Death on a Branch Line

by Andrew Martin

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There were now three pointing guns in the room. My own was aimed at the Chief. Two days ago, I might have asked the man’s permission before going to the jakes and now I proposed putting a bullet in him.

  ‘You’ll put that fucking gun down at once,’ he said, but he seemed to be only trying the words out for size, hardly believing they’d be heeded.

  ‘I’ll fucking not.’

  ‘I’ll fucking not, sir!’ roared the Chief.

  He took a step forward.

  He might threaten to lag me for decades now, or offer me a glass of beer by way of alternative. I stood in exactly the same relation to him as the bank’s man had on Platform Five of York station, only not quite, for as I met the Chief’s gaze I drew back the hammer of the revolver.

  ‘Now you’re threatening to put me into a baddish temper,’ said the Chief.

  ‘Between the two of you,’ I said, ‘you put a bullet in John Lambert.’

  Usher flashed a sidelong look at the Chief.

  ‘… And I can’t think of any reason why that might have been a lawful and right thing to do,’ I said.

  A long beat of silence.

  ‘I’ve told Captain Usher a good deal about you this past day or two,’ said the Chief. ‘Your ears must have been buzzing.’

  ‘It’s more than his ears that’ll be buzzing in a minute,’ said Usher, whose pale-blue right eye looked along the level of his gun barrel.

  ‘What did you tell him about me?’ I asked the Chief, indicating Usher.

  ‘That you were determined,’ said the Chief, ‘hard to put off.’

  ‘… Hard to put off, with an intact cranium,’ said Usher.

  ‘You were seen by the manservant coming back to the house with guns in your hands,’ I said. ‘Ten minutes before, two shots had been fired.’

  Another beat of silence.

  The Chief said, ‘You’ll only fire that thing once, you know – and there are two of us.’

  I said to the Chief: ‘I don’t think I’ve been properly introduced to your confederate, sir.’

  The Chief flashed a glance at Usher, who made a movement of his head that I could not interpret. Anyhow, Usher spoke next.

  ‘Why have you taken such a liking to the brothers Lambert?’ he asked, looking along the length of his gun. ‘Can you not see that one is a traitor to his country, and that the other is a member of the cult of –’

  ‘Of what, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘Of Uranus,’ said Usher, at which the Chief gave a great roar of something like fury and something like amusement, and walked three fast paces towards me with his gun still raised and ready to fire. I dashed down the revolver and he swung at me with his right fist; I swung back with my right and my left, and then he was bouncing strangely – hard bald head kept low. He was by repute a heavyweight of the rushing type, but before he could live up to that billing, I rushed at him and crowned him again, and his nose was changed by this. He came at me with his left fist raised, but it was the right that struck home, and the Chief had a very good right. A strongman might have picked me up by my boot-heels and swung my head through a full circle into an iron pole.

  After an unknown interval of time, I came up to a sitting position with a feeling of having been swimming in heavy seas, a headache and blood in my mouth. The chief was on a level with me and grinning. His nose was like a sign indicating ‘left’ to all his features and his grin seemed to be directed that way, too. His knees were raised and his arms were around his knees. He sat like a happy boy at a camp fire. The Chief liked automatic machine guns and drinking beer under a very hot sun – awkward things – and he had enjoyed our scrap.

  I looked at him, and he was all ablaze.

  ‘Go again?’ he said, like a man forty years younger. How could I have thought that he was ripe for superannuation? Behind him stood Usher, who was beyond speech, but who still had his shotgun trained on my chest. I did not fear him now, though.

  The Chief held his hand over his nose. He seemed to be trying to push it back towards the right.

  The revolver still lay on the floor, close to the lantern.

  ‘Why’d you give it up?’ the Chief said, indicating the revolver with his boot.

  ‘Because I knew the two of you were right,’ I said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About Hugh Lambert. It was something the wife said.’

  She had asked me why I did not understand the man, hinting at missing knowledge.

