The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series) (8 page)

In the casting shop, with its arched furnace bricked into a wall, he saw the gold being melted again before being poured with utmost care into the moulds of the ingots. Standing at his shoulder, Omber explained what was happening then took his visitor on into the rolling room, the largest and most deafening part of the establishment. The massive steam-driven mill, powered by iron wheels on each side, thundered ceaselessly on, enabling the brick-like ingots to be pressed into long strips from which coins could be punched.

It was when they moved into the coining shop that Leeming suddenly realised something. He had to shout above the metallic chatter of the machines.

‘I think I know why the robbers stole coin from that train,’ he yelled. ‘What is the melting point of gold?’

‘That depends on its source and composition,’ replied Omber, ‘but it is usually between 1,200 and 1,420 degrees
centigrade. Why do you ask, Sergeant Leeming?’

‘They would need a furnace to handle gold bullion so the robbers let the Royal Mint do their work for them and waited until a shipment of coin was being made. They chose carefully,’ he said, watching the blank discs being cut out of the metal. ‘Had the train been carrying an issue of notes from the Bank of England, they would have ignored them because they might be traced by their serial numbers. Gold sovereigns are more easily disposed of, Mr Omber.’

‘That is certainly true.’

‘Then how did they know that you were only sending gold coin yesterday?’ wondered Leeming. ‘I have an uncomfortable feeling that someone found a way to get past all these steel doors of yours.’

The journey to Wolverhampton obliged Colbeck to travel second class on the Birmingham, Lancaster and Carlisle Railway. It took him through the heart of the Black Country and he looked out with dismay at the forges, mills, foundries, nail factories, coal mines and ironstone pits that stretched for miles beneath the curling dark smoke that spewed from a thousand brick chimneys. Cutting through the smoke, filling the sky with a fierce glare, were lurid flames from countless burning heaps of rubbish. Those who laboured for long hours in heavy industry were unacquainted with the light of day and vulnerable to hideous accidents or cruel diseases. Above the thunder of his train, Colbeck could hear the pounding of hammers and the booming explosion of a blast furnace.

Wolverhampton was a large, dirty, sprawling industrial town that was celebrated for the manufacture of locks, brass, tin, japanned wares, tools and nails. The immaculate detective
looked rather incongruous in its workaday atmosphere. Given directions by the stationmaster, he elected to walk to his destination so that he could take a closer look at the people and place. By the time that he arrived at the Chubb Factory, he felt that he had the measure of Wolverhampton.

Silas Harcutt, the manager at the factory, could not understand why someone had come all the way from London to question him. He was a slim individual of middle height with the look of a man who had worked his way up to his position with a slowness that had left a residual resentment. Harcutt was abrupt.

‘Your visit is pointless, Inspector,’ he declared.

‘Not at all,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ve always been curious to see the inside of the Chubb factory. I once had the privilege of a visit to the Bramah Works and it was a revelation.’

‘Bramah locks are nothing compared to ours.’

‘Your competitors would disagree. At the forthcoming Great Exhibition, they are to display a lock that is impossible to pick.’

‘We, too, will have our best lock on show,’ boasted Harcutt, ‘and we will challenge anyone to open it. I can tell you now that nobody will.’

‘You obviously have faith in your product.’

‘The Chubb name is a guarantee of quality.’

‘Nobody disputes that, Mr Harcutt,’ said Colbeck, ignoring the man’s brusque manner. ‘For professional reasons, I try to keep abreast of developments in the locksmith’s trade and I’m always interested to read about your progress. The railway safe that you devised was a marvel of its kind. Even so,’ he went on, ‘I fear that it was not able to prevent a consignment of money from being stolen.’

‘The locks were not picked,’ insisted the manager, huffily. ‘The safe is specifically designed so that a burglar has nothing to work upon but the keyholes with their protective internal barrels and the steel curtain at their mouths. Do not dare to blame us, Inspector. We were not at fault.’

‘I hope that turns out to be the case, sir.’

