The Railway Detective

me the best night’s sleep I’ve had since he left.’ Her face went blank. ‘I was misled. From what you’ve told me, it obviously could not have been delivered by my husband.’

‘I fear not. By that time, his body had already been discovered.’

‘Then who could have brought the money?’

‘The person who stole it from Mr Ings.’

She was bewildered. ‘I do not understand, Inspector.’

‘I’m not certain that I do,’ he said, ‘but I can see no other explanation. That money was paid to your husband in return for vital information about the mail train. Somebody was clearly aware of his domestic situation. When your husband was killed, this person somehow felt that his widow was entitled to the money.’

‘So it is not really mine at all.’

‘Why not?’

‘It is money that was made from crime. I’ll have to surrender it.’

‘That’s the last thing you should do,’ advised Colbeck. ‘It was money that your husband earned from a source that has yet to be identified. It was not part of the haul from the train robbery so there is no onus on you to return it. In view of the situation,’ he went on, ‘I believe that you are fully entitled to hold on to that money. Nobody need know how it came into your hands.’

‘Then I am not breaking the law?’

‘No, Mrs Ings. You are simply inheriting something that belonged to your husband. Look upon it as a welcome gift. It may not bring Mr Ings back to you, but it may help to console you in your grief.’

‘I’ll not deny that we need the money,’ she said, looking balefully around the bare room. ‘But I find it hard to accept that the man who murdered my husband and stole money from him should bring it to me.’

‘It is an unusual situation, I grant you.’

‘Why did he do it, Inspector?’

‘It may have been an act of atonement.’

‘Atonement?’

‘Even the most evil men sometimes have a spark of goodness.’

Maud Ings fell silent as she thought about the life she had shared with her husband. It was a painful exercise. She remembered how they had met, married and set off together with such high expectations. Few of them had been fulfilled. Yet, soured as her memories were by his recent treatment of her, she could still think of the dead man with a distant kindness.

‘You are right,’ she said, coming out of her reverie. ‘Evil men sometimes do good deeds. The problem is,’ she added with tears at last threatening to come, ‘that good men — and William was the soul of goodness when I first knew him — sometimes do evil.’

With his arm in a sling, it was impossible for Caleb Andrews to hold the newspaper properly so he had to rely on his daughter to fold it over in such a way that he could grasp it with one hand to read it. It had gone to press too early to carry news of the murder in the Devil’s Acre but there was an article about the train robbery and it was critical both of the railway policemen on duty that day, and of the Detective Department of the Metropolitan Police. Andrews saw his own name mentioned.

‘Have you read this, Maddy?’ he asked, petulantly. ‘It says that Driver Andrews is still unable to remember what happened during the ambush. I can recall exactly what happened.’

‘I know, Father,’ said Madeleine.

‘So why do they make me sound like an invalid?’

‘Because you are an invalid.’

‘My body may be injured but there’s nothing wrong with my mind. This article says that I’m still in a complete daze.’

‘That was my doing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Some reporters came knocking on our door this morning,’ she explained. ‘They wanted to interview you about the robbery. I told them that you were in no fit state to speak to anyone and that your mind was still very hazy. I was trying to protect you, Father.’

‘By telling everyone in London that I cannot think straight.’

‘I had to get rid of the reporters somehow. I was not going to have them pestering you when you need rest.’

‘Yet you let this Inspector Colbeck pester me,’ he argued.

‘He is trying to solve the crime,’ she said. ‘Inspector Colbeck wants to catch the men who ambushed the train and did this to you. He knows that you were badly injured and will be very considerate.’

Andrews tossed the newspaper aside. ‘If he reads this first, he’ll think that he’s coming to speak to a distracted fool who’s unable to tell what day of the week it is.’

‘The Inspector will not think that at all, Father.’

Gathering up the newspaper, Madeleine put it on the table beside the bed. The sound of an approaching horse took her to the window and she looked down to see a cab pulling up outside the house. After a quick glance around the room, she adjusted her dress and went quickly out. Caleb Andrews gave a tired smile.

‘Ah!’ he said. ‘I think that Queen Victoria has arrived at last.’

Two minutes later, Robert Colbeck was being shown into the bedroom to be introduced to the wounded railwayman.

‘Can I offer you any refreshment, Inspector?’ said Madeleine.

‘No, thank you, Miss Andrews.’

‘In that case, I’ll leave you alone with Father.’

‘There’s no need to do that,’ said Colbeck, enjoying her company too much to lose it. ‘I’m quite happy for you to stay while we talk and, in any case, there’s something that you need to know.’

Madeleine was cheered. ‘You’ve arrested someone?’

‘Not exactly,’ he replied, ‘but we have caught up with one of the accomplices who was involved. His name was William Ings.’

‘Let me get my hands on the devil,’ said Andrews.

‘That’s not possible, I fear. Mr Ings was killed last night.’

‘Killed?’ echoed Madeleine, shocked at the news.

‘Yes, Miss Andrews,’ said Colbeck. ‘It means that we are no longer merely investigating a train robbery. This is now a murder case as well.’

‘Do you have any clue who the killer might be?’

‘Someone employed to make sure that Mr Ings’s tongue would tell no tales. Once we discovered that he was implicated, we were very close to apprehending him. The assassin got to him first.’

‘I wish that I had!’ said Andrews, truculently. ‘If he helped that gang to ambush my train, I’d have throttled him.’

‘Father!’ reproached his daughter.

‘I would have, I swear it.’

‘You are hardly in a position to throttle anyone, Mr Andrews,’ noted Colbeck with a sympathetic smile. ‘Mr Ings, alas, was not alone when he was attacked. The young lady with him also had her throat cut.’

‘How horrible!’ exclaimed Madeleine.

‘It shows you the sort of men we are up against.’

‘The worst kind,’ said Andrews. ‘They destroyed my locomotive. They made Frank Pike drive it off the track.’ He indicated the chair beside the bed and Colbeck sat down. ‘Do you know anything about the railway, Inspector?’

‘I travel by train regularly, Mr Andrews.’

‘But do you know anything about the locomotive that pulls it?’

‘A little,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’m familiar with the engines designed by Mr Bury; four-wheeled, bar-framed locomotives with haystack fireboxes, and tight coupling between locomotive and tender to give more stability.’

Andrews was impressed. ‘You obviously know far more than most passengers,’ he said. ‘They have no clue how a steam locomotive works. Like many others, I began driving Bury locomotives but they had too little power.