Murder on the Brighton Express (25 page)

He hurled the trunk with all his strength. Had it struck him, Colbeck would have been knocked off the train altogether. As it was, he ducked beneath the missile and let it go past his head. Before Jamieson could pick up another piece of luggage, Colbeck leapt on to the next carriage and tackled him around the legs. As he fell backwards, Jamieson’s head struck the edge
of another trunk and he was momentarily stunned. Colbeck seized his advantage, getting on top of him and pummelling away with both fists. The black beard was soon stained with blood.

Jamieson fought back, writhing and bucking until he managed to dislodge Colbeck. The two of them were now perilously close to the edge of the roof, grappling wildly as they tried to get the upper hand. Jamieson was strong, doing all he could to force Colbeck off the train and send him to certain death. For his part, the detective wanted to capture his man alive. He had already lost Chiffney under the wheels of a locomotive. He was determined that a train would not rob him of another arrest.

As they wrestled among the items of luggage, some of them were knocked off the roof and bounced on the adjacent track. Colbeck did not wish to join them. Jamieson went for his neck, using both thumbs to press down hard in an effort to strangle him. Colbeck responded at once, getting a hand under the other man’s chin and pushing it up with all his energy until Jamieson’s head was forced so far back that he had to release his grip on Colbeck’s neck.

Before he could get another hold on his adversary, Jamieson was thrown sideways by Colbeck then swiftly mounted. Though he punched him time and again in the face, Colbeck could not subdue him completely. He chose another way to bring the encounter to a decisive end. Rising to his feet, he grabbed a trunk and lifted it high with both hands. When Jamieson tried to get up, Colbeck brought the heavy object crashing down on his head. It knocked him senseless. Jamieson did not feel the handcuffs as they were put on his wrists.

The fight had taken place during the short journey to Burgess Hill station. When the train lurched to a halt, Leeming got out and came running along the platform. He was astounded to see Colbeck standing on the roof of the train with Jamieson lying beside him.

‘Ah, there you are, Victor,’ said Colbeck, gratefully. ‘I’m glad you came. I need a hand with this luggage.’

Captain Harvey Ridgeon accepted that he had made a serious error. As soon as he heard the news, he took a cab to Scotland Yard. Colbeck and Leeming were in the superintendent’s office to hear the Inspector General of Railways offer a gracious apology. It was accepted by Tallis without even a tinge of bitterness.

‘We have one consolation, Captain Ridgeon,’ he said. ‘The villain served in Her Majesty’s navy – at least he was not an army man!’

‘Soldiers can also make terrible mistakes,’ admitted Ridgeon. ‘I happen to be one of them. Unlike Captain Jamieson, however, I’m able to learn from it.’ He turned to Colbeck. ‘I think I can guarantee that I’ll never again question the judgement of the Railway Detective.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘I shall be writing to Mrs Pike to make it clear that her husband was in no way responsible for that crash.’

‘I think she’ll appreciate that, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Tallis, ‘but I doubt if she’ll be pleased to learn that the real cause of that disaster lay in the sexual peccadilloes of the Rector of St Dunstan’s. He seems to have led endless women astray.’

‘Captain Jamieson’s wife was one of them,’ noted Colbeck.
‘The lady spent the night with him in London then returned on the Brighton Express the following day. It’s the reason why that particular train occupied Jamieson’s mind. He knew that Mr Follis travelled on it every Friday, returning from his latest adventure in London. Since the express had come to symbolise his wife’s infidelity, Jamieson wanted to destroy both the train and one of its passengers.’

‘With no thought for all the others on that train,’ said Leeming.

‘Captain Jamieson will have an appointment with the hangman,’ decreed Tallis. ‘If it were left to me, a certain clergyman should dangle beside him. The rector should not go unpunished.’

‘Oh,’ said Colbeck, ‘I think you’ll find that he’s been adequately punished, sir. His ministry is over and he’ll leave Brighton with his reputation in tatters.’

‘Don’t forget that he was shot as well,’ Leeming reminded them. ‘His shoulder will never be the same again.’

‘That’s only a physical wound, Victor. The mental scars will never heal. Mr Follis was stricken with guilt when he realised the pain and misery his actions had indirectly caused. Imagine how he must feel about the way that Mrs Jamieson was treated by her husband,’ Colbeck went on. ‘That was Mr Follis’s doing and he’s accepted the full blame.’

‘How ever did he attract so many women?’ wondered Leeming.

‘Let’s have no crude speculation, Sergeant,’ warned Tallis. ‘This case is revolting enough without adding salacious details.’ He sat back in his chair and eyed his cigar box ‘Now that Captain Ridgeon has tendered his apology, I should like to talk to him alone. You and the inspector are free to go.’

Sensing that the two men were about to trade reminiscences of army life, Colbeck opened the door and left the room. Leeming was on his heels. ‘There’s one good thing to come out of this,’ he said, happily. ‘Now that we’ve solved the case, I’ll be able to spend Sunday at home, after all.’