‘It
is
the case, Inspector. Let me show you why.’

Opening the door of his office, he led Colbeck down a corridor to a room that housed dozens of safes and locks. Harcutt walked across to a replica of the safe that the detective had seen on board the train.

‘You see?’ said the manager, patting the safe. ‘Far too heavy to lift without the aid of a crane and resistant to any amount of gunpowder. It is solid and commodious, able to carry a quarter of a ton of gold, coin, or a mixture of both.’

‘The robbers showed due respect for the Chubb name,’ said Colbeck. ‘Instead of trying to pick the locks, they opened them with the keys and the combination number. I am certain that they got neither from Spurling’s Bank and security at the Royal Mint is very tight.’

Harcutt was offended. ‘Are you suggesting that the keys came from
here
?’ he said, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘I regard that as an insult, Inspector.’

‘It was not meant to be. If I may examine the keys to this safe, I can tell you at once whether there has been subterfuge in your factory.’

‘That is inconceivable.’

‘I must press you on this point,’ said Colbeck, meaningfully.

Lips pursed, Harcutt turned away and strode back to his office with the detective at his heels. He had to use two keys
and a combination number to open the wall safe, making sure that he kept his back to his visitor so that Colbeck could see nothing of the operation. Extracting a metal box, the manager unlocked it with a third key and handed it over.

Colbeck took out the keys. Unable to detect anything suspicious with the naked eye, he brought his magnifying glass out again. He saw exactly what he had expected to find.

‘Minute traces of wax,’ he noted, offering the glass to the other man. ‘Would you care to confirm that, Mr Harcutt?’

The manager took the magnifying glass and peered through it with disbelief. Both keys had discernible specks of wax still attached to them.

‘Who else was authorised to open your safe?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Only two people. Mr Dunworth, my deputy, is one of them.’

‘And the other?’

‘Daniel Slender.’

‘I need to speak to both of them at once, Mr Harcutt.’

‘Of course,’ said the manager, grudgingly. ‘Mr Dunworth is in the next office. But you’ll have to wait until you get back to London before you question Mr Slender.’

‘Oh?’

‘He left some weeks ago to take up a new post there.’ He saw the suspicion in Colbeck’s eyes. ‘You are quite wrong, Inspector,’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘Daniel Slender could not possibly be the culprit. He has been with us for decades. For the last few years, he has been looking after his sick mother in Willenhall. When she died, he felt that it was time to move out of the Midlands.’ He thrust the magnifying glass at Colbeck. ‘I have complete trust in Daniel Slender.’ 

The frock coat fitted perfectly. He preened himself in front of the mirror for minutes. Daniel Slender had finally fulfilled his ambition to wear clothing that had been tailored for him in Bond Street. Tall and well-proportioned, he looked as if he belonged in such fine apparel. When he had changed back into his other suit, he took a wad of five pounds notes from his wallet and began to peel them off. Years of self-denial were behind him now. He had enough money to change his appearance, his place in society and his whole life. He was content.

It was early evening before Robert Colbeck finally got back to his office in Scotland Yard. Victor Leeming was waiting to tell him about his visit to the Royal Mint and to voice his suspicion that someone there might have warned the train robbers when gold coin was actually being dispatched to Birmingham. He took a positive delight in describing the processes by which gold bullion was transformed into coinage.

‘I have never seen such a large amount of money,’ he said.

‘No, Victor,’ remarked Colbeck. ‘The irony is that the men who sweat and strain to make the money probably get little of it in their wages. It is a cruel paradox. Workers who are surrounded by gold every day remain relatively poor. It must be a vexing occupation.’

‘A dangerous one as well, sir. Had I stayed in the refining shop any longer, the heat from those furnaces would have given me blisters. As it is, I can still smell those terrible fumes.’

‘I had my own share of fumes in the Midlands.’

‘Was the visit a useful one?’ asked Leeming.

