phenomenon.'
'Mr Tallis?'
'My superintendent. He has a very low opinion of the French.'
'Oh, they're a civilised nation at bottom,' said Brassey with a guarded affection. 'They make me feel very parochial at times. The trouble is that they are so easily aroused. I was here four years ago when the revolution broke out.'
'That must have been quite frightening.'
'It was, Inspector Colbeck. I was in no personal danger but my business interests were. Success as a contractor depends on stability and France became very unstable. When Louis Philippe was swept from the throne, there was a deep financial crisis.'
'Yes – many people were ruined.'
'I could have been one of them,' admitted Brassey, flicking back his coat tails as he perched on the edge of his desk. 'Stocks and shares fell heavily, none more so than those of the railways.' He pulled a face. 'It was a testing time for us. How much do you know about the French railway system?'
'I know that it's far less developed than ours,' said Colbeck, 'and that it's never attracted anything like the private investment that we enjoy. For that reason, the French government has had to play more of a role – and that's all very well until you have a violent change of government.'
'It's made this project so much more difficult.'
'Do the government interfere?'
'I'm answerable to the Minister of Public Works and he expects to be kept up to date with our progress. That was why Gaston Chabal was so useful to us – I got him to send regular reports in French. No,' Brassey continued, 'our real difficulty lay on the other side of the Channel.'
'In England?'
'It's where so many of our private investors live, Inspector.'
'I see.'
'Ten years ago, they were happy to put money into a venture of this kind, knowing that they'd get an excellent return on their capital. After the revolution, they were much more reluctant. One of them told me that the trouble with the French was that they were too French.'
'Emotional, unreliable and prone to overthrow governments.'
'The gentleman in question put it more bluntly than that. Mark you,' said Brassey, 'not all the British investors turned tail. Some had the foresight to see that this railway could pay handsome dividends in time. One of them had the sense to come here to see for himself.'
'Oh?' said Colbeck. 'Who was that?'
'Alexander Marklew. He understands railways.'
'And he's actually been here?'
'In the very early stages,' replied the other. 'I let Gaston Chabal talk to him about the potential of this railway. He had such a persuasive tongue. He managed to persuade Mr Marklew to invest. He also showed him and his wife around Paris – I think that helped.'
'I'm sure that it did.'
Colbeck said nothing about the liaison with Hannah Marklew but it took on a slightly different aspect now. He suspected that part of the reason Chabal had cultivated the lady was to persuade her to urge her husband to buy shares in the railway. The intimacies of the bedroom were not without a commercial significance.
'Clearly,' said Colbeck, 'you were able to raise the finance.'
'Yes, Inspector, but the government remains our paymaster. They've built a whole series of time penalties into the contract. That's why these setbacks are so annoying,' said Brassey, pursing his lips. 'They slow us down and cost us a lot of money.' He saw someone through the window. 'Ah, here's Aubrey.' He crossed to the door to open it. 'Come on in,' he said. 'This is Inspector Colbeck.'
'How do you do, sir?' said Filton.
'Pleased to meet you,' said Colbeck, shaking his hand. 'I believe that you talked earlier to Sergeant Leeming.'
'Yes. I've just come from him.'
'Oh?'
'Now that he's working in disguise, of course, I did not disclose the fact that I knew him. But, as I walked past, he slipped this into my hand.' He gave a note to Brassey. 'It's for you, sir.'
'Thank you, Aubrey.' Brassey unfolded the note and read it. He then offered it to Colbeck. 'I think you should see this, Inspector.'
'Why?'
'More trouble ahead.'
'Really?' Colbeck took the note from him.
'We're going to have a fight on our hands.'
'Between whom?' asked Filton, worried at the prospect.
'The French and the Irish.'
'When?'
'Tonight, according to this,' said Colbeck, reading the message.
'Some Irish hotheads have decided that the French are to blame for all the attacks on us,' said Brassey. 'They're acting as judge and jury. They want summary justice.'
'Some of them just want a fight, I expect.'
'Yes, Inspector. They enjoy a brawl for its own sake.'
'Think what havoc they can wreak,' said Filton, wringing his hands. 'There'll be dozens on both sides who are unfit for work tomorrow. And it won't end there. If there's bad blood between the Irish and the French, there'll be another clash before long.' He spread his arms in despair. 'What on earth are we going to do?'
'He's a friend, I tell you,' said Liam Kilfoyle. 'I can vouch for him.'
'I don't care,' snapped Pierce Shannon. 'He's not coming.'
'But he looks like a real fighter.'
'He's not Irish.'
'Victor supports our cause.'
'After only one day? No, Liam. I don't trust him.'
'Well, I do. I worked alongside him. The French are not going to take this lying down, Pierce. They'll fight back. We need every man we can get. Victor Leeming is on our side.'
'We'll manage without the English bastard.'
It was late evening and, like everyone else who was gathering there, Shannon and Kilfoyle had been drinking. They had also armed themselves. Shannon was carrying a shillelagh that had drawn blood from many a skull in the past, while Kilfoyle preferred a pick handle. The rest of the men had chosen an assortment of weapons, including sledgehammers, shovels and lengths of thick, tarred rope. Brandy had roused passions to a fever pitch. When he joined the others, Victor Leeming found them in a turbulent mood.
'Good evening, Liam,' he said, picking out Kilfoyle by the light of the lanterns. 'When are we going?'
'You're not going any-bloody-where,' retorted Shannon.
'Why not?'
'Because you can fuck off out of here.'
Leeming turned to Kilfoyle. 'What's happened?'
'Pierce is not happy about you,' said the other, shuffling his feet in embarrassment. 'I'm sorry, Victor. You can't come.'
'Why not – what's wrong with me?'
'You're a cock-eyed cunt of an Englishman, that's why,' said Shannon, waving his shillelagh. 'This is our fight, not yours.'
'I work on this railway as well as you.'
'Yes – for one fucking day!'
'If it was one pissing hour, I'd still want to take a crack at the French,' said Leeming, boldly. 'There's jobs at
