'Oh, yes, he was a true Cockney, just like me, sir.'
'Did he say what he did for a living?'
'That never came up in conversation,' said Pritchard, wishing that his stomach were not so rebellious. 'All we talked about was the fight.'
'And what did Mr Bransby have to say?'
'That, barring accidents, the Bargeman was bound to win.'
'Did he bet money on the result?'
'Of course. We all had.'
'Had he ever seen Bill Hignett fight before?'
'Yes,' said the other. 'He was a real disciple of the sport. Told me that he'd been all over the country to see fights. It was his hobby.'
'What else did he say?'
'Very little beyond the fact that he did a bit of milling in his youth. I think he was handy with his fists at one time but he didn't brag about it. He was one of those quiet types, who keep themselves to themselves.'
'Tell me about the people in the carriage.'
'We were jammed in there like sardines.'
'How many of them did you know?'
'Only one,' replied Pritchard. 'My brother. That's him, sitting in the corner,' he went on, pointing into the carriage at a youth whose face and coat were spattered with blood. 'Cecil chanced his arm against one of those Bradford cullies and came off worst.'
'Did he speak to Jacob Bransby at any point?'
'No, sir. He was sat on the other side of me. Couldn't take his eyes off the woman who was opposite him.'
'A woman?' echoed Colbeck with interest, looking around. 'I've not seen any women getting back into the second-class carriages.'
'She must be making her way back home by other means.'
'What sort of woman was she, Mr Pritchard?'
'That sort, sir,' returned the bank clerk.
'Age?'
'Anything from thirty upward,' said Pritchard. 'Too old for my brother, I know that, and too pricey in any case.'
'Why do you say that?'
'She wasn't a common trull you might see walking the streets, sir. I mean, she was almost respectable. Except that a respectable woman wouldn't be going on an excursion train to a fight, would she? She could only have been there for one thing.'
'Did you see her at the contest?'
'In that crowd?' Pritchard gave a derisive laugh. 'Not a chance! Besides, I didn't look. I was too busy cheering on the Bargeman.'
'Apart from Jacob Bransby, your brother and this woman, can you recall anyone else who was in that carriage with you?'
'Not really, sir. They were all strangers to me. To be honest, I've had so much to drink that I wouldn't recognise any of them if they stood in front of me.' He gave a sudden belch. 'Pardon me, Inspector.'
'What happened when the train reached Twyford?'
'We all got out.'
'Did you see Mr Bransby leave his seat?'
'I didn't notice,' admitted Pritchard. 'There was a mad dash for the door because we were so keen to get out.'
'Did the woman leave before you?'
'Oh, no. She had to take her chances with the rest of us. Cecil and me pushed past her in the rush. That was the last we saw of her.'
'So she could have held back deliberately?'
'Who knows, Inspector? If she did, it wasn't because she'd taken a fancy to Mr Bransby. He was an ugly devil,' said Pritchard, 'and he was so miserable. You'd never have thought he was on his way to a championship fight.'
'No?'
'No, sir. He looked as if he was going to a funeral.'
Colbeck made no comment.
CHAPTER THREE
The excursion train reached Paddington that evening without any undue incident. There were some heated arguments in the third-class carriages and a few minor scuffles but the railway policemen soon brought them under control. Most of the passengers were still too numbed by the defeat of their hero, the Bargeman, to cause any mayhem themselves and they were noticeably quieter on their way back. Those in the second-class carriage that had brought Jacob Bransby to Twyford were quite unaware of the fact a murder had taken place there. When he interviewed Felix Pritchard earlier, Inspector Colbeck had been careful to say nothing about the crime, explaining that he was simply making routine inquiries about a missing person. Unbeknown to the excursionists, a corpse travelled back to London in the guard's van with two detectives from the Metropolitan Police and an irate Tod Galway.
'It ain't decent, Inspector,' asserted the guard.
'The body could hardly be left where it was,' said Colbeck.
'You should 'ave sent it back by other means.'
'What other means?'
'Any way but on my train.'
'Mr Bransby had a return ticket in his pocket. That entitles him to be on this particular train and here he will be.'
'Bleedin' liberty, that's what it is!'
'Show some respect for the dead. And to us,' added Colbeck, sternly. 'Do you think we want to ride back to London in the company of a murder victim and a grumbling railwayman?'
Galway lapsed into a sullen silence until the train shuddered to a halt in the station. Victor Leeming was given the job of organising the transfer of the dead body to the police morgue, first waiting until the train had been emptied of passengers so that a degree of privacy could be ensured. Colbeck, meanwhile, took a hansom cab back to Scotland Yard and delivered his report to Superintendent Tallis. The latter listened to the recital with mounting irritation.
'Nobody saw a thing?' he asked, shaking his head in wonder. 'A man is throttled aboard a crowded train and not a single pair of eyes witnesses the event?'
'No, sir.'
'I find that hard to believe.'
'Everyone rushed out of the train in order to get to the fight.'
'Then why didn't this Mr Bransby join them?'
'I have a theory about that, Superintendent.'
'Ah,' sighed Tallis, rolling his eyes. 'Another of your famous theories, eh? I prefer to work with hard facts and clear evidence. They are much more reliable guides. Very well,' he conceded, flicking a wrist, 'let's hear this latest wild guess of yours.'
'I believe that the woman was involved.'
'A female assassin? Isn't that stretching supposition too far?'
'She was no assassin,' argued Colbeck. 'The woman was there as an accomplice to distract the victim. While
