won't be able to hide.'
'I'll need certain proof of what you've done.'
'Then use your own eyes.'
'I'll not stay in this accursed country a moment longer,' said Rogan. 'I've got what I came for and there's too much work awaiting me in England for me to linger here. When it's all over, you know how to get in touch with me.'
'I do at that, sir – though I still don't know your name.'
'You don't need to know it.'
'Why not? You can trust Pierce Shannon.'
'Finish the task and earn your money,' said Rogan, firmly. 'Once I pay you, I never want to set eyes on you again. Go back to Ireland and take up farming. It's a far healthier life than building a railway in France.'
'I'll have no choice,' said Shannon with a laugh. 'Very soon, there'll be no bleeding railway here to build.'
Robert Colbeck had fulfilled a dream that he had harboured for many years. Dressed as an engine driver, he was standing on the footplate of the locomotive that had recently arrived with twenty wagons filled with ballast from the quarry. His only disappointment was that he was not able to drive the engine. He had only donned the clothing so that he would attract no undue attention. The footplate was the venue for a meeting that he had arranged with Brendan Mulryne. Making sure that he was not seen, the Irishman climbed up beside him.
'Drive me all the way home to Dublin, Inspector,' he said.
'I wish that I could, Brendan, but the line doesn't go that far.'
'It won't go any farther than this, if the buggers have their way.'
'Do you know what their next step will be?' asked Colbeck.
'Yes, sir.'
'Well?'
'They want to bring the whole thing to a stop.'
'And how do they intend to do that?'
Mulryne told him what he had heard. While he knew the place where the attack would be launched, he did not know the precise time. That was a detail that was deliberately kept from him. What was certain was that he would definitely be involved.
'You obviously passed the test they set you,' said Colbeck.
'Tipping over a few wagons? It was child's play.'
'Not to the people who had to clear up after you.'
'Sure, I'd have been happy to do the job myself but that would have given the game away. If they weren't such hard-hearted villains,' said Mulryne, 'I'd have no quarrel with them. They're fellow Irishmen and that means they're the salt of the earth.'
'Do they have no suspicion of you at all?'
'None, sir, but they might start wondering if I don't join them for a drink very soon. I've made quite a bit of money from them, one way and another.' His face clouded. 'I suppose that'd be called the proceeds of crime. I won't have to hand it back, will I?'
'No, Brendan. It's yours to keep.'
'I never keep money, sir. It burns a hole in my pocket.'
'Then enjoy a drink with it,' said Colbeck. 'And, as soon as you know when they're going to strike, find a way to let me know.'
'That I will, Inspector.'
'Do you know who's paying them?'
'I don't know and I've never once tried to find out. I remembered what happened to Sergeant Leeming when he asked too many questions.' Mulryne pointed to his head. 'They think of me as a big man with a tiny brain. I'm stupid old Brendan who'll do anything for money and not worry where it comes from.'
'How many of them are there?'
'Difficult to say, sir. I've only met two.'
'There must be more than that, Brendan.'
'That's why you have to catch them in the act. The whole gang is going to be there next time. At least, that's what Liam told me.'
'Liam?'
'I'll introduce him to you when we meet,' said Mulryne.
'You'll be pleased to make his acquaintance.'
'Will I?'
'He's one of the men who ambushed the sergeant.'
'Ah, I see.'
'Liam boasted to me about it. I had a job to hold myself back from knocking his head off there and then. Sergeant Leeming is a friend of mine. When the fighting really starts, Liam is all mine.'
'Victor will be pleased to hear about it,' said Colbeck. 'Now, off you go, Brendan. Join the others before they start to miss you. And thank you again. You've done well.'
'I ought to be thanking you, sir.'
'Why?'
'Work with Irishmen all day and drink with them all night – this is heaven for me,' said Mulryne, happily. 'Yes, and there's a barmaid at the inn who's sweet on me. What more can a man ask?'
Colbeck waved him off then allowed himself a few minutes to inspect the locomotive more closely and to run a possessive hand over its levers and valves. He had recognised the design at once. It was the work of Thomas Crampton, the Englishmen whose locomotives were so popular in France. As he indulged his fancy, he wished that Caleb Andrews had been there to teach him how to drive it.
Descending at last from the footplate, he walked across the tracks and headed towards Brassey's office. Instead of his habitual long stride and upright posture, he used a slow amble and kept his shoulders hunched. Engine drivers did not look or move like elegant detectives. When success was so close, he did not wish to make a false move and attract suspicion. His talk with Mulryne had been very heartening and he was delighted that he had brought the Irishman with him. It was only a question of time before the problems at the site would be brought to an abrupt end. Colbeck wanted to pass on the good news to Brassey as soon as possible.
Reaching the office, he knocked on the door and opened it in response to the contractor's invitation. He had expected Brassey to be alone but someone else was there and it was the last person Colbeck had wanted to see. Superintendent Tallis gaped at him in wonder.
'Is that you, Colbeck?' he cried, staring in consternation. 'What are you doing, man? I sent you here to solve a crime, not to play with an engine.'
Madeleine Andrews had had a profitable time. It was one of the days when a servant came to clean the house and do various chores, thus releasing Madeleine to work on her latest drawing. She was not trying to sketch the Sankey Viaduct now. She was working on another sketch of the Lord of the Isles, the locomotive that Colbeck had taken her to see at the Great Exhibition the previous year. It had a special significance for her. When evening came, she kept glancing up at the clock, hoping that her father would not be too late.
When he went to work, Andrews always bought a morning newspaper at Euston Station. His daughter never got to read it until he came back home, and she was desperate for more news about Colbeck. If he had made any progress in the murder investigation, it would be duly reported. Madeleine was at the window when she saw her father sauntering along the street. He had made a good recovery from the injuries that had almost cost him his life, and he had his old jauntiness back. She opened the door for him and was disappointed that he was not carrying a newspaper.
'Did you have a good day, Father?' she asked.
'Yes,' he replied. 'I've been to Birmingham and back twice. I've driven along that line so often, I could do it blindfold.'
'Well, I hope you don't even try.'
'No, Maddy.' He took off his coat and hung it on a hook. 'The place looks clean and tidy,' he said. 'Mrs Busby
