not because he realised that his wife had been unfaithful to him. Had that been the case, he’d surely have challenged Mrs Marklew about it. No,’ said Colbeck, taking the list back from him, ‘we must look elsewhere on this list.’

‘What for?’

‘The name of the man who
did
employ Luke Rogan.’

‘Then all we have to do is to work through them one by one.’

‘There’s a more direct way than that, Victor.’

‘Is there, sir?’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, pocketing the list and reaching for his whisky. ‘I can pay a call on a certain private detective. Luke Rogan is the killer. His arrest must be our first priority.’

Sir Marcus Hetherington’s estates were in Essex and he spent a fair amount of time at his country seat. When he was in London, however, he stayed at his town house in Pimlico. It was there, helped by his valet, that he was dressing for dinner. He was too busy adjusting his white tie in a mirror to hear the doorbell ring down below. It was only when he began to descend the staircase that he became aware of the fact that he had a visitor. A manservant awaited him in the hall.

‘A gentleman has called to see you, Sir Marcus,’ he said.

‘At this hour? Damnably inconvenient.’

‘I showed him into the drawing room.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Mr Rogan.’

Sir Marcus reddened. ‘Luke Rogan?’ he asked, irritably.

‘Yes, Sir Marcus.’

Without even thanking the man, Sir Marcus brushed rudely past him and went into the drawing room, closing the door with a bang behind him to show his displeasure. Luke Rogan was admiring a painting of the battle of Waterloo that hung over the fireplace. He spun round to face the old man.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’ demanded Sir Marcus.

‘I needed to see you.’

‘Not here, man. I’ve told you before. You should only make contact with me at the Reform Club. If I am not there, you simply leave a note for me.’

‘I preferred to call on you at home, Sir Marcus.’

‘But I refrained on purpose from giving you this address.’

‘I soon found it out,’ said Rogan. ‘When someone employs me, I like to know a little more about them than they’re prepared to tell me.’

‘Impudent scoundrel!’

‘We’re in this together, after all.’

‘What are you blathering about?’

‘Inspector Colbeck.’

Sir Marcus became wary. ‘Go on,’ he said, slowly.

‘He
knows
.’

Luke Rogan had a hunted look about him. He spoke with his usual bravado but there was a distant fear in his voice. Sir Marcus took note of it. Crossing to a table, he removed the stopper from a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of brandy. He did not offer a drink to Rogan. After replacing the stopper, he threw down half of the brandy before rounding on his visitor. His face was expressionless.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked with rasping authority.

‘Inspector Colbeck came to my office,’ replied Rogan.

‘When?’

‘This afternoon. Luckily, I was out.’

‘How did you learn of his visit?’

‘The other offices are leased to a firm of solicitors, Sir Marcus. One of their clerks spoke to the inspector. He said that I would be out all afternoon and was not expected to return. As it happens,’ said Rogan, ‘I did call in earlier this evening.’

‘What did Colbeck want?’

‘To speak to me, that’s all.’

‘Was he on his own or did he bring men with him?’

‘He came alone. I take that as a good sign.’

‘A good sign!’ repeated the old man with asperity. ‘First of all, you assure me that he will never connect you in a hundred years with what happened in France. Then, when he comes knocking on your door only days later, you describe it as a good sign.’

‘I was referring to the fact that he was on his own, Sir Marcus.’

‘It only takes one man to make an arrest.’

‘That may not be the reason he came.’

‘Why else?’

‘To make enquiries, maybe,’ said Rogan, hopefully. ‘My name may have floated in front of him and he came to satisfy his curiosity. I felt that I should warn you, Sir Marcus, but it may be unnecessary. I can’t see how Colbeck could possibly link me with the murder.’

‘I can,’ said the other. ‘You slipped up somewhere.’

‘But I covered my tracks very carefully.’

‘So you tell me.’

‘I did, Sir Marcus. I know how policemen work. I left no clues as to my name or my whereabouts.’

‘Then how do you explain Colbeck’s visit to your office?’

Rogan shrugged. ‘I can’t,’ he admitted.

‘So you come running here, you imbecile!’ shouted Sir Marcus before downing the rest of his brandy. ‘Did it never occur to you that Colbeck might have left a man to watch your office in case you returned? When you did, and learned what had happened, you might have led him all the way to
my door.’

‘Impossible!’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I left the building by the rear exit,’ said Rogan, ‘and I changed cabs twice on my way here to throw off anyone who might be following. There was no one, Sir Marcus. I walked around the whole square to be sure before I even rang your bell.’

Sir Marcus put his glass on a table. Flipping his coat tails out of the way, he sank into a leather chair and ruminated for several minutes. Rogan remained on his feet, still trying to work out how Colbeck had managed to identify him as one of the culprits. Having taken such pains to hide behind anonymity, he felt distinctly uneasy, as if layers of protective clothing had suddenly and unaccountably been whisked off him. It made him shiver.

‘Where will he go next?’ said the old man. ‘To your home?’

‘No, Sir Marcus. He may have got to my office, but he’ll never find out where I live. Even my closest friends don’t know that. I keep my address secret and change it regularly. When I go back home tonight,’ said Rogan, confidently. ‘I’ll do so without a qualm.’

‘That’s more than I’ll do.’

‘You’re perfectly safe here.’

‘Not as long as Inspector Colbeck is on the case.’ His gaze shifted to the painting above the fireplace and hovered there for while. ‘How many men of his standing do they have at Scotland Yard?’

‘None at all.’

‘He must have an assistant.’

‘Victor Leeming was the man beaten up in France,’ said Rogan. ‘He’s not even involved in the case anymore. Colbeck will miss him and that’s to our advantage. From what I’ve heard, Leeming is hard-working and resolute.’

‘There must be other capable men in the Department.’

‘Not one of them can hold a candle to the Railway Detective.’

‘So he is irreplaceable?’