  ‘I knew that if you weren’t lying about his …’

  But I broke off, for the Chief was still adjusting his nose. It was somewhere about middle now but at the cost of a faster flow of blood. Usher walked forward with a silk handkerchief.

  ‘If you weren’t lying about that,’ I said, ‘then I knew you weren’t lying about not having killed John Lambert.’

  ‘I’m not sure we ever did deny it, did we, sir?’ the Chief asked Usher, who was lighting a cigarette.

  ‘I personally never deny anything,’ Usher said, shaking out the match.

  ‘But you didn’t do it,’ I said.

  ‘The limit,’ said the Chief, with the handkerchief still held at his nose, ‘the absolute fucking limit was when you said we’d taken two shots over it.’

  The Chief was shaking his head, still with the handkerchief pressed to his nose.

  ‘Why were the shots fired?’ I asked.

  ‘Two warnings,’ said the Chief. ‘… Try and stop him as he raced into the woods.’

  ‘And how is he a traitor?’

  The Chief flashed a look to Usher, who sighed and said, ‘It’s highly inconvenient that he was invited here tonight. I suppose he can sign the paper, but it’s up to you – he’s your man, and you know his qualities. By the way, do you think a whisky and soda might help that difficulty of yours, Chief Inspector?’

  The Chief rose to his feet, gathering up the revolver; he looked at me, then down at it. He raised the revolver, grinning and levelling it at me, and then with the flourish of a conjuror he made the cylinder swing out and I saw the bullet chambers – saw clean through them, in fact.

  It was not loaded.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  We were in the very long yellow room. After an interval in one of the sculleries involving the ruin of many clean towels and the emptying of most of a bottle of carbolic (both supplied by a parlourmaid), the Chief and I had stanched our wounds, and were kitted out with new, pressed white shirts, which we wore without collars, so that they looked like military tunics. I somehow hoped that they belonged to the manservant rather than any of the Lamberts. Beyond the windows, dawn was breaking, and the heat rising.

  The Chief paced with a whisky glass in his hand, but otherwise looked like a barrister in a courtroom as he indicated Usher, his chief witness or exhibit, and the hero and leader of all men not of the Hugh Lambert kind.

  His full name, not very surprisingly, was Captain Joscelin Usher – a girl’s name, in fact. And while he was known as ‘Captain’ in memory of his glorious exploits in the Royal Marines in Africa and elsewhere, he was currently employed as a detective inspector of the Special Police on commission from the Secret Service Bureau, of which accreditations he was evidently happy to carry no proofs whatever. He operated always in secrecy, but I wondered – as the Chief spoke on – whether it wouldn’t have been better for him to have carried some form of identification, instead of just looking put out whenever anyone asked who he was and what he was about. It seemed that the Chief had some connection with the intelligence division of the Army, and in turn with the Secret Service Bureau, and it had been arranged in advance that he, a trusted man, would come to Adenwold to assist Usher in his mission, which amounted to this: put the frighteners on John Lambert.

  That was not quite how the Chief put it, of course, but not far off. The two of them had certainly been willing to go as far as threatening to put John Lambert’s lights out and the matter might very well have (and might sti
ll) come to a killing, for the highest interests of the state were involved.

  John Lambert had been a very clever student indeed at Cambridge University. He had then joined the North Eastern Railway, which was a surprise move, for men of the graduate sort were only just beginning to enter railway careers in numbers. He’d quickly brought himself under notice for quickness of understanding, and by age thirty he was District Superintendent of the Traffic Department of the Eastern Area, whereas the last man in that post had been in the fifties or older.

  ‘He was then’, said the Chief, ‘taken into a special body of men selected from all the railway companies, and charged with –’

  He stopped at this and looked over at Usher, and then the Chief seemed to begin all over again, saying:

  ‘Men and arms can be carried anywhere on rail –’

  ‘And they will be, Stringer,’ Usher put in from the sofa. ‘Troops, provisions and matériel.’

