Authors: Edward Marston
‘Completely, Sir Marcus.’
The old man stood up and walked across to stand in front of the fireplace. He looked up at the swirling action in the oil painting on the wall. As rich memories were ignited, he drew himself up to his full height and stood to attention. He could hear the sound of armed conflict and it brought a nostalgic smile to his lips. When he spoke to Rogan, he kept staring up at the battle of Waterloo.
‘Did you ever serve in the army?’ he asked.
‘No, Sir Marcus.’
‘A pity – it would have been the making of you. Military life gives a man the best start in life. It shapes his thinking. It imparts courage and teaches him the virtues of patriotism.’
‘Nobody is more patriotic than me,’ claimed Rogan.
‘Winning a battle is quite simple,’ said the old man. ‘You have to kill your enemy before he can kill you.’ He turned round. ‘That way, you remove any threat to your life, liberty and prospects of happiness. Do you understand what I’m saying, Rogan?’
‘Extremely well, Sir Marcus.’
‘We have an enemy. He’s trying to hunt the pair of us down.’
‘What do wish me to do?’
‘Get rid of Inspector Colbeck,’ said the other. ‘He’s the one man with the intelligence to find us and I’ll not let that happen. It’s time for him to meet his Waterloo, I fancy. You have your orders, Rogan.’
‘Yes, Sir Marcus.’
‘Kill him.’
Superintendent Edward Tallis was in a buoyant mood for once. He had just received a letter from Thomas Brassey, expressing formal thanks for all the help that had been rendered by the Metropolitan Police Force. The commissioner had then complimented him on his wisdom in dispatching Robert Colbeck abroad and, even though Tallis had been strongly opposed to the notion, he was happy to claim some credit for it now that the French expedition had paid such dividends. But the main reason for the superintendent’s good humour was that he was at last in possession of a murder suspect.
‘Luke Rogan,’ he said, rolling the name off his tongue.
‘I have men out looking for him at this very moment, sir.’
‘But you do not know his home address.’
‘Not yet,’ replied Colbeck.
‘He sounds like a slippery customer.’
‘He is, Superintendent.’
‘A former policeman, operating on the wrong side of
the law. That’s very distressing,’ said Tallis, clenching his teeth. ‘It sets a bad example. He needs to be caught quickly, Inspector.’
‘Rogan is not the only person we need,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘He was merely the agent for someone else. The man who employed him is equally culpable.’
‘Unfortunately, we do not have his name.’
‘You are holding it in your hands, sir.’
They were in the superintendent’s office and there was no sign of a cigar. Cool air blew in through a half-open window. When he had delivered his verbal report, Colbeck had also shown his superior the list of those who had attended Gaston Chabal’s lecture. Tallis looked at it more closely and noticed something.
‘Why have you put crosses against some of the names?’
‘Those are the men I’ve been able to eliminate, sir.’
‘How?’ asked Tallis.
‘Some of them – Alexander Marklew, for instance – invested a sizeable amount of money in the Mantes to Caen Railway. They are hardly likely to connive at the destruction of the project when they have a financial stake in it.’
‘I accept that.’
‘As for the other names I have set aside,’ said Colbeck, ‘that was done so on the advice of Mr Kane.’
‘He’s the secretary of this Society, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, sir. Once I had persuaded him to cooperate with me, he was extremely helpful. Mr Kane pointed out the civil engineers who were in the audience that day. Men who make their living from the railway,’ Colbeck reasoned, ‘would not be inclined to inflict damage on one. They would be violating an unwritten code.’
‘So how many names are left?’
‘Just over thirty.’
‘It will take time to work through them all.’
‘If we arrest Rogan, we’ll not have to do so. He’ll supply us with the name we want. It obviously belongs to a man of some wealth. He spent a large amount on this whole venture.’
‘Luke Rogan must have been highly paid to commit murder.’
‘I suspect that he needed the money,’ said Colbeck, ‘which is why he was prepared to take on the assignment. Judging by the size of his office, his business activities were not very profitable. It was very small and he could not afford to employ anyone to take care of his secretarial work.’
‘Then why was he chosen?’ said Tallis, frowning. ‘Wouldn’t his paymaster have gone to someone who was more successful?’
‘No, sir. That would have been too risky for him. Most private detectives would have refused to have anything to do with such blatantly criminal activities. They are far too honourable. They would have reported to us any such approach. What this man required,’ Colbeck said, ‘was someone who was less scrupulous, a mercenary who could not afford to turn down such a generous offer. He found what he wanted in Luke Rogan.’
