The Stationmaster's farewell

contact the army myself.’

After scanning the newspaper with growing annoyance, Bagsy Browne scrunched it up and tossed it on the floor. Adeline Goss retrieved it. They were in her room and he was lolling discontentedly on the bed.

‘Why did you do that, Bagsy?’ she asked, smoothing the paper so that it could be read again. ‘Did something in there upset you?’

‘I’m upset because something wasn’t in the paper.’

‘What were you expecting?’

‘I wanted details of Heygate’s funeral.’

‘That may not be for days yet.’

‘I can’t stay in Exeter for ever, Ad.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘I need to find somewhere warm for the winter.’

She sat beside him. ‘It’s very snug in here,’ she said, stroking his arm. ‘I keep the fire burning day and night.’

‘You certainly keep my fire burning,’ he said with a crude snigger.

‘That’s what I’ll always do, Bagsy.’ She saw a headline in the newspaper. ‘They’re still looking for you.’

‘So?’

‘Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to attack that prison officer.’

‘It was him who attacked me, Ad. I had to defend myself. Also, I had a score to settle with Bob Wyatt. He made my life a misery in prison. I got my own back in the end,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘I always do. Anyone who crosses Bagsy Browne will wish that they hadn’t.’

‘Don’t go to that funeral,’ she implored.

‘Nothing would keep me away. I loathed that stationmaster.’

‘You’d be taking too big a risk, Bagsy.’

‘Stop worrying. I know what I’m doing.’

She grasped his shoulder. ‘I’d hate to lose you, I really would.’

‘Then I’ll make sure you don’t, Ad,’ he said, pulling her on to the bed. Before he could lift her skirt, they heard a dog barking furiously.

Bagsy sat up. ‘That sounds like trouble.’

There was a shifting population in Rockfield Place. It consisted largely of petty criminals, whores, drunkards and unemployed men. Respect for the law was not widespread. Precautions had therefore been taken against any visit by the police. A guard dog had been trained to bark at the sight of a police uniform. His warning had saved a number of fugitives from arrest. Whole families there might have been desperately short of food but the dog, a flea-bitten cur, was always well fed. He earned everything he ate. Four policemen had come purposefully into Rockfield Place. They grabbed the first woman they could find, a scrawny prostitute with missing teeth.

‘We’re looking for Adeline Goss,’ said the sergeant.

‘I can give you a better time in bed than her,’ she bragged, ‘and I charge less. Come on up to my room and I’ll prove it.’

‘Where is she?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

He shook her violently and she screeched in protest. When she tried to break away, he held her tight. The dog snapped at his legs and he kicked it away. Under threat of arrest, the woman finally capitulated. She pointed a greasy finger.

‘Ad has the top room up there,’ she said.

They were off in a flash. Shoving her aside, the four policemen ran to the house in question and banged on the door. It was opened by a girl with ragged clothes and bare feet. Before she could ask what they wanted, they rushed past her and thundered up the stairs to the top floor. When they burst into her room, Adeline was sitting at the table, eating a biscuit and reading the newspaper. She feigned surprise.

‘Where have you all come from?’ she asked, one provocative hand on her hip. ‘No matter — I’ve been starved of business lately. You can take it in turns.’

‘We’re looking for Bagsy Browne,’ said the sergeant.

‘Well, he’s not here. Take a look if you don’t believe me.’

It took them less than a minute to search the room. They looked in every possible hiding place and peered under the bed. Adeline was unruffled.

‘I think an apology is in order,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’

‘You should apologise for harbouring a killer,’ said the sergeant. ‘You’ve had Bagsy Browne up here, haven’t you?’

She was pugnacious. ‘Who says so?’

‘We have a witness who saw you together. Where’s Bagsy now?’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘We’ve got no time to play games,’ he said, turning to the others. ‘She’s under arrest. Take her in for questioning.’

Adeline squawked in protest but she could not fight off the two strong men who took an arm apiece and carried her out of the room. After a last look around, the sergeant went out and slammed the door behind him. It was an hour before Bagsy Browne moved the concealed panel in the ceiling and lowered himself down.

It was early evening when they met Superintendent Steel at the Acland Tavern. Colbeck and Leeming were far more at ease than they had been over luncheon with Tallis. Steel had accepted them and they, in turn, had recognised his true merit. They could converse as friends and fellow policemen. When they heard about the bishop’s threat of bringing in the army, the detectives were dismayed.

‘The only time that soldiers are of use is when a riot has to be quelled,’ said Colbeck, ‘and even then I’d think twice about deploying them. We’re searching for one man, not trying to subdue an entire city.’

‘Bishop Phillpotts is afraid that he may be the next victim,’ said Steel.

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘He believes that everything that’s happened is aimed at him.’

‘Then perhaps he should be examined by Dr Swift,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘He specialises in people with delusions. Incidentally,’ he continued, ‘I must thank you for passing on Dr Swift’s name. The way that he handled Mrs Rossiter was admirable. He’s the sort of man in whom one can have complete faith.’

‘I’ve heard nothing but good about Dr Swift. That’s why I recommended him. As for the bishop,’ continued Steel, ‘we all have our cross to bear, I fancy. When I met Superintendent Tallis, I sensed that he could be just as objectionable as Bishop Phillpotts. Am I right?’

‘He can be trying at times,’ conceded Colbeck.

‘He’s a monster,’ said Leeming. ‘He enjoys finding fault with us and always gets in our way. I wish that he’d go back to London and stop harassing us. We work so much better on our own. Let’s not talk about the superintendent,’ he went on. ‘It upsets my stomach. I wanted to ask you about Dawlish. Is there much crime there?’

‘Not as a rule,’ replied Steel. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘The place appealed to me somehow. I could see myself living there with my family. It wouldn’t be too difficult to police. I could grow to like that.’

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Colbeck with a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes there, Victor. You’d be bored to death by it. You thrive on action and I don’t think that a quiet Devonshire coastal resort will provide you with much of that. Isn’t that so, Superintendent?’

‘Nothing much happens in Dawlish,’ said Steel. ‘Nothing, that is, of interest to the police. Rowdy behaviour at the pub is all you’d have to contend with, Sergeant, and some very occasional larceny.’

‘You’re forgetting Michael Heygate,’ Leeming reminded him. ‘Dawlish could well have a killer lurking in its midst.’

‘I stand by my earlier judgement. Bagsy Browne is our man.’

‘I’m not ruling out Woodford,’ said Colbeck. ‘We could all be wrong, of course,’ he admitted. ‘It may be that none of our three suspects is guilty. The culprit could be someone else entirely.’