The Railway Detective

‘Is that why you went to the house and spoke to her father?’

‘Yes, I let myself in. The door was on the latch.’

‘And what did Mr Andrews tell you?’

‘That you wanted to see her at Scotland Yard and had sent a cab to bring her here.’ Gideon Little wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. ‘If he was not a policeman, who could that man be?’

‘I wish that I knew,’ said Colbeck, sharing his concern.

‘Do you think that she could have been kidnapped?’

‘I sincerely hope that that is not the case, Mr Little.’

‘Why else would she disappear for so long?’

‘Could she have visited relatives?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Or called on friends, perhaps?’

‘Not when her father is stuck in bed all day like that,’ said Little. ‘Madeleine is very dutiful. She would never desert Caleb.’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, his brain spinning as he saw the implications of the news. ‘The only thing that would keep her away from home is that she is being held against her will.’

‘That’s our fear, Inspector. Find her for us — please!’

‘I’ll not rest until I’ve done so, Mr Little.’

‘I know that she’ll never be mine,’ said the other, quivering with apprehension. ‘Madeleine made that obvious. But she’ll always be very dear to me. I cannot bear the thought that she is in danger.’

‘Neither can I,’ admitted Colbeck, worried that he might somehow be responsible for her abduction. ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Little. I only wish that you’d been able to raise the alarm sooner.’

‘So do I, Inspector. What am I to tell Caleb?’

‘That we’ll do everything in our power to find his daughter. I will take personal charge of the search.’ He thought of the injured driver, stranded in his bedroom. ‘Is there anyone to look after him?’

‘A servant who comes in three days a week. She’s agreed to stay.’

‘Good,’ said Colbeck. ‘You get back to Mr Andrews and give him what support you can. I, meanwhile, will institute a search.’ He shook his head in consternation. ‘Taken away in a cab — wherever can she be?’

Madeleine Andrews was stricken with quiet terror. Locked in an attic room at the top of a house, she had no idea where she was or why she was being kept there. It had been a frightening ordeal. When the policeman had called for her, she had looked forward to seeing Robert Colbeck again and was so lost in pleasurable thoughts of him that she was caught off guard. Once inside the cab, she realised that she had been tricked. The man who overpowered her had slipped a bag over her head so that she could not even see where they were going. The last thing she recalled about Camden was the sound of a train steaming over the viaduct.

She cursed herself for being taken in so easily. The policeman’s voice had been far too cultured for an ordinary constable, and his manner too courteous. What had misled her was that he had behaved more like Colbeck than a typical policeman. That had appealed to her. His demeanour had changed the moment they were in the cab. He had threatened her with physical violence if she tried to resist or cry out, and Madeleine knew that he was prepared to carry out his threat. All that she could do was to submit and hope that she would somehow get out of her predicament.

The room was small and the ceiling low but the place was well-furnished. Under other circumstances, she might even have found it snug. There were bars across the window to discourage any hope of escape over the roof, and she had been warned that, if she dared to shout for help, she would be bound and gagged. Madeleine spared herself that indignity. A manservant had twice brought her meals in the course of the day and, on the second occasion, had lit the oil lamp for her. Though the food was good, she had little appetite for it.

Fearing for her own safety, she was also distressed on her father’s behalf. He would be alarmed by her disappearance and, unable to stir from his bed, would be completely frustrated. Madeleine felt that she was letting him down. The other person about whom she was concerned was Robert Colbeck. During her abduction, she had been ordered to obey if she wished to see the Inspector again. Did that mean his life was in danger or merely her own? And how had the counterfeit policeman known that she was fond of Colbeck? It was baffling. As she flung herself down on the couch, she was tormented by one question. What were they planning to do to her?

Sir Humphrey Gilzean believed in dining in style. When he was staying in London, therefore, he always made sure that his cook travelled with him from Berkshire. Over a delicious repast that evening, washed down with a superior wine, he mused on the ironic coincidence.

‘You know how much I detest railways, Thomas,’ he said.

‘They are an abomination to you.’

‘So why do you bring a railwayman’s daughter to my house?’

‘Madeleine Andrews is the chink in Colbeck’s armour.’

‘Can this really be so?’ asked Gilzean. ‘The only way their paths could have crossed is as a result of the train robbery. There has been very little time for an attachment to develop.’

‘Nevertheless, Humphrey, I was given to believe that it has. The gallant Inspector was seen to take a fond farewell on her doorstep. And while she may only be a railwayman’s daughter,’ said Sholto with a well-bred leer, ‘she is a fetching young woman. I’d hoped that she’d struggle more so that I could have the pleasure of manhandling her.’

Gilzean was strict. ‘She must be treated with respect.’

‘Am I not even allowed a little sport?’

‘No, Thomas.’

‘But she might like some company in the middle of the night.’

‘Miss Andrews must be unharmed,’ insisted Gilzean, filling his glass from the port decanter. ‘I draw the line at molestation.’

‘Where women are concerned,’ teased Sholto, ‘you were always inclined to be too soft.’

‘I behave like a gentleman, Thomas. So should you.’

‘There are times when courtesy is burdensome.’

‘Not to me.’

Sholto laughed. ‘You really are the strangest creature, Humphrey,’ he said. ‘Who else would send me off to murder a man then insist that I leave a substantial amount of money with his widow?’

‘Mrs Ings needed it — we do not.’

‘I always need money.’

‘Even you must be satisfied with what we have accrued.’

‘It only makes me want more.’

‘Apart from what we gained in the robbery, there were the profits from blackmail. In total, it amounted to almost three thousand pounds. We are in a position to be generous.’

‘Giving money to that woman was unnecessary.’

‘It salved my conscience and appealed to my sense of fair play.’

‘Fair play?’ echoed the other with a derisive laugh. ‘Having her husband killed hardly constitutes fair play.’

‘He betrayed her for that money, remember,’ said Gilzean. ‘He abandoned his wife and family to live with a whore in the Devil’s Acre. I have no sympathy for him — but I did feel that Mrs Ings deserved help.’

Sholto was disdainful. ‘I do not believe in charity.’

‘Cultivate a little benevolence, Thomas.’

‘Oh, I have plenty of that,’ said the other, ‘but I put it to different uses. You see a grieving widow and tell me to put money through her letterbox. When I see a female in distress — Madeleine Andrews, for example — I have the urge to comfort her in a more intimate way and offer my full benevolence.’

‘Miss Andrews is only a means to an end.’

‘My belief, entirely.’

‘I am serious,’ said Gilzean, forcefully. ‘When she is under my roof, she is under my protection. Dismiss any thoughts you may have about her, Thomas. Miss Andrews is here for a purpose.’

‘How long will we keep her?’