Tod Galway was pleased to have got rid of his troublesome cargo but his relief was tempered by the thought that they would have to take the passengers back to London when they were in a more uncontrollable state. As it was, he found a man who was too inebriated to move from one of the third-class carriages, a second who was urinating on to the floor and a third who was being violently sick over a seat. He plucked at his beard with desperation.
'They've got no respect for company property,' he wailed.
'We're bound to have a few accidents, Tod,' said Sam Horlock, ambling across to him. 'Take no notice.'
'I got to take notice, Sam. I'm responsible.'
'So am I – worse luck. I'd give anything to be able to see the Bargeman kick seven barrels of shit out of Mad Isaac. Do you think anyone would notice if I sneak off?'
'Yes,' said Galway, 'and that means you'd lose your job.'
'Be almost worth it.'
The guard was incredulous. 'You taken leave of your senses?'
'This fight is for the championship, Tod.'
'I don't care if it's for that Koh-i-noor Bleedin' Diamond what was give to Queen Victoria. Think of your family, man. You got mouths to feed. What would your wife and children say if you got sacked for watchin' a prizefight?' Horlock looked chastened. 'I know what my Annie'd say and I know what she'd do. If I threw my job away like that, my life wouldn't be worth livin'.'
'It was only a thought.'
'Forget it. I'll give you three good reasons why you ought to 'ang on to a job with the Great Western railway. First of all-'
But the guard got no further. Before he could begin to enumerate the advantages of employment by the company, he was interrupted by a shout from the other end of the train. A young railway policeman was beckoning them with frantic semaphore.
Galway was alarmed. 'Somethin' is up.'
'Just another drunk, I expect. We'll throw him out.'
'It's more serious than that, Sam. I can tell.'
'Wait for me,' said horlock as the guard scurried off. 'What's the hurry?' He fell in beside the older man. 'Anybody would think that one of the engines was on fire.'
The policeman who was gesticulating at them was standing beside a second-class carriage near the front of the train. His mouth was agape and his cheeks were ashen. Sweat was moistening his brow. As the others approached, he began to jabber.
'I thought he was asleep at first,' he said.
'Who?' asked the guard.
'Him – in there.'
'What's up?' asked Horlock, reaching the carriage.
The policeman pointed. 'See for yourself, Sam.'
He stood back so that Horlock and Galway could peer in through the door. Propped up in the far corner was a stout middle-aged man in nondescript clothing with his hat at a rakish angle. His eyes were open and there was an expression of disbelief on his face. A noisome stench confirmed that he had soiled himself. Galway was outraged. Horlock stepped quickly into the carriage and shook the passenger by the shoulder so that his hat fell off.
'Time to get out now, sir,' he said, firmly.
But the man was in no position to go anywhere. His body fell sideward and his head lolled back, exposing a thin crimson ring around his throat. The blood had seeped on to his collar and down the inside of his shirt. When he set out from London, the passenger was looking forward to witnessing a memorable event. Somewhere along the line, he had become a murder victim.
'This is dreadful!' cried Tod Galway, recoiling in horror.
'Yes,' said Horlock, a wealth of sympathy in his voice. 'The poor devil will never know who won that fight now.'
CHAPTER TWO
When the summons came, Inspector Robert Colbeck was at Scotland Yard, studying the report he had just written about his last case. He abandoned it at once and hurried along the corridor. Superintendent Tallis was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. He demanded an instant response from his detectives. Colbeck found him in his office, seated behind his desk, smoking a cigar and poring over a sheet of paper. Tallis spoke to his visitor without even looking up.
'Don't sit down, Inspector. You're not staying long.'
'Oh?'
'You'll be catching a train to Twyford.'
'In Berkshire?'
'I know of no other,' said Tallis, raising his eyes. 'Do you?'
'No, sir.'
'Then do me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say instead of distracting me with questions about geography. This,' he went on, holding up the sheet of paper, 'is an example of the value of the electric telegraph, a priceless tool in the fight against crime. Details of the murder have been sent to us while the body is still warm.'
Colbeck's ears pricked up. 'There's been a murder at Twyford?'
'In a railway carriage, Inspector.'
'Ah.'
'It was an excursion train on the Great Western Railway.'
'Then I suspect I know where it was going, sir,' said Colbeck.
He also knew why the assignment was being handed to him. Ever since his success in solving a train robbery and its associated crimes in the previous year, Robert Colbeck had become known as the Railway Detective. It was a name bestowed upon him by newspapers that had, in the past, mocked the Detective Department of the Metropolitan Police for its apparent slowness in securing convictions. Thanks largely to Colbeck, the reporters at last had reason to praise the activities of Scotland Yard. he had masterminded the capture of a ruthless gang, responsible for armed robbery, blackmail, abduction, criminal damage and murder. Colbeck's reputation had been firmly established by the case. It meant that whenever a serious crime was committed on a railway, the respective company tended to seek his assistance.
Colbeck was, as usual, immaculately dressed in a black frock coat with rounded edges and high neck, a pair of well-cut fawn trousers and an Ascot cravat. His black shoes sparkled. Tall, lean and conventionally handsome, he cut a fine figure and always looked slightly out of place among his more workaday colleagues. none of them could challenge his position as the resident dandy. Edward Tallis would not even have cared to try. As a military man, he believed implicitly in smartness and he was always neatly, if soberly, dressed. But he deplored what he saw as Colbeck's vanity. It was one of the reasons that there was so much latent tension between the two of them. The Superintendent was a stocky, red-faced man in his fifties with a shock of grey hair and a small moustache. A chevron of concern was cut deep into his brow.
'You say that you knew where the train was going, Inspector?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Colbeck. 'It was taking interested parties to the scene of a prizefight.'
'Prizefights are illegal. They should be stopped.'
'This one, it seems, was allowed to go ahead.'
'Allowed?' repeated Tallis, bristling. 'A flagrant breach of the law was consciously allowed? That's intolerable. The magistracy is there to enforce the statute book not to flout it.' His eyelids narrowed. 'How did you come to hear about this?'
'It's common knowledge, Superintendent.'