‘How soon do you expect to apprehend him?’
‘I could not say. He’s proving rather elusive.’
‘Was there nothing in his office to indicate his whereabouts?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ replied the other. ‘I searched the place thoroughly this morning. Rogan was canny. He left no correspondence in his office and no details of any clients.’
‘He must have had an account book of sorts.’
‘Kept at his home, I presume.’
‘Wherever that might be.’
‘Mr Kane had an address for everyone on that list so that he could inform them about future events that took place. Luke Rogan had supplied what purported to be his home address but, when I got there, the house did not even exist.’
‘What about the police in Paddington?’
‘They confirmed that Rogan had always been rather secretive.’
‘But they must have known where his abode was,’ said Tallis, returning the sheet of paper to Colbeck. ‘A police constable would have to register a correct address.’
‘That’s what he did, sir.’
‘Did you visit the place?’
‘There was no point,’ said Colbeck. ‘When he was dismissed from the police force, he moved from the house. Nobody seems to know where he went. Luke Rogan is not married so he has only himself to consider. He can move at will.’
‘He must live
somewhere
, Inspector.’
‘Of course. I believe it will not be too far from Paddington.’
‘Then roust him out.’
‘We are doing all that we can, sir.’
‘How many men are out looking for him?’
‘Hundreds of thousands.’
Tallis glared at him. ‘Are you trying to be droll?’
‘Not at all,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m working from the figures in last year’s census. London has a population of well over three million.’
‘So?’
‘We can discount the large number of people that are illiterate and any children can also be taken out of the equation. It still leaves a substantial readership for the daily newspapers.’
‘Newspapers?’
‘You obviously haven’t read your copy of
The Times
this morning,’ said Colbeck, indicating the newspaper that was neatly folded on the desk. ‘I took the liberty of placing a notice in it and in the others on sale today.’
‘I was about to suggest that you did exactly that,’ said Tallis, reaching for his newspaper. ‘Where is the notice?’
‘Page four, sir. Why restrict the search to a handful of detectives when we can use eyes all over London to assist us? Somebody reading that,’ he said, confidently, ‘is bound to know where we can find the elusive Luke Rogan.’
When the cab reached the railway station, Sir Marcus Hetherington alighted and paid the driver. He then bought a first class ticket and walked towards the relevant platform. On his way, he passed a booth from which he obtained a copy of
The Times
. Stuffing it under one arm, he marched briskly on with his cane beating out a tattoo on the concourse. A porter was standing on the platform, ready to open the door of an empty first class carriage for him. Sir Marcus gave him a nod them settled down in his seat. The door was closed behind him.
While he enjoyed travelling by rail, he hated the hustle and bustle of a railway station and he always tried to time his arrival so that he did not have to wait there for long in the company of people whom he considered undesirables. Sir Marcus was not so aristocratic as to believe that trains should
be reserved exclusively for the peerage but he did consider the introduction of the third class carriage a reprehensible mistake. It encouraged the lower orders to travel and that, in his opinion, gave them a privileged mobility that was wholly undeserved. When he saw a rough-looking individual, rushing past his carriage with a scruffy, middle-aged woman in tow, Sir Marcus grimaced. To share a journey with such people was demeaning.
Moments later, the signal was given and the train sprang into life, coughing loudly before giving a shudder and pulling away from the platform. Another latecomer sprinted past the carriage to jump on to the moving train farther down. Sir Marcus clicked his tongue in disapproval. Now that they were in motion, he was content. He had the carriage all to himself and the train would not stop until it reached his destination. Opening his newspaper, he began to read it. Since he took a keen interest in political affairs, he perused every article on the first two inside pages with care. When he turned to the next page, however, it was a police notice that grabbed his attention.
‘What’s this?’ he gulped.
The notice requested the help of the public to find Luke Rogan, the prime suspect in a murder investigation, who operated as a private detective from an office in Camden. A detailed description of the man was given and, to his chagrin, Sir Marcus could see that it was fairly accurate. Anyone with information about Rogan’s whereabouts was urged to come forward.
‘Damnation!’ cried Sir Marcus.
He flung the newspaper aside and considered the implications of what he had just read. It was disturbing. If
everyone in the capital was looking for Luke Rogan, he could not escape arrest indefinitely. The trail would then lead to Sir Marcus. He began to perspire freely. For a fleeting second, the shadow of the Railway Detective seemed to fall across him.
‘If you come down to Euston Station with me,’ offered Caleb Andrews, ‘I’ll show you how it was done.’
