‘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
‘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
‘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