  At which – as Usher leant forward and put out his cigarette – I wondered whether this ‘matériel’ was the same thing as ‘material’.

  ‘I make no predictions as to the nature of any European war,’ Usher went on, ‘but the continental railways were laid out with an eye to military considerations and German railways, for example, are owned by the state.’

  The thought seemed to agitate him to the point where he had to stand up.

  ‘They can hurl their army to any given point at a moment’s notice,’ he said, rising, ‘and we must be able to do the same. It is not necessary for you to have the full details, Stringer, but since you’ve thrust yourself forward so far, and on condition of absolute confidentiality …’

  He walked over to the nearest mantel-piece and collected his own glass of whisky which stood next to my empty one. I had downed it in a single draught, and it had been fuelling my headache ever since.

  ‘A committee was formed,’ Usher continued, ‘and provided with imperial funds to formulate working notices – schemes of transportation – to be employed in the event of an emergency.’

  ‘Meaning a war with Germany?’ I put in.

  ‘There are other, equally dangerous possibilities, Stringer.’

  ‘Such as what, sir?’

  There was a beat of silence, and then the fellow coloured up and grinned, looking almost girlish; I liked him for it, and I grinned back at him.

  ‘Imagine the complexities, Stringer,’ he went on, replacing his glass. ‘Offensive and defensive railway schemes to be created, supply depots to be nominated. The coaling of the home fleet to be accomplished – now how do you suppose that is to be managed in time of war?’

  ‘That’s to be done under heavy guard from Hull,’ said the Chief, lighting up a new cigar.

  Usher was checked for a moment by this intervention of the Chief’s, whose nose looked different again with a cigar beneath it.

  ‘The schemes are constantly tested with practice mobilisations,’ Usher continued, ‘during which ordinary services are to be carried on as far as possible. The committee men work in the offices of their own companies and at a central co-ordinating office in London. They are few in number – kept to a minimum by the requirement of absolute secrecy – and the weight of work is very great. I am told they are all very brilliant, and with intellectual brilliance comes a degree of waywardness, as I’m sure you appreciate, detective sergeant.’

  ‘Try to picture yourself as intellectually brilliant, lad,’ the Chief cut in. ‘Imagine yourself into that situation.’

  Usher caught up his whisky glass again, and sipped at it.

  ‘That said,’ he ran on, ‘John Lambert had appeared until lately to be a man of impeccable character. But his defect has been disclosed, and it takes the form of an excessive loyalty to his murdering brother.’

  ‘I don’t believe he is a murderer,’ I said.

  ‘Hugh Lambert had a liking for the country-side,’ said Usher, ignoring me, ‘but he would also spend a good deal of time in London making – well, making free.’ Usher replaced the glass once again, adding: ‘… Making free in Mayfair.’

  He was looking at me, but I had never been to Mayfair.

  ‘The long and the short of it, Stringer,’ he said, ‘is that John Lambert has tried to black-mail us – Britain, I mean. He has proposed to disclose a digest of the mobilisation notices to our enemies unless his brother is reprieved and the sentence commuted.’

  ‘He means to disclose the information to the Germans?’ I said.

  ‘If you want to put it like that, yes,’ said Usher.

  He saw off the remainder of his whisky, and sank back down into the sofa.

  ‘Has he told you who he thinks did the murder?’ I enquired.

  ‘He has not been good enough to do that,’ said Usher. ‘The limit of his contention is that his brother did not have the character to do it.’

  I nodded.

  ‘What happened to the man Gifford? Why did the train not stop? Why were the wires cut?’

  The two exchanged glances. They would ration their answers.

  ‘The wires are cut’, said the Chief, ‘because we cut ’em. Had to be done. They were newly connected to the telephone – this place and the station both.’

