which I don’t much care.’ He stepped closer. ‘Supposing that you were
‘That question is purely hypothetical.’
‘I’d nevertheless be interested in your answer.’
‘Then I’d answer in the affirmative,’ said Thornhill, stoutly. ‘A broken arm would not stop me from expressing my views on a public platform. People look to me to shape their opinions.’
‘In that case, you mustn’t disappoint them.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Instruct your secretary to have your name reinstated at once in the advertisements,’ advised Colbeck. ‘At the moment, someone else is stepping into the breach to speak on the same subject. It might aid your decision if I tell you that your replacement is the Reverend Follis.’
Thornhill was stung. ‘I won’t stand for that!’
‘Someone has to address that meeting.’
‘What are you trying to do, Inspector – get me killed?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Colbeck, ‘I’m trying to ensure the arrest of the man who fired that shot at you. If you do as I say, you won’t even have to leave the house tomorrow evening – until it’s safe to do so, that is.’
After his long, tiring vigil on the previous day, Victor Leeming did not look forward to repeating the experience but there were extenuating aspects of his present assignment. He could expect no violence from Matthew Shanklin and there was no possibility of being lured into an alleyway so that he could be clubbed to the ground. The street in which he was standing consisted of matching rows of terraced houses. It was a district in which he did not look out of place in his normal apparel. Instead of staying in the same place, he patrolled up and down the street, one eye kept on the Shanklin residence at all times.
By mid-afternoon, his wait was over. A cab came round the corner and rolled past him before stopping a short distance away. Matthew Shanklin got out, paid the driver and turned to go towards his house. Leeming moved smartly. After ordering the driver to wait, he intercepted Shanklin.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, ‘I’d like a word with you.’
‘I’m afraid that I don’t have time to talk now, Sergeant,’ said Shanklin, walking away until Leeming grabbed his arm. ‘Take your hands off me!’
‘When I called at your office this morning, they told me that you were ill for the second day running.’
‘That’s quite true. I’ve just been to see my doctor.’
‘What’s his name, sir?’
‘That’s immaterial.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘I think you know, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘There’s no illness and no doctor. When I spoke to Mrs Shanklin this morning, she seemed totally unaware that you were supposed to be unwell.’
‘I told you before,’ protested Shanklin, a hand to his brow, ‘that I’m a martyr to migraine attacks.’
‘Then you’ll have another one very shortly, sir.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have a warrant for your arrest,’ said Leeming, taking the paper from his pocket to show him. ‘You must come with me.’
Shanklin was rocked. ‘On what charge am I being arrested?’
‘We have reason to believe that you are party to a conspiracy to cause a train crash on the Brighton line.’ Shanklin’s eyes darted to his house. ‘No, sir, I’m afraid that I can’t let you go in there first. You’ll have to accompany me to Scotland Yard.’
‘But I’ve done nothing wrong,’ bleated the other.
‘You can tell that to Superintendent Tallis.’
Accepting that there was no escape, Shanklin gave in. He gulped in air and looked around guiltily. Leeming saw no need to put handcuffs on him. Easing him back into the cab, he stepped in after him. The driver, who had watched the arrest with fascination, did not need instructions.
‘Scotland Yard, is it, guv’nor?’ he said, snapping the reins to set the horse in motion. ‘I thought there was something funny about him when I picked him up at the railway station.’
Leeming spent the journey trying to find out where Shanklin had been all day but the man refused to tell him. On the orders of the superintendent, Leeming said nothing about the handwriting on the letter and the funeral card. It was a revelation Tallis wanted to keep for himself. On arrival at their destination, Leeming paid the driver and hustled his prisoner into the building. They went straight to the superintendent’s office.
Edward Tallis was so pleased with the arrest that he permitted Leeming to stay while he questioned the suspect. His technique differed radically from that favoured by Colbeck. While the inspector was effortlessly polite, drawing out information slowly by the most subtle means, Tallis chose a more direct and intimidating approach. After the preliminaries, he made Shanklin sit down so that he could loom over him.
‘Did you send Mr Bardwell a funeral card?’ he demanded.
‘No,’ replied Shanklin, caught off-balance.
‘Did you send a note to your office this morning, explaining that you were to unwell to go to work?’
‘Yes, Superintendent – I had a migraine.’
‘It did not prevent you writing this letter,’ said Tallis, snatching it off his desk to wave in front of him. ‘Do you recognise this as yours?’
‘Yes, I do. Where did you get it from?’
‘We wanted an example of your handwriting, sir, so that we could compare it with this.’
Picking up the funeral card in the other hand, Tallis held it beside the letter and watched the suspect’s reaction. After swallowing hard, Shanklin tried to talk his way out of the situation.
‘The writing is similar, I grant you,’ he said, ‘but not the same.’
Tallis grinned wolfishly. ‘I can explain the slight discrepancy,’ he said, shaking the letter. ‘
‘Fortunately,’ said Leeming, ‘Mr Bardwell never saw the card.’
‘Leave this to me, Sergeant,’ warned Tallis.
‘I felt that he ought to be told.’
‘I can handle this interview.’
Leeming backed away. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Well, Mr Shanklin,’ said the superintendent, ‘are you going to persist in your denial? We know that you had motive, means and opportunity to send this card. When you were first interviewed by Sergeant Leeming, you made no bones about your hatred of Mr Bardwell. You revelled in his pain.’
‘I had good cause to do so,’ argued Shanklin.
‘Then you did send that taunt to Mr Bardwell?’
Shanklin chewed his lip. Confronted with the evidence, there was no hope of evading the truth. ‘Yes, I did,’ he confessed.
‘Nothing can excuse the wording on that card. However, that’s a minor matter compared with the crime for which you’re charged.’ Tallis’s index finger was accusatory. ‘Did you or did you not conspire to derail the Brighton Express?’
‘I swear that I did not, Superintendent.’
‘The evidence indicates otherwise.’
‘What evidence?’ wailed Shanklin. ‘If everyone who has a grudge against Horace Bardwell is suspected, this room would be filled to capacity. He’s a loathsome human being. I admit freely that I’d derive immense satisfaction from reading his obituary – even though it would conceal the ugly truth and praise him to the skies. But I did not,’ he emphasised, ‘take any steps to cause a train crash that might have killed him.’
‘We believe you engaged someone else to do it,’ said Leeming.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ cautioned Tallis. ‘Don’t interrupt.’
‘Tell him, sir.’