‘Extremely useful. While you were learning about the
mysteries of the Royal Mint, I was being taught sensible banking practices and given an insight into the art of the locksmith.’

Colbeck related the events of his day and explained why he had enjoyed travelling by rail so much. Leeming was not convinced that train rides of well over a hundred miles each way were anything but purgatory. He was happy to have missed the ordeal.

‘We now know where the keys were obtained,’ he said.

‘And the combination number, Victor. That, too, was essential.’

‘This man, Daniel Slender, must be responsible.’

‘Not according to the manager,’ said Colbeck, remembering the protestations of Silas Harcutt. ‘He claims that the fellow is innocent even though he is the only possible suspect. He set great store by the fact that Slender was a dutiful son who looked after an ailing mother.’

‘That certainly shows kindness on his part.’

‘It might well have led to frustration. Caring for a sick parent meant that he had no real life of his own. When he was not at the Chubb factory, he was fetching and carrying for his mother. I find it significant that, the moment she died, Daniel Slender sold the house.’

‘If he was moving to another post, he would have to do that.’

‘I doubt very much if that post exists, Victor.’

‘Do you know what it was?’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I even have the address of the factory to which he is supposed to have gone. But I’ll wager that we won’t find anyone of his name employed there.’

‘So why did he come to London?’

Colbeck raised an eyebrow. ‘I can see that you’ve never visited the Black Country. On the journey to Wolverhampton, I saw what the poet meant when he talked about ‘dark, satanic mills’.’

‘Poet?’

‘William Blake.’

‘The name means nothing to me, sir,’ admitted Leeming, scratching a pimple on his chin. ‘I never had much interest in poetry and such things. I know a few nursery rhymes to sing to the children but that’s all.’

‘It’s a start, Victor,’ said Colbeck without irony, ‘it’s a start. Suffice it to say that – with all its faults – London is a much more attractive place to live than Willenhall. Also, of course, Daniel Slender had to get well away from the town where he committed the crime.’ He nodded in the direction of the next office. ‘What sort of a mood is Mr Tallis in today?’

‘A vicious one.’

‘I told him not to read the newspapers.’

‘They obviously touched him on a raw spot. When I saw the Superintendent this morning, he was breathing fire.’

‘I need to report to him myself,’ said Colbeck, moving to the door. ‘Hopefully, I can dampen down the flames a little. At least we now have the name of the man who made it possible for the robbers to open that safe with such ease.’

‘That means we have two suspects.’

‘Daniel Slender and William Ings.’

‘I did as you told me, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘I asked the men on that beat to keep watch on Mr Ings’s house, though I still think that he’s unlikely to go back there. It would be too risky.’

‘Then we’ll have to smoke him out of the Devil’s Acre.’

‘How on earth could you do that?’

Colbeck suppressed a smile. ‘I’ll think of a way,’ he said.

Work had kept Brendan Mulryne too busy throughout most of the day to continue his search. That evening, however, he took a break from The Black Dog and strode along to Hangman’s Lane. The name was apposite. Most of the people he saw loitering there looked if they had just been cut down from the gallows. The man who told him where Polly Roach lived was a typical denizen of the area. Eyes staring, cheeks hollow and face drawn, he spoke in a hoarse whisper as if a noose were tightening around his neck.

Entering the tenement, Mulryne went up the stairs and along a narrow passageway. It was difficult to read the numbers in the gloom so he banged on every door he passed. At the fourth attempt, he came face to face with the woman he was after.

‘Polly Roach?’ he inquired.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name is Brendan Mulryne. I wanted a word with you, darling.’

‘You’ve come to the wrong place,’ she said, curtly. ‘I don’t entertain guests any more.’

‘It’s not entertainment I want, Polly – it’s information.’ He looked past her into the room. ‘Do you have company, by any chance?’

‘No, Mr Mulryne.’

‘Would you mind if I came in to look?’

‘Yes,’ she cautioned, lifting her skirt to remove the knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh. ‘I mind very much.’

