'He did not get himself killed in order to inconvenience you,' said Colbeck, sharply. 'Since you wrote to invite him to lecture here, you might show some interest in helping to solve the crime.'
'That is your job, Inspector. Leave me to do mine.'
'I will, sir – when I have finished.'
Kane looked at his watch. 'And when, pray, will that be?'
'When I tell you, sir.'
'You cannot keep me here against my will.'
'I quite agree,' said Colbeck, moving to the door. 'This is not the best place for an interview. Perhaps you'd be so good as to accompany me to Scotland Yard where we can talk at more leisure.'
'I'm not leaving this building,' protested Kane. 'I have work to do. You obviously don't realise who I am, Inspector.'
'You're a man who is wilfully concealing evidence from the police, sir, and that is a criminal offence. If you will not come with me voluntarily, I will have to arrest you.'
'But I have no evidence.'
'That's for me to decide.'
'This is disgraceful. I shall complain to the commissioner.'
Colbeck opened the door. 'I'll make sure that he visits you in your cell, sir,' he said, levelly. 'Shall we go?'
Gerald Kane got to his feet. After frothing impotently for a couple of minutes, he finally capitulated. Dropping back into his chair, he waved a hand in surrender.
'Close that door,' he suggested, 'and take a seat.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Colbeck, doing as he was told. 'I knew that you'd see the wisdom of cooperating with us. The situation is this. When I was in Mantes recently, I went through Chabal's effects and found a letter written by you. Since it invited him to give a second lecture, I take it that you organised his earlier visit.'
'I did. It's one of my many duties.'
'Where did the earlier lecture take place?'
'Right here, Inspector. We have a large room for such meetings. My colleagues are sitting in it at this very moment,' he went on with a meaningful glint, 'awaiting my arrival for an important discussion.'
'Engineers are patient men, sir. Forget them.'
'They will wonder where I am.'
'Then it will give them something to talk about,' said Colbeck, easily. 'Now, sir, can you tell me why you invited Chabal here?'
'He was a coming man.'
'Do we not have enough able engineers in England?'
'Of course,' replied Kane, 'but this fellow was quite exceptional. Thomas Brassey recommended him. That was how he came to my notice. Gaston Chabal had enormous promise.'
'His lecture was obviously well-received.'
'We had several requests for him to come back.'
'Could you tell me the date of his visit to you?'
'It was in spring, Inspector – April 10th, to be exact.'
'You have a good memory.'
'That's essential in my job.'
'Then I'll take advantage of it again, if I may,' said Colbeck. 'Can you recall how many people attended the lecture? Just give me an approximate number.'
'I represent civil and mechanical engineers,' declared the other, loftily. 'Accuracy is all to us. We do not deal in approximates but in exact measurements. When he first spoke here, Gaston Chabal had ninety-four people in the audience – excluding myself, naturally. As the secretary of the Society, I was here as a matter of course.'
'Were the others all exclusively engineers?'
'No, Inspector. The audience contained various parties.'
'Such as?'
'People with a vested interest in railways. We had directors of certain railway companies as well as potential investors in the Mantes to Caen project. Mr Brassey, alas, was not here but Chabal was a fine ambassador for him.'
'Ninety-four people.'
'Ninety-five, if you add me.'
'I would not dream of eliminating you, Mr Kane,' said Colbeck. 'With your permission, I'd like to plunder that famous memory of yours one last time. How many of those who attended do you recall?'
'I could give you every single name.'
Colbeck was impressed. 'You can remember all of them?'
'No, Inspector,' said Kane, opening a drawer to take something out. 'I kept a record. If I'd secured Chabal's services again, I intended to write to everyone on this list to advise them of his return.' He held out a sheet of paper. 'Would you care to see it?'
Colbeck decided he might grow to like Gerald Kane, after all.
Victor Leeming was so pleased to be taking part in the investigation again that he forgot the nagging twinge in his ribs as he walked along. It took him some time to reach his destination. He had been sent to the police station that was responsible for Limehouse and adjoining districts. Close to the river, it was a bustling community that was favoured by sailors and fishermen. Limehouse had taken its name centuries earlier from the lime kilns that stood there when plentiful supplies of chalk could be brought in from Kent. It was the docks that now gave the area its characteristic flavour and its central feature.
When his nostrils first picked up the potent smell of fresh fish, Leeming inhaled deeply and thankfully. The bracing aroma helped to mask the compound of unpleasant odours that had been attacking his nose and making him retch. Streets were coated with grime and soiled with animal excrement and other refuse. Soap works and a leather tannery gave off the most revolting stench. Unrelenting noise seemed to come from every direction. Leeming saw signs of hideous poverty. He could almost taste the misery in some places. Limehouse was an assault on his sensibilities. He was grateful when he reached the police station and let himself in.
A burly sergeant sat behind a high desk, polishing the brass buttons on his uniform with a handkerchief. A half-eaten sandwich lay before him. He looked at his visitor with disdain until the latter introduced himself.
'Oh, I'm sorry, sir,' he said, putting the sandwich quickly into the desk and brushing crumbs from his thighs. 'I didn't realise that you were from the Detective Department.'
'Who am I speaking to?' asked Leeming.
'Sergeant Ryall, sir. Sergeant Peter Ryall.'
'How long have you been at this station?'
'Nigh on seven years, sir.'
'Then you should be able to help us.'
'We're always ready to help Scotland Yard.'
Ryall gave him a token smile. His face had been pitted by years of police service and his red cheeks and nose revealed where he had sought solace from the cares of his occupation. But his manner was amiable and his deference unfeigned. Leeming did not criticise him for eating food while on duty. Having worked in a police station himself, he knew how such places induced an almost permanent hunger.
'I want to ask about a man you kept in custody here,' he said.
'What was his name?'
'Pierce Shannon.'
Ryall racked his brains. 'Don't remember him,' he said at length. 'Irish, I take it?'
'Very Irish.'
'Hundreds of them pass through our cells.' He lifted the lid of the desk and took out a thick ledger. 'When was he here?'
'A couple of months ago, at a guess,' said Leeming. 'When he left here, he went to France to help build a railway.' Ryall began to flick through the pages of his ledger. 'The person I'm really hoping to find is a man who visited Shannon in his cell while he was here.'