‘Not necessarily, Victor.’

‘Surely you don’t expect me to work on Estelle’s birthday, sir?’

No,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I suggest that you might not wish to stay at home.’ He took something from his pocket. ‘The railway company was so delighted with our efforts that they gave me these – four first class return tickets for the Brighton Express on Sunday. Overcome your dislike of rail travel,’ he urged, handing the tickets to Leeming. ‘Give your dear wife an additional birthday present and take the whole family to the seaside for the day.’

Knowing that he would call that evening, Madeleine Andrews had taken the trouble to put on her best dress. There was no danger that her father would interrupt them. Now that the Railway Detective had been vindicated, Andrews could go for a drink after work and lord it over those who had dared to criticise his friend. He would not be back for hours. Madeleine listened for the sound of a cab but it never came. Instead, she heard, in due course, an authoritative knock on the front door. When she opened it, Colbeck was beaming at her.

‘I thought you’d come by cab,’ she said, ushering him in.

‘I did,’ he replied, taking her in his arms to kiss her. ‘It dropped me off at the Round House. I wanted to take a look inside it before I came on here. I walked the rest of the way.’

‘Then you’ve come from one Round House to another. I
finished my painting of it earlier today so you’ll be able to compare it with the real one.’

Colbeck crossed to the easel. One arm around her waist, he gazed intently at her work, admiring its colour and its completeness. A locomotive was in the process of being turned in the way he had just seen happen in real life. Madeleine’s painting had the accuracy of a photograph combined with an artistic vitality that was striking.

‘It’s remarkable,’ he said, seriously, ‘quite remarkable.’

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘You must have been inspired.’

‘I was, Robert,’ she replied. ‘I drew inspiration from the fact that it’s going to a very good home.’

‘Why – have you sold it already?’

‘It’s a gift to one of my patrons. I hope you enjoy looking at it.’

Colbeck gaped. ‘It’s for
me
?’ he said, laughing in delight. ‘Thank you so much, Madeleine. I’ll cherish the gift. It’s a pity that I didn’t have this turntable with me in Brighton. It might have prompted me to solve the case much sooner.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘There’s no need why you should. All you need to know is that I’m thrilled with the painting. I’ve had so much pleasure looking at the picture of the
Lord of the Isles
you gave me. I see it every day.’ He gestured at her latest work. ‘This is another wonderful example of what you can do when you pick up a paint brush.’

‘There is one condition, Robert,’ she warned.

‘What sort of condition?’

‘You can have your turntable in the Round House if I can have an explanation of why you weren’t surprised that the
Reverend Follis asked me to read a particular passage from the Bible.’ She crossed to the bookshelf. ‘Shall I find it for you?’

‘There’s no need Madeleine,’ he said. ‘Leave your Bible where it is. I know that chapter from Corinthians very well. “
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the
greatest of these is charity
.” Did I get it right?’

‘You quoted it word for word.’

‘That depends on the translation you use because one of those words is the key to the entire chapter. The word is “charity”. Change it to its true meaning of “love” and you’ll perhaps understand why Mr Follis wanted it read to him by a beautiful young woman.’

Madeleine was uneasy. ‘I’m not certain that I like that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m sure that he had no impure thoughts inside his church. He reserved those for elsewhere. Instead of treating the word in its widest sense, embracing all forms of love, the rector saw only its more physical aspects. When I confronted him about his transgressions, he told me that they were crimes of passion.’

‘I’m surprised that you left me alone with the man.’

‘You were in no danger, Madeleine,’ he said, ‘especially when you were on consecrated ground. And at that point, of course, I was unaware of how unholy his private life actually was. I took you to Brighton to confirm my suspicion that Ezra Follis was far more interested in women than someone in his position ought to be.’

‘I wish you’d told me that beforehand, Robert.’

‘It was better if you had no preconceptions. That’s why I was so interested to see what your reaction to him was.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s taught me one lesson. I’ll be a lot more careful when somebody asks me to read from the Bible
again.’

He smiled broadly. ‘Does that include me?’

‘You’re the exception, Robert,’ she said, kissing him softly. ‘I’ll read anything you ask me.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he told her, taking a gold-edged card from his inside pocket. ‘I’d like you to read this.’

She was amazed. ‘It’s an invitation to the opening of an exhibition at the National Gallery,’ she said, reading the card and gasping with joy. ‘I’ll be able to meet some famous artists.’

‘I’ll have the most accomplished one of all on my arm,’ said Colbeck, proudly. He lifted the painting off the easel. ‘How many of them could bring a steam locomotive to life like this? Precious few, I daresay.’ He regarded the painting with a fond smile. ‘Perhaps we should take it along with us to show them how it’s done.’

E
DWARD
M
ARSTON
was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over thirty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and the theatre and is a former chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association. Prolific and highly successful, he is equally at home writing children’s books or literary criticism, plays or biographies.

www.edwardmarston.com

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Murder on the Brighton Express

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Railway to the Grave

Blood on the Line

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Fire and Sword

Under Siege