Accordingly, the sergeant kept a couple of changes of clothing at his office in case they were needed. Off went his frock coat, smart trousers, waistcoat, shirt, cravat and shoes and on went a crumpled shirt, a smelly old coat frayed at the edges, a pair of baggy trousers and two boots in urgent need of repair. When he replaced his top hat with a ragged cap, Leeming looked like a costermonger down on his luck. After checking his appearance in a mirror, he felt ready to venture out.
Since few cab drivers would stop for someone so blatantly down-to-heel, Leeming made his way to Chalk Farm by means of a horse-drawn omnibus, collecting disdainful looks and murmured complaints from the other passengers. Josie Murlow’s hovel was at the end of a cul-de-sac. As he walked along the pavement towards it, he kept his head down and cultivated a lumbering walk. Choosing a spot from which he could keep the house under observation, he pretended to read the newspaper he had brought with him.
Leeming was unhappy. Apart from the danger of meeting Josie Murlow again, he feared that his vigil would be pointless. Dick Chiffney might already have come and gone to the house or sent an intermediary on his behalf. Its formidable owner might not even be there. He was certainly not minded to find out. All in all, it promised to be a long, tiring, uneventful and futile assignment.
It did, however, give him time to brood once more on what he should buy his wife as a birthday present. A garnet necklace was beyond the reach of his wallet and, since Josie Murlow sported such an item of jewellery, he would not even consider it. A small silver brooch was a possibility or even a ring of some kind. What his wife had talked about needing most was a new dress but that was something he could only buy with Estelle’s cooperation, and he wanted to enjoy the pleasure of watching her face as she opened a gift that came as a total surprise.
Thoughts of his wife inevitably led to a comparison with the woman whose house he was keeping an eye on. Estelle Leeming was everything that Josie Murlow was not. She was short, dark-haired, slight of build and, even though she had given birth to two children, she had retained something of the youthful bloom that had first won Leeming’s heart. Most of all, she was thoroughly wholesome. The same could not be said of the raddled denizen of the nearby hovel, a gross woman whose occupation had reduced her to a waddling mound of flesh and exposed her to the constant threat of assault and hideous diseases.
An hour soon passed and he shifted his position to stretch his legs and to avoid the disapproving glare of the man outside whose house he was standing. Crossing to the other side of the road, he opened his newspaper once more and stared unseeingly at one of the inside pages. There was a consolation. Because he was in a cul-de-sac, people could only come from one direction. Leeming could not miss anyone who went to Josie Murlow’s house. As another half an hour slid past, he moved back across the road and took up a different stance, trying to recall when he had last wasted so much time maintaining such an unproductive surveillance. Colbeck might make few mistakes but Leeming felt that he was the victim of one of them now. He gave a first yawn of disillusion. He wanted to go home.
His disaffection was premature. Moments later, a figure came into the street and walked furtively towards him. The man was thickset, shambling and wearing the kind of threadbare suit that could never belong to anyone who lived in one of the neat and respectable villas. Since the stranger’s cap was pulled down over his forehead, Leeming could not see much of the unshaven face but the man passed close enough for him to smell the beer on his breath.
Reaching the hovel, the newcomer was circumspect. He looked around to make sure that he was not seen then he banged on the door. Hidden behind his newspaper, Leeming peered around the edge and saw the door open. Josie Murlow was there, after all. From the effusive welcome she gave the man, she knew him well. Leeming felt a thrill of discovery. He might have found Dick Chiffney.
On the train to London, Colbeck and Madeleine Andrews had a compartment to themselves, allowing them to talk freely for the first time since they had left Camden.
‘I hope that your father will not disapprove,’ he said.
‘Of course not,’ she replied. ‘Father trusts you as much as I do, Robert. He knows that we have an understanding and is quite happy for us to spend time alone together.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Madeleine. He’s such a dedicated servant of the LNWR that he might object to his daughter being taken off on a line owned by another company.’
She laughed. ‘He’s not that prejudiced,’ she said. ‘Besides, he’ll willingly accept anything that helps you to catch the man who killed Frank Pike and the others. Do you think you’re any closer to doing that after today?’
‘I hope so.’
‘That was the purpose of the visit to Brighton, wasn’t it? You wanted to speak to two of the survivors of the crash and that’s exactly what you did. What you still haven’t explained is why you took me with you.’
He kissed her. ‘Do you
‘I’m serious, Robert. All that I seemed to do was to keep you company on the journey there, get a glimpse of the Royal Pavilion, take tea in the rectory, look around a church and be more or less forced to read a passage from the Bible.’
‘That’s why I took you, Madeleine.’
‘I’m still none the wiser.’
‘I wanted you to meet the Reverend Follis,’ he said. ‘He’s such a curious fellow. I thought he might interest you.’
‘He did. I found him very interesting. He’s pleasant, attentive and highly intelligent. And he made me feel so welcome.’
‘It’s precisely why I left you alone with him. I wanted a woman’s opinion of the rector. To some extent, of course,’ he continued, ‘I got that from Amy Walcott. She obviously adores him and was upset when we tore him away from her.’
‘Did you see the flowers in the church?’ she asked. ‘It must have taken her hours to pick and arrange them like that.’
‘She’s only one doting female at his behest. Mrs Ashmore, his housekeeper, is another, as you must have noticed when she served tea. She mollycoddles him.’
‘Well, that’s not what
‘What happened while I was away?’
‘We just talked. When the housekeeper came back from the market, she made us some tea and served scones. Then Mr Follis tried to probe me about our friendship.’
‘I thought he might.’
‘He was fascinated to hear how we met,’ she recalled, ‘and amused to discover that Father is an engine driver. The rector has an almost childish love of trains.’
‘I don’t condemn anyone for that,’ said Colbeck, grinning.
‘After tea, he asked me if I’d like to see the church. He was showing me around when he suddenly asked me to read something.’
‘Were you given freedom of choice?’
‘No, Robert,’ she replied. ‘He chose the passage for me. If it had been left to me, I’d have refused politely but I felt obliged to him. He’d been so friendly and courteous.’
‘Considering that you’d never been allowed to read in church before, you did extremely well.’
‘I was very nervous.’
‘It didn’t show, Madeleine.’
‘The odd thing was that Mr Follis knew exactly what he wanted me to read. It was almost as if he had made up his mind about it before we even went into the church.’ She gave a shrug. ‘Why do you think he picked that passage?’
Colbeck smiled. ‘I have a theory about that.’
Leeming was in a quandary. There was enough evidence to suggest that Dick Chiffney might have been involved in causing the train crash and it was important to question him. Since the man could well be inside the house, Leeming’s first instinct was to knock on the door and apprehend him. He was not afraid of any resistance from Chiffney. Leeming was strong, fit and fearless, very accustomed to overpowering criminals. What made him hesitate was the presence of Josie Murlow. If she became violent – and he was certain that she would – then the arrest would be more difficult. It would also entail restraining, if not actually punching, a woman and that troubled