  ‘You see, the possibilities are three,’ said Usher. ‘One: John Lambert was merely making an idle threat. Two: he genuinely intends to pass on the scheme of mobilisation but hasn’t yet. Three: he has already done it. We have kept an eye on him here, and removed the danger of a telegram being sent that might direct the recipient to where the data is located. But Lambert has hinted that a message might be conveyed to some intermediary through no action on his part. It might be transmitted by default, do you understand?’

  I did not.

  ‘Some bugger down in London might be primed,’ put in the Chief. ‘If you don’t hear from me by such and such a time on so and so date, give the package held in locker number one at Euston station to Mr X.’

  ‘Or the middleman might have been here in the village,’ said Usher.

  ‘If that happens, then three years of concentrated brainwork is lost,’ said Usher. ‘On top of that, our enemies may prefer to act quickly, directing an invasion force to those parts appearing from the plans to be less well protected.’

  ‘You’ll see now’, said the Chief, ‘why I was a little offhand with you at the do last night.’

  I looked towards the French windows, which stood open. The heat of day was present, but the light of summer was quite missing.

  ‘We mean to lay hands on Lambert,’ said Usher. ‘A detachment of ordinary constables is coming here by motor from Malton.’

  ‘How were they summoned?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘John Lambert believed you meant to kill him,’ I said.

  Usher nodded once.

  ‘It was my own favoured solution,’ he said. ‘It seemed to have the benefit of elegance.’

  ‘Only trouble being,’ said the Chief, ‘that if we’d put his lights out, then we wouldn’t know whether the documents had been passed on or not.’

  ‘And my instructions were to employ diplomacy in the first instance,’ said Usher.

  I said, ‘Wouldn’t it have been worth reprieving Hugh Lambert to avoid all this bother?’

  ‘You’re the first person involved in this case to make such a suggestion, Detective Stringer,’ said Usher; and he evidently considered this answer enough, for he sat down again, saying, ‘That’s all, Stringer. In due course you will be required to sign a contract pursuant to a new Act of Parliament. It binds you to secrecy on pain of prosecution.’

  ‘Do you not want me to give a hand with the search?’ I asked, standing.

  Usher shook his head, and I knew why. The constables would be kept in ignorance of the reason for the search, and he thought I might give it away. He wanted me kept well clear of all developments. He’d told me as much as he had in order to satisfy my curiosity, and so remove my need to solve the puzzle of John Lambert.

  ‘Right
then,’ I said, ‘I’ll be off.’

  I took the sporting cap out of my pocket, put it on my head and walked under the steady blue gaze of Usher towards the opened French windows.

  ‘Remember, Detective Sergeant Stringer,’ Usher called out as I left, ‘absolute secrecy.’

  I stepped through the French windows, and a noise made me look to the right, where the wife crouched just beyond the last of the windows. As I approached her, she stood up and joined me just as though she’d been marketing in Coney Street, York.

  ‘You heard every word of that, I take it?’ I said.

  ‘All except the last words Usher spoke,’ she said. ‘But I think he was telling you again that the matter must not go beyond the four walls of that room.’

  She turned and gave me a grin. But it didn’t last, for the silver-haired man in the white dust-coat now stepped between us.

  ‘Back inside with you two,’ he said, in a strong Yorkshire accent that I would never have expected.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The room was in the eaves of the house. There was next to nothing in it besides a truckle bed, a locked cupboard, a table and a hairbrush that could have been a man’s or a woman’s. A photograph of a young woman stood on the tiny window-sill, and she must either have been the occupant of the room – when not in Scarborough – or the sweetheart of the occupant.

  Coming upon us late, the dust-coated special policeman – name of Cooper – had got the false idea that we’d both been eavesdropping on the Chief and Usher. But he hardly relented when the true situation was explained. He had found us to be making light of a grave national danger, and there was more than a hint in his arguments that we would try to come to the traitor’s aid. The Chief had put a word in for me, but it counted for nothing. Cooper was junior to Usher, but Usher agreed with his man, and so we were stowed at the top of the house, and the door locked behind us.

  The wife hadn’t seemed to mind too much.