Murder on the Brighton Express

‘Is it really necessary, Inspector?’

‘I believe so,’ said Colbeck. ‘Could someone take me there?’

Thornhill tugged on a bell rope beside the fireplace and a maidservant soon entered. Given instructions, she took Colbeck down the corridor and showed him into the drawing room. It was large, well-proportioned and filled with exquisite furniture. Since one of the windows was now blanked out, there was little natural light in that corner. Colbeck first unlocked the door and stepped out on to the terrace, sitting in the chair that Thornhill claimed to have occupied.

He stood up again, turned sideways and tried to imagine a bullet shooting past his left ear. It gave him a rough idea of the angle at which it had smashed into the window. Going back into the room, he tried to work out where the bullet might have ended up. The only clue he found was a tear in the large tapestry on the far wall. When he lifted it up, he saw a hole gouged out of the wall itself and decided that the bullet must have ricocheted. Long, painstaking minutes of searching finally ended with success. After bouncing off the wall, the bullet had penetrated a thick cushion then embedded itself in the back of an ornate settee.

Thornhill was waiting for him with growing impatience.

‘Well,’ he demanded as Colbeck came back into the library.

‘I found it, sir,’ said the other, showing him a bullet whose nose had been blunted. ‘I’ve afraid that your tapestry and one of the settees is in need of repair. The bullet was damaged when it struck the wall but I can tell you that it came from a rifle. That means it could have been fired from some distance away.’

Thornhill sneered. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel safer?’

‘I don’t think you’re in any danger now. There are too many people on guard for anyone to risk a second visit here. What I’d like to do first is to establish exactly where he was when he fired the shot. Some clue may have been left behind.’

‘You’re wasting your time, sir. He could have been anywhere.’

‘I disagree,’ said Colbeck. ‘The trajectory of the bullet gives me a definite idea of the direction from which it came. All I require is your permission to search the grounds without fear of being attacked by that mastiff you have out there.’

‘Search if you must,’ said Thornhill, petulantly, ‘but you won’t find anything, I know that. The man must have fled as soon as he fired the shot.’

‘That’s what I’m counting on, Mr Thornhill. When people are in a great hurry to escape, they often make mistakes.’

The tender ministrations of his wife and a good night’s sleep had revived Victor Leeming and sent him back to work with renewed vigour. Dressed in his normal attire, he travelled to Chalk Farm by cab and rapped on the door of Josie Murlow’s hovel. There was no answer. After knocking even harder a few times, he accepted that she was not there. Leeming followed the route he had taken the previous day, turning into the main road and walking along it until he made a second turn. When the Shepherd and Shepherdess came into view, the bump on his head started to throb.

He paused at the alleyway where he had been assaulted. Narrow and twisting, it ran through to the street beyond, giving his attacker a choice of two exits. Leeming went on to the public house. Its first customers of the morning had already drifted in. Standing behind the counter was the landlord, a tubby man of medium height with a bald head offset by a drooping walrus moustache. Leeming introduced himself and described the woman he wanted to find. The landlord guessed her name at once.

‘You’re talking about Josie Murlow,’ he said.

‘You know her?’

‘I know her and that cock-eyed ruffian she lives with. They’re nothing but trouble, those two. I barred them from the Shepherd and Shepherdess months ago.’

‘Josie Murlow was standing outside here yesterday afternoon.’

‘Then I’m glad she didn’t have the gall to come in.’

‘I don’t suppose you saw her,’ said Leeming, ‘or noticed which way she walked off.’

‘No, Sergeant,’ replied the landlord. ‘As long as she and Dick Chiffney keep away from here, that’s all I’m worried about. On the other hand,’ he went on, looking around the bar, ‘some of my regulars might have seen her through the window. Josie is not easy to miss. She’d make three of my wife.’

‘She’d make four of mine.’

Leeming first spoke to a couple of men who had just entered but they were unable to help him. None of the other customers had even been there at the relevant time on the previous day. He was about to leave when he noticed an old man tucked away in a corner. Crouched over a table, he was playing dominoes on his own, moving from one seat to another and back again as he took turns, pausing only to quaff some of his beer. As Leeming came over, he fixed a pair of watery eyes on him.

‘Care for a game of dominoes?’ he croaked.

‘You seem to be playing well enough on your own,’ said Leeming with a grin. ‘Who’s winning?’

‘He is,’ said the old man, pointing to the empty chair.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt the game, sir. I just wanted to ask if you knew a woman named Josie Murlow.’

The old man cackled. ‘Everyone knows Josie.’ He sat back to appraise Leeming. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a gentleman like you would have any time for her. She’s beneath you, sir. Or is that what you want?’ he added, slyly. ‘Having Josie beneath you, I mean.’

‘No!’ denied Leeming, revolted by the notion. ‘That’s not what I want. I’m a detective from Scotland Yard and I wish to speak to her in connection with a crime.’ The old man gabbled his apologies. ‘Did you, by any chance, see her yesterday afternoon?’

The old man thought hard. ‘I did, as a matter of fact.’

‘Where was she?’

‘Standing outside, all dressed up in her finery.’

‘Did you see her through the window?’

‘No,’ said the other. ‘I was walking along the pavement outside. Josie was lurking at the door as if she didn’t know whether to come in or go away.’

‘Was she on her own?’ asked Leeming.

‘She was at first. Then that ugly devil of hers steps out of the alleyway and rushes her away up the road.’

‘In which direction did they go?’

‘Towards Camden,’ said the old man, ‘but I only saw them for a few seconds. Dick Chiffney stopped a cab and the both got into it.’ He cackled again. ‘I pity the poor horse, having to pull Josie along. She must weigh the best part of a ton.’

‘Are you certain that it was Chiffney?’

‘Oh, yes. Nobody else could be as ugly as that.’

Dick Chiffney peered at his face in the mirror, twisting his head sideways as he used the razor to shave the last bristles from his chin. After washing the blade in a bowl of cold water, he dried it on a piece of cloth before closing the razor. Then he splashed his face with water and dabbed at it with the cloth. He viewed the results in the mirror. On the bed behind him, Josie Murlow slowly came out of her sleep.

‘Where am I?’ she said, drowsily.

‘You’re with me, Josie,’ he told her. ‘We’re staying at the house of my friend for a little while.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You know why.’

‘I’d rather be in my own house.’

‘It could be watched.’

‘But there’s things I need, Dick.’

‘I’ll sneak back after dark and get them for you, my love,’ he said. ‘I can’t take that chance in daylight. He might’ve come back.’

‘Who’re you talking about?’ she asked, yawning.

‘The policeman I knocked out yesterday.’