‘I think I already know,’ said Colbeck.
‘There are some empty carriages in a siding, Inspector. I could demonstrate for you.’
‘Robert is far too busy, Father,’ said Madeleine.
‘I’m only trying to help, Madeleine. What you have to do, you see, is to prop the door open while the train is in motion. Someone did just that a few months ago on a train I was driving from Birmingham,’ he explained. ‘Some villains got on with a strongbox they’d stolen. After a couple of miles, they jammed open the door and flung the strongbox out so that they would not be caught with it.’
‘I remember the case,’ said Colbeck. ‘When they came back later to retrieve their booty, the police were waiting for them. A farmer had found the strongbox in his field and raised the alarm.’
‘The point I’m trying to make is that the box was heavy – almost as heavy as that Frenchman. Yet it was slung out with ease.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Madeleine. ‘You weren’t there.’
‘I was driving the train.’
‘But you didn’t actually see them throw anything out.’
‘Stop interrupting me, Maddy.’
‘You make a fair point, Mr Andrews,’ said Colbeck, trying
to bring the conversation to an end, ‘and I’m grateful. But we’ve moved on a long way from the Sankey Viaduct.’
‘You should have come to me at the time, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure.’
Colbeck had paid a return visit to Luke Rogan’s office to see if there had been any sign of the man. The uniformed policeman who had been keeping the place under surveillance assured him that Rogan had not entered the building by the front or rear doors. Since he was in Camden, only a few streets away from her house, Colbeck decided to call in on Madeleine but it was her father’s day off so he had to contend with Caleb Andrews. It was several minutes before he was finally left alone with Madeleine.
‘Can I make you some tea, Robert?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you. I only popped in for a moment.’
‘I’m sorry that my father badgered you.’
‘I never mind anything that he does,’ said Colbeck, tolerantly. ‘But for him, we’d never have met. I always bear that in mind.’
‘So do I.’
‘You were the strongbox thrown from that particular train.’
‘I’m not a strongbox,’ protested Madeleine with a laugh.
‘I was speaking metaphorically.’
‘You mean, that I’m very heavy and difficult to open.’
‘No,’ said Colbeck, giving her a conciliatory kiss. ‘I mean that you possess great value – to me, that is.’
‘Then why didn’t you say so?’
‘I was dealing in images.’
‘Well, I’d prefer you to speak more directly,’ she chided him. ‘It would help me to understand you properly. I still
don’t know what you meant about my drawing of the viaduct helping you to solve a murder. All you would tell me was that it was symbolic.’
‘Highly symbolic.’
‘It was a sketch – nothing more.’
‘Show it to me again,’ he invited, ‘and I’ll explain.’
‘In simple language?’
‘Monosyllables, if you prefer.’
Madeleine fetched her portfolio and extracted the drawing of the Sankey Viaduct. She laid it on the table and they both scrutinised it.
‘What you did was to bridge the Channel between England and France,’ he pointed out. ‘All the way from Dover to Calais.’
‘I drew that picture out of love.’
‘But it’s a symbol of something that certain people hate.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I’ll tell you, Madeleine. The railway that’s being built from Mantes to Caen will not end there. In due course, an extension will be added to take it to Cherbourg.’
‘I don’t see anything wrong in that.’
‘There’s an arsenal there.’
‘Oh.’
‘The railway that Thomas Brassey is constructing will in time provide a direct route between Paris and a main source of arms and ammunition. That’s bound to alarm some people here,’ he continued. ‘It’s less than forty years since we defeated France and that defeat still rankles with them. Louis Napoleon, who rules the country, is an emperor in all but name. Emperors need imperial conquests.’
Madeleine was worried. ‘Do you think that France would
try to
invade
us?’ she said, turning to look up at him. ‘I thought we were completely safe.’
‘I’m sure that we are,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I’m equally certain that Mr Brassey is of the same opinion. If he believed for one moment that he was endangering his native country by building that railway, he would never have taken on the contract.’
‘Then why did someone try to wreck the project?’
‘Because he is afraid, Madeleine.’
‘Of what?’
‘Potential aggression from the French.’
‘But you just said that we had nothing to fear.’
‘Other people see things differently,’ he said, ‘and it was only when you showed me this drawing that I realised how they could view what was happening in northern France. A railway between Paris and Cherbourg is a source of intense concern to some Englishmen.’
‘All that I can see is my crude version of the Sankey Viaduct.’
‘Look beyond it,’ he advised.