Mulryne grinned benignly. ‘In that case, we’ll talk here.’

‘Who sent you?’

‘Isadore Vout.’

‘That mangy cur! If you’re a friend of his, away with you!’

‘Oh, I’m no friend of Isadore’s,’ promised Mulryne, ‘especially since I lifted him up by the feet and made him dance a jig on his head. He’d probably describe me as his worst enemy.’

‘So why have you come to me?’

‘I’m looking for someone called William Ings – Billy Ings to you.’

‘He’s not here,’ she snapped.

‘So you do know him?’

‘I did. I thought I knew him well.’

‘So where is he now?’

Polly was bitter. ‘You tell me, Mr Mulryne.’

‘Is he not coming to see you?’

‘Not any more.’

There was enough light from the oil lamp just inside the door for him to see her face clearly. Polly Roach looked hurt and jaded. The thick powder failed to conceal the dark bruise on her chin. Mulryne sensed that she had been crying.

‘Did you and Mr Ings fall out, by any chance?’ he asked.

‘That’s my business.’

‘It happens to be mine as well.’

‘Why – what’s Bill to you?’

‘A week’s wages. That’s what I get when I find him.’

‘His wife!’ she cried, brandishing the knife. ‘That bitch sent you after him, didn’t she?’

‘No, Polly,’ replied Mulryne, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I swear it. Sure, I’ve never met the lady and that’s the honest truth. Now, why don’t you put
that knife away before someone gets hurt?’ She lowered the weapon to her side. ‘That’s better. If you were hospitable, you’d invite me in.’

She held her ground. ‘Say what you have to say here.’

‘A friend of mine is anxious to meet this Billy Ings,’ he explained, ‘and he’s paying me to find him. I’m not a man who turns away the chance of an honest penny and, in any case, I owe this man a favour.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘There’s no need for you to know that, darling.’

‘Then why is he after Billy?’

‘There was a train robbery yesterday and it looks as if Mr Ings may have been involved. His job at the Post Office meant that he had valuable information to sell.’

‘So
that’s
where he got the money from,’ she said. ‘He told me that he won it at the card table.’

‘Isadore Vout heard the same tale from him.’

‘He lied to me!’

‘Then you have no reason to protect him.’

Polly Roach became suspicious. She eyed him with disgust.

‘Are you a policeman?’ she said.

Mulryne laughed. ‘Do I
look
like a policeman, my sweetheart?’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘I work at The Black Dog, making sure that our customers don’t get out of hand. Policeman, eh? What policeman would dare to live in the Devil’s Acre?’ He summoned up his most endearing smile. ‘Come on now, Polly. Why not lend me a little assistance here?’

‘How can I?’ she said with a shrug. ‘I’ve no idea where he is.’

‘But you could guess where he’s likely to be.’

‘Sitting at a card table, throwing his money away.’

‘And where did he usually go to find a game?’

‘Two or three different places.’

‘I’ll need their names,’ he said. ‘There’s no chance that he’ll have sneaked back to his wife then?’

‘No, Mr Mulryne. He said that it wouldn’t be safe to leave the Acre and I can see why now. He’s here somewhere,’ she decided, grimly. ‘Billy liked his pleasures. That’s how we met each other. If he’s not gambling, then he’s probably lying between the legs of some doxy while he tells her what his troubles are.’

The long day had done nothing to curb Superintendent Tallis’s temper or to weaken his conviction that the newspapers were trying to make a scapegoat of him. Even though he brought news of progress, Colbeck still found himself on the receiving end of a torrent of vituperation. He left his superior’s office with his ears ringing. Victor Leeming was in the corridor.

‘How did you get on, Inspector?’ he asked.

‘Superintendent Tallis and I have had quieter conversations,’ said Colbeck with a weary smile. ‘He seemed to believe that he was back on the parade ground and had to bark orders at me.’

‘That problem will not arise with your visitor.’

‘Visitor?’

