'Highly symbolic.'
'It was a sketch – nothing more.'
'Show it to me again,' he invited, 'and I'll explain.'
'In simple language?'
'Monosyllables, if you prefer.'
Madeleine fetched her portfolio and extracted the drawing of the Sankey Viaduct. She laid it on the table and they both scrutinised it.
'What you did was to bridge the Channel between England and France,' he pointed out. 'All the way from Dover to Calais.'
'I drew that picture out of love.'
'But it's a symbol of something that certain people hate.'
'And what's that?'
'I'll tell you, Madeleine. The railway that's being built from Mantes to Caen will not end there. In due course, an extension will be added to take it to Cherbourg.'
'I don't see anything wrong in that.'
'There's an arsenal there.'
'Oh.'
'The railway that Thomas Brassey is constructing will in time provide a direct route between Paris and a main source of arms and ammunition. That's bound to alarm some people here,' he continued. 'It's less than forty years since we defeated France and that defeat still rankles with them. Louis Napoleon, who rules the country, is an emperor in all but name. Emperors need imperial conquests.'
Madeleine was worried. 'Do you think that France would try to invade us?' she said, turning to look up at him. 'I thought we were completely safe.'
'I'm sure that we are,' said Colbeck, 'and I'm equally certain that Mr Brassey is of the same opinion. If he believed for one moment that he was endangering his native country by building that railway, he would never have taken on the contract.'
'Then why did someone try to wreck the project?'
'Because he is afraid, Madeleine.'
'Of what?'
'Potential aggression from the French.'
'But you just said that we had nothing to fear.'
'Other people see things differently,' he said, 'and it was only when you showed me this drawing that I realised how they could view what was happening in northern France. A railway between Paris and Cherbourg is a source of intense concern to some Englishmen.'
'All that I can see is my crude version of the Sankey Viaduct.'
'Look beyond it,' he advised.
'At what?'
'The railway that will connect the French capital to a port with military significance.' He gave an apologetic smile. 'I'm afraid that I'm going to have to use a word that you don't like.'
'Will it explain what all this is about?'
'I think so, Madeleine.'
'What's the word?'
'Metaphorical.'
She rolled her eyes. 'We're back to that again.'
'Your drawing is to blame,' he said, indicating it. 'You've created what someone clearly dreads – a viaduct between England and France. In his mind – and we have to try to see it from his point of view, warped as it might be – the railway between Paris and Cherbourg will be a metaphorical viaduct between the two countries. It's a potent symbol of French imperial ambition.'
'Is that why a man was killed?' she said, trying to assimilate what she had been told. 'Because of symbols and metaphors?'
'Chabal was an engineer with an important role in the project.'
'According to father, lots of engineers work on a new railway.'
'Quite true. Mr Brassey has a whole team of them.'
'Why was this particular man murdered?'
'He had the wrong nationality – he was French.'
'Did he have to be thrown from the Sankey Viaduct?'
'I think so.'
'You're going to tell me that that was symbolic as well, aren't you?' she said. 'It's something to do with whatever you called it a few moments ago.'
'A metaphorical viaduct. I'm only guessing,' he went on, 'and I could be wrong. There are just too many coincidences here. Someone is so horrified at the prospect of that railway being built that he will go to any lengths to stop it.'
'What sort of a man is he, Robert?'
'One who has an implacable hatred of the French.'
'Why?'
'He probably fought against them.'
Nobody else was allowed in the room. It was on the first floor of the mansion and it overlooked the rear garden. It was kept locked so that none of the servants could get into it. The first thing that Sir Marcus Hetherington did when he let himself in was to lock the door behind him. He gazed around the room and felt the familiar upsurge of pride and patriotism. What he had created was a shrine to England's military glory. Banners, uniforms and weapons stood everywhere. Memorabilia of a more gruesome kind were contained in a glass case. Its prime exhibit, a human skull, was something that he cherished. It had belonged to a nameless French soldier who had fallen at the battle of Waterloo. Sir Marcus had killed him.
He wandered around the room, examining various items and luxuriating in the memories that they kindled. Then he crossed to the window. It was a fine day and sunlight was dappling the back lawn, but he was not looking at the garden. His gaze went up to the flag that was fluttering in the breeze at the top of its pole. He gave it a salute. Turning back, he surveyed his collection once more, drawing strength from it, finding consolation, recapturing younger days. On the wall above the mantelpiece was a portrait of himself in uniform. It never failed to lift his heart.
Crossing to a rosewood cabinet, he opened the top drawer and took out a wooden case that he set down on the table. When he lifted the lid of the case, Sir Marcus looked down fondly at a pair of percussion duelling pistols with plated turnoff barrels and walnut stocks inlaid with silver. The weapons gleamed. Packed neatly around them was a small supply of ammunition. He removed the pistols from the case and held one in each hand. The sensation of power was thrilling. It coursed through him for minutes. When it finally began to ease, Sir Marcus started to load the pistols.
Now that he was involved in the investigation once more, Victor Leeming was eager to take on more work. He spent the morning on the hoof, tracking down some of the people who had attended the lecture given by Gaston Chabal. It had been a largely fruitless exercise but it made him feel useful again. Instead of meeting the inspector at the Lamb and Flag, he agreed to visit Colbeck's house in John Islip Street so that they could have more privacy. Robert Colbeck's father and grandfather had been cabinetmakers with a string of wealthy clients. When he inherited the house, he also inherited examples of their work. In the drawing room where he and Leeming sat, a large cupboard, two matching cabinets and a beautiful mahogany secretaire bore the Colbeck name.
'How are you feeling today, Victor?' asked the inspector.
'Tired but happy to be so, sir.'
'You must not overdo it.'
'Knocking on a few doors is no effort,' said Leeming. 'I just wish that I had more to report. None of the four people I called on could possibly have hired Luke Rogan. You can cross them off the list.'
