Sankey Viaduct, they would no doubt all rush to the appropriate window in a body to look out over the parapet. He found it a depressing insight into human nature.
Colbeck had instructed him to travel in the last carriage. Since he could not obey the order, he decided to solve another problem that had vexed them. He swung round to face Cyril Dear again and asserted his authority.
'I'll travel in the guard's van with you,' he declared.
Dear was outraged. 'It's against the rules.'
'Is it?'
'I could never allow it, sir.'
'But you're not allowing it, Mr Dear. I'm forcing myself upon you.' He summoned up his most disarming smile. 'When we reach Liverpool, you'll have the pleasure of reporting me, won't you?'
When he was angry, the freckles on Inspector Heyford's face stood out more than ever. As he stared at the painting, they seemed to glow with a rich intensity. He turned to confront Ambrose Hooper.
'Concealing evidence is a crime,' he warned.
'But I haven't concealed it,' argued the artist. 'I've brought it to you. There it lies, for all to see.'
'A day late.'
'I can see that you are no painter, Inspector Heyford.'
'I prefer to do an honest job sir.'
'Art cannot be rushed. I had to finish the watercolour before I presented it to the public. I have my reputation to consider.'
'It remains intact,' Colbeck assured him.
'There is still the question of delay,' insisted Heyford. 'You were a witness, Mr Hooper. Yet you sneaked away from the scene of the crime. Action should be taken against you.'
'Then it should also be taken against Mrs Lewthwaite, her son and her unmarried sister, Miss Petronella Snark. They had just as good a view of the whole thing as me.'
Heyford gaped. 'Who on earth are these people?'
'I'll explain later, Inspector,' said Colbeck. 'The fact of the matter is that Mr Hooper has shown us crucial evidence that may help us to identify the dead man.'
'How?'
'He had an expensive tailor. I could see that from his trousers. In all likelihood, the name of that tailor will be sewn inside his jacket.'
'But we do not have his jacket, Inspector Colbeck.'
'We will do in due course. As for Mr Hooper, the only action that should be taken is to commend his skill as an artist and to thank him for his assistance.' He closed the portfolio. 'It's been invaluable, sir.'
'It's the least I could do for the victim,' said Hooper, tying up the ribbon. 'His loss was, after all, my gain. Like any true artist, I paint out of a compulsion but there is, alas, a commercial aspect to my work as well. As a result of the publicity surrounding this crime, my painting will fetch a much higher price.'
Heyford was scandalised. 'It should not be allowed.'
'It should,' said Colbeck. 'You deserve every penny, sir.'
Since they were in Heyford's office, Colbeck felt an obligation to let him see the painting even though the inspector did not appreciate either its quality or its significance. When the artist had left, Colbeck tried to mollify Heyford by praising the way that he had deployed his men at the railway station. The freckles slowly lost their glint though they did flare up again when Colbeck told him how Petronella Snark and her companions had come by their names.
'And what's all this about the jacket?' asked Heyford.
'I'll reclaim it from the person who stole it.'
'And who might that be?'
'A member of the Triggs family, of course,' said Colbeck. 'Before you got there, he also relieved the corpse of its shoes. Now that really is a case of withholding evidence.'
There was a tap on the door. In response to Heyford's invitation, it opened to admit Victor Leeming, drooping with fatigue. He removed his hat to wipe perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.
'What did you find out, Victor?' asked Colbeck.
'That I never wish to travel by train ever again, sir,' replied Leeming, rubbing his back. 'The journey back to Liverpool rattled every bone in my body.'
'Did you discover any witnesses in Manchester?'
'Nobody saw a thing.'
'Not even the guard?'
'No, Inspector. When the train is in motion, he always sits on the other side of the van so he saw the wrong side of the viaduct as the train passed over it yesterday. I made the fatal mistake of sharing the guard's van with him,' he went on, massaging a sore elbow. 'It's no better than a cattle truck.'
'Did he remember anything about yesterday's journey?' said Heyford. 'What about the occupants of that last carriage?'
'They could have been a tribe of man-eating pygmies, for all that he cared. The guard's only concern was that the train was on time.' Undoing his coat, he flopped into a chair. 'Do you mind if I sit down for a while? I'm aching all over.'
'I'm sorry, Victor,' said Colbeck. 'I need you to come with me.'
'Where?'
'To retrieve some stolen property. While you were away, we had an interesting development in the case.' He eased the sergeant to his feet. 'Come on – I'll tell you about it on the way.'
Leeming blenched. 'Not another train journey?'
'Two of them, I'm afraid.'
The Red Rose was moored in the canal basin. Micah Triggs sat on the bulwark of his barge and puffed contentedly on his pipe. Well into his seventies, he had a weather-beaten face and a shrunken body but he remained unduly spry for his age. Curled up in his lap, basking in the afternoon sunshine, was a mangy black cat. When he saw three figures walking towards him along the towpath, Micah stood up suddenly and catapulted the animal on to the deck. With a squeal of protest, the cat took refuge beneath the sail.
'Mr Triggs?' asked Colbeck as they got near. 'Mr Micah Triggs?'
'The same,' grunted the old man.
Colbeck introduced himself and his companions, Victor Leeming and Walter Praine. He explained that he was leading the investigation into the murder and thanked Micah for the witness statement that he had given.
'If you work on a barge,' said Micah, shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth, 'you fish all sorts of odd things out of the canal but this is the first time we found the dead body of a man.'
'Your son and grandson were with you, I believe.'
'Yes, Inspector – Enoch and Sam.'
'How tall would your son be?'
'That's a strange question. Why do you ask it?'
'Curiosity, Mr Triggs. Would he be around your height?'
'No,' replied Micah. 'Enoch is a good foot taller than me and twice as broad. Sam is shorter and has more of my build.'
'Then it's your grandson we need to speak to, sir,' said Colbeck, glancing around. 'Where might we find him?'
'What business do you have with Sam?'
'We just want to clarify something in his statement.'
Micah was suspicious. 'It takes three of you to do that?'
'I think I know where he might be, Inspector,' said Constable Praine, sensing that they would get little help from the old man. 'Most of the bargees spend their spare time in the Traveller's Rest.' He pointed to the inn further along the towpath. 'My guess is that he and his father will be in there.'
