The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series) by Edward Marston
Authors: Edward Marston
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possibly, at the Mint. The robbers might also have had a confederate inside the London and North Western Railway Company,’ he argued. ‘I don’t believe that William Ings is the only man implicated.’
Tallis grimaced. ‘In other words,’ he said, tartly, ‘this case will take a long time to solve.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Then I’ll have to endure even more harassment from all sides.’
‘Your back is broad, sir.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ complained Tallis. ‘It presents a big target for anybody with a whip in his hand. If we fail to make swift progress in this investigation, I’ll be flayed alive. I’ve already had to fight off the so-called gentlemen of the press. Tomorrow’s headlines will not make pleasant reading, Inspector. My bad tooth is throbbing at the prospect.’
‘There’s a way to solve that problem, Superintendent.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, cheerfully. ‘Don’t buy a newspaper.’
Caleb Andrews had never known such fierce and unremittingpain. He felt as if his skull were about to split apart. The only escape from the agony was to lapse back into unconsciousness. Every so often, however, he recovered enough, if only fleetingly, to remember something of what had happened and he felt the savage blows being administered by the butt of the pistol again and again. When that torment eased slightly with the passage of time, he became more acutely aware of the pain in his body and limbs. He ached all over and one of his legs seemed to be on fire. What frightened him was that he was unable to move it.
As his mind slowly cleared, he hovered for an age between sleep and waking, conscious of the presence of others but unable to open his eyes to see whom they might be. There was movement at his bedside and he heard whispers but, before he could identify the voices, he always drifted off again. It was infuriating. He was desperate to reach out, to make contact, to beg for help, to share his suffering with others. Yet somehow he could not break through the invisible barrier between his private anguish and the public world. And then, just as he despaired of ever waking up again, he had a momentary surge of energy, strong enough for him to be able to separate his eyelids at last.
Faces swam in front of him then one of them swooped in close. He felt a kiss on his cheek and his hand was squeezed very gently. A soft female voice caressed his ear.
‘Hello, Father,’ said Madeleine Andrews. ‘I’m here with you.’
Victor Leeming was weary. After conducting a long and taxing series of interviews at the offices of the London and North Western Railway Company, he was grateful that hisduties were almost over for the day. All that he had to do was to repair to Colbeck’s house in order to compare notes with the Inspector. He hoped that the latter had had a more productive evening than he had managed.
As a cab took him to the house in John Islip Street, he listened to the clacking of the horse’s hooves on the hard surface and mused on the seductive simplicity of a cab driver’s life. Ferrying passengers to and fro across London was an interesting, practical and undemanding way of life, free from the dangers of police work or from the tedium that often accompanied it. One could even count on generous tips, something that was unheard of among those who toiled at Scotland Yard. By the time he reached his destination, Leeming had come to envy the virtues of a less onerous occupation.
Once inside the house, however, he dismissed such thoughts from his mind. Robert Colbeck had a warm welcome and a bottle of Scotch whisky waiting for him. The two men sat down in a study that was lined with books on all manner of subjects. Neat piles of newspapers and magazines stood on a beautiful mahogany cabinet. Framed silhouettes occupied most of the mantelpiece. Above them, on the wall, in a large, rectangular gilt frame, was a portrait of a handsome middle-aged woman.
‘How did you
Tallis grimaced. ‘In other words,’ he said, tartly, ‘this case will take a long time to solve.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Then I’ll have to endure even more harassment from all sides.’
‘Your back is broad, sir.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ complained Tallis. ‘It presents a big target for anybody with a whip in his hand. If we fail to make swift progress in this investigation, I’ll be flayed alive. I’ve already had to fight off the so-called gentlemen of the press. Tomorrow’s headlines will not make pleasant reading, Inspector. My bad tooth is throbbing at the prospect.’
‘There’s a way to solve that problem, Superintendent.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, cheerfully. ‘Don’t buy a newspaper.’
Caleb Andrews had never known such fierce and unremittingpain. He felt as if his skull were about to split apart. The only escape from the agony was to lapse back into unconsciousness. Every so often, however, he recovered enough, if only fleetingly, to remember something of what had happened and he felt the savage blows being administered by the butt of the pistol again and again. When that torment eased slightly with the passage of time, he became more acutely aware of the pain in his body and limbs. He ached all over and one of his legs seemed to be on fire. What frightened him was that he was unable to move it.
As his mind slowly cleared, he hovered for an age between sleep and waking, conscious of the presence of others but unable to open his eyes to see whom they might be. There was movement at his bedside and he heard whispers but, before he could identify the voices, he always drifted off again. It was infuriating. He was desperate to reach out, to make contact, to beg for help, to share his suffering with others. Yet somehow he could not break through the invisible barrier between his private anguish and the public world. And then, just as he despaired of ever waking up again, he had a momentary surge of energy, strong enough for him to be able to separate his eyelids at last.
Faces swam in front of him then one of them swooped in close. He felt a kiss on his cheek and his hand was squeezed very gently. A soft female voice caressed his ear.
‘Hello, Father,’ said Madeleine Andrews. ‘I’m here with you.’
Victor Leeming was weary. After conducting a long and taxing series of interviews at the offices of the London and North Western Railway Company, he was grateful that hisduties were almost over for the day. All that he had to do was to repair to Colbeck’s house in order to compare notes with the Inspector. He hoped that the latter had had a more productive evening than he had managed.
As a cab took him to the house in John Islip Street, he listened to the clacking of the horse’s hooves on the hard surface and mused on the seductive simplicity of a cab driver’s life. Ferrying passengers to and fro across London was an interesting, practical and undemanding way of life, free from the dangers of police work or from the tedium that often accompanied it. One could even count on generous tips, something that was unheard of among those who toiled at Scotland Yard. By the time he reached his destination, Leeming had come to envy the virtues of a less onerous occupation.
Once inside the house, however, he dismissed such thoughts from his mind. Robert Colbeck had a warm welcome and a bottle of Scotch whisky waiting for him. The two men sat down in a study that was lined with books on all manner of subjects. Neat piles of newspapers and magazines stood on a beautiful mahogany cabinet. Framed silhouettes occupied most of the mantelpiece. Above them, on the wall, in a large, rectangular gilt frame, was a portrait of a handsome middle-aged woman.
‘How did you
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