away. Many of them were bare-chested in the baking sun. The ceaseless pandemonium of industry rang out across the French countryside as picks, shovels, axes, sledgehammers and other implements pounded away. Birds flew overhead but their songs went unheard beneath the cacophony.
'Is there any finer sight on earth than men building a railway?' said Brassey, removing his top hat. 'It lifts my spirit, Aubrey.'
'It would lift mine as well if we were not plagued by problems.'
'Four incidents can hardly be called a plague.'
'I think the number might be five, sir.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well,' said Filton, brow corrugated with disquiet, 'I can't help remembering what happened to Mr Ruddles the other week.'
'That was an accident, man.'
'Was it?'
'Of course,' said Brassey, airily. 'It's a law of averages that a scaffold will collapse from time to time. Bernard Ruddles and I had the misfortune to be standing on it when it gave way.'
'You could have been badly injured, sir.'
'I was lucky. I had a nasty fall and was shaken up but I lived to tell the tale. Bernard, alas, was not so fortunate.'
'He broke his leg in two places.'
'I know,' said Brassey. 'I was right beside him at the time. Had we listened to the advice of the French doctors, he would have lost the leg altogether. They were queuing up to amputate. Bernard had the good sense to wait for an English doctor to give an opinion. As a consequence, the leg can be saved.'
'That's not the point, Mr Brassey.'
'Then what is?'
'The scaffold could have been tampered with.'
'It was badly erected, that's all,' Brassey told him. 'I sacked the men responsible. They were not trying to inflict injury on me or on Bernard Ruddles. How could they know when either of us would stand on that particular scaffold?'
'But suppose it had been you who'd broken a leg, sir?'
'I did suppose it, Aubrey, and it made me offer up a prayer of thanks. I landed on level ground but Bernard, alas, hit some rocks. It could so easily have been the other way around.'
'How could we have managed without you, sir?'
'You wouldn't have had to do so.'
'No?'
'Once the leg had been put into a splint, I'd have used a pair of crutches to get round. Nothing would stop me from keeping an eye on a project like this,' he went on, stoutly. 'If I'd broken both legs and both arms, I'd have men to carry me around on a stretcher.'
'Heaven forbid!'
'Never give in, Aubrey – that's my motto.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And always complete a railway ahead of time.'
Brassey put on his hat. They clambered up the embankment and strolled back towards the office. Filton was not reassured by his employer's brave words. Clearly, they had enemies. That was what alarmed him. He felt certain that it was only a matter of time before those enemies struck again.
'By the way,' said Brassey, 'have you seen Gaston Chabal?'
'No, sir.'
'He was due back here days ago.'
'Well, I've seen no sign of him. Wherever can he be?'
'Find out.'
'I'll try, sir.'
'When I engage a man, I expect him to fulfil his duties or give me an excellent reason why he's unable to do so. Gaston has left us in the dark,' said Brassey. 'We need him back here. Unless he turns up soon, he may well find that he is no longer working for me.'
Victor Leeming had been horrified to learn that he had to go to France with Robert Colbeck. Apart from the fact that he would miss his wife, Leeming knew that he would be condemned to spend long and uncomfortable hours on trains, a form of transport he had come to loathe. There was an even deeper cause for concern. Leeming was uneasy about the temper of the French nation.
'What if they have another revolution while we're here?' he said.
'Then we'll be privileged spectators,' replied Colbeck.
'It wasn't long ago that the barricades went up in Paris.'
'France was not alone, Victor. In 1848, there were revolutions in other parts of Europe as well. Superintendent Tallis feared that we might have riots in London if the Chartists got out of hand.'
'We've had nothing to match the bloodshed over here,' said Leeming, looking through the window of the carriage at some peasants working in the fields. 'There's something about the French. It's in their nature to revolt. They make me feel uneasy.'
The two men were on their way to Mantes. Having crossed the English Channel by packet boat, they had boarded a train at Le Havre and were steaming south. Colbeck had been pleased to note that the locomotive was of English design and construction, but the news brought no comfort to the sergeant. The name of Thomas Crampton was meaningless to him. If the train had been pulled by a herd of giant reindeer, Leeming would have shown no interest. The only thing about France that would bring a smile to his craggy face was the date of their departure from the country.
'Look upon this as an adventure,' urged Colbeck. 'You are seeing a foreign country for the first time and you'll get some insight into the way that it's policed.'
'It seems such a long way to come, sir.'
'Be grateful that the murder victim was not Italian or Swiss. Had that been the case, we'd have had to go much farther afield.'
'I'd prefer to be in London.'
'Amid all that crime and squalor? There's far less danger out here in the countryside, Victor, and it's so much healthier for us to get away from the city.' A beautiful chateau appeared on the horizon. He pointed it out to his companion. 'Isn't it superb?' he said. 'Now there's something you wouldn't see in Whitechapel.'
Leeming was unimpressed. 'I'd still much rather be there.'
'You're too insular,' said Colbeck with a laugh.
'I like my country, that's all. I'm patriotic.'
'I have no quarrel with that.'
The railway had been built in defiance of geography. There were so many hills, valleys and rivers to cross that there was a long sequence of tunnels, cuttings, bridges and viaducts. As they sped across the Barentin Viaduct with its striking symmetry and its panoramic views, Colbeck thought it better not to mention that it had once collapsed into the valley below. Teeth clenched and hands gripping the seat for safety, Leeming was already troubled enough by having to cross it. The magnificent construction had all the qualities of a death trap to him. Only when they were well clear of the viaduct did he find his voice again.
'Why didn't he choose that instead, Inspector?' he asked. 'Why didn't the killer throw his victim over that viaduct instead of coming all the way to England to do it?'
'You're assuming that the murderer was French.'
'Isn't that why we're here?'
'No, Victor,' said Colbeck. 'We are hunting a motive. I'm fairly certain that the man who killed Gaston Chabal was English and that only the Sankey Viaduct would suffice.'
'In that case, the lady's husband must be involved.'
'I think not.'