‘Yes, sir. I just showed her into your office. The young lady was desperate to see you and would speak to nobody else.’

‘Did she give a name?’

‘Madeleine Andrews, sir. Her father was the driver of the train.’

‘Then I’ll see her at once.’

Colbeck opened the door of his office and went in. Madeleine Andrews leapt up from the chair on which she had perched. She was wearing a pretty, burgundy-coloured dress with a full skirt, and a poke bonnet whose pink ribbons were tied under her chin. She had a shawl over her arm. Introductions were made then Colbeck indicated the chair.

‘Do sit down again, Miss Andrews,’ he said, courteously.

‘Thank you, Inspector.’

Colbeck sat opposite her. ‘How is your father?’

‘He’s still in great pain,’ she said, ‘but he felt well enough to be brought home this afternoon. My father hates to impose on anyone else. He did not wish to spend another night at the stationmaster’s house in Leighton Buzzard. It will be more comfortable for both of us at home.’

‘You went to Leighton Buzzard, then?’

‘I sat beside his bed all night, Inspector.’

‘Indeed?’ He was amazed. ‘You look remarkably well for someone who must have had very little sleep.’

She acknowledged the compliment with a smile and her dimples came into prominence. Given her concern for her father, only something of importance could have made her leave him to come to Scotland Yard. Colbeck wondered what it was and why it made her seem so uneasy and tentative. But he did not press her. He waited until she was ready to confide in him.

‘Inspector Colbeck,’ she began at length, ‘I have a confession to make on behalf of my father. He told me something earlier that I felt duty bound to report to you.’

‘And what is that, Miss Andrews?’

‘My father loves his work. There’s not a more dedicated
or respected driver in the whole company. However…’ She lowered her head as if trying to gather strength. He saw her bite her lip. ‘However,’ she went on, looking at him again, ‘he is inclined to be boastful when he has had a drink or two.’

‘There’s no harm in that,’ said Colbeck. ‘Most people become a little more expansive when alcohol is consumed.’

‘Father was very careless.’

‘Oh?’

‘At the end of the working day,’ she said, squirming slightly with embarrassment, ‘he sometimes enjoys a pint of beer with his fireman, Frank Pike, at a public house near Euston. It’s a place that is frequented by railwaymen.’

‘In my opinion, they’re fully entitled to a drink for what they do. I travelled to the Midlands by train today, Miss Andrews, and am deeply grateful for the engine drivers who got me there and back. I’d have been happy to buy any of them a glass of beer.’

‘Not if it made them talkative.’

‘Talkative?’

‘Let me frank with you,’ she said, blurting it out. ‘My father blames himself for the robbery yesterday. He thinks that he may have been drinking with his friends one evening and let slip the information that money was being carried on the mail trains.’ She held out her hands in supplication. ‘It was an accident, Inspector,’ she said, defensively. ‘He would never willingly betray the company. You may ask Frank Pike. My father stood up to the robbers.’

‘I know, Miss Andrews,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I admire him for it. I also admire you for coming here like this.’

‘I felt that you should know the truth.’

‘Most people in your situation would have concealed it.’

‘Father made me promise that I would tell you the terrible thing that he did,’ she said, bravely. ‘He feels so ashamed. Even though it will mean his dismissal from the company, he insisted.’ She sat forward on her chair. ‘Will you have to arrest him, Inspector?’

‘Of course not.’

‘But he gave away confidential information.’

‘Not deliberately,’ said Colbeck. ‘It popped out when he was in his cups. I doubt very much if that was how the robbers first learnt how money was being carried. They had only to keep watch at the station for a length of time and they would have seen boxes being loaded under armed guard on to the mail train. Such precautions would not be taken for a cargo of fruit or vegetables.’

Her face brightened. ‘Then he is
not
to blame for the robbery?’

‘No, Miss Andrews. What the villains needed to know was what a particular train was carrying and the exact time it was leaving Euston. That information was obtained elsewhere – along with the means to open the safe that was in the luggage van.’