Blood on the Tracks

by Martin Edwards

  ‘This coach is separate from the rest of the train, I take it?’ he said. ‘There’s no connecting corridor?’

  ‘That’s so, sir,’ said the guard, ‘as you can see. No one can pass farther than my van, which is just in front of it.’

  ‘Then get the coach uncoupled. And all passengers, please, who were in this coach must wait.’

  He entered, and we followed him along the corridor of the carriage. The stationmaster had gone off to give the necessary orders; the guard accompanied us.

  ‘Everything is as it was found, sir,’ he said. ‘After the train was stopped I travelled in this coach myself.’

  ‘Why did the train stop? I thought this was fast to Down-

  water?’

  ‘Communication cord was pulled, sir, by the reverend gentleman.’

  The Inspector nodded.

  ‘We’ll go into that later,’ he said. ‘Where’s the body?’

  For answer, the guard opened the door of the centre compartment. On the seat by the opposite window was sprawling the body of a man. One hand hung limply downwards, and on the cushion and the carpet lay an ominous red pool. A glance was sufficient to show that he was dead, and that the cause of death was a wound in the head. The window was shut; his suit-case littered up the rack; and in the opposite corner to the body a pair of wash-leather gloves was lying on the seat.

  Suddenly Ronald gave a whistle.

  ‘Good Lord!’ he cried, ‘it’s old Samuel Goldberg, the bookmaker.’

  ‘You know him?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘I’ve betted with him from time to time,’ Ronald answered. ‘But all in due course, for you’ll have to do something about this train, Grantham. Why not let it go on with a relief guard and run this coach into a siding.’

  The Inspector nodded, and a few moments later the express was speeding on her way, whilst the slip coach, with us still on board, was shunted off the main line.

  ‘Yes—I knew him, Grantham,’ said Ronald. ‘He was a bookmaker and quite a decent fellow. Great Scott! What’s that mess?’

  He was studying the woodwork of the door with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Why—it’s the remains of a raw egg! Here are bits of the shell on the carpet. And there’s the place it hit the door. What an extraordinary thing to find in a railway carriage. Did you notice it, guard, when you came in?’

  ‘Can’t say as ’ow I did, sir. I was so worried and bemused that I didn’t think of little things like that. When I sees there was nothing to be done for the poor gentleman I just shut the door again and started the train off after telling the driver to stop her here.’

  ‘And you shut the window, too?’

  ‘No, sir. The window was shut already. Both the window and the door was shut when I got here.’

  ‘I think we’d better start our investigation, Mr Standish,’ said the Inspector. ‘We can come back again later to the body. Pull down the blinds’—he turned to the stationmaster—‘and lock the carriage up. No one is to enter it.’

  We found the other occupants of the coach pacing about the platform. The young man had joined up with the clergyman and his wife; the irascible military man was fuming visibly.

  ‘I hope you’ll hurry this business as much as possible,’ he cried irritably. ‘I’m judging hounds this afternoon, and I shall be late. I may say that I knew nothing about it till the train was stopped.’

  ‘Quite, sir, quite,’ said the Inspector soothingly. ‘But in view of the fact that a man has been found dead in circumstances which preclude natural causes, you will appreciate that I must make inquiries. Now, sir,’ he turned to the clergyman, ‘I understand that it was you who pulled the communication cord and stopped the train. Presumably, therefore, it was you who first discovered the body. Will you tell me all you know? First—your name, please.’

  ‘I am the Reverend John Stocker,’ said the old man, ‘of the parish of Meston, not far from here. And really I fear I can tell you but little of this terrible affair. I was reading in my carriage—’

  ‘Which compartment did you occupy, Mr Stocker?’

  ‘Let me see—which was it, my love?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘The third-class one—two away,’ she answered promptly.

  ‘Please proceed,’ said the Inspector, making a note.

  ‘It so chanced,’ continued the clergyman, ‘that I happened to glance out of the window at a passing train. It was travelling in the same direction as ourselves, at about the same speed, on the next line. I watched it idly, as we very slowly overtook it, when suddenly, to my amazement, I saw some people in the train beckoning to me. They were shouting and pointing, and though, of course, I could not hear what they said, it seemed to me by their agitation that something must be wrong, and that whatever that something was, it was in our train. So I got up and walked along the corridor to find, to my horror, the body of that unfortunate man.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘I pulled the communication cord.’

  ‘Did you go into the carriage?’

  ‘No, I did not. The door was shut, and the sight had unnerved me.’

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘This gentleman’—he indicated the hound judge—‘came out from his compartment at the other end of the carriage, and I called to him. He came at once, and I showed him what had happened. By that time, of course, the train was slowing up.’

  ‘Quite correct,’ barked the other. ‘I went—’

  ‘One moment, sir, if you please,’ said the Inspector. ‘Your name?’

  ‘Blackton—Major Blackton. Late of the Gunners.’

  ‘Now, sir. When you saw the dead man what did you do?’

  ‘Opened the door, and went in to make certain, though, when you’ve seen as many men shot through the head as I have, it was obvious to me at first sight that he was beyond aid.’

  ‘Did you shut the window?’

  ‘No, sir, I did not. The window was already shut. I noticed it particularly, because I remember thinking to myself what an extraordinary thing it was that a man should be travelling with both door and window shut on a hot day like this.’

  The Inspector nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Any more you’d like to say, sir?’

  ‘Naturally, my first thought,’ continued Major Blackton, ‘was that it was a case of suicide.’

  ‘Why naturally?’

  ‘Damme, man. I hadn’t shot the feller, and it wasn’t likely the padre had, and at that time I thought we were the only people in the coach. However, when I found no sign of any weapon on the floor or the seat I realised it couldn’t be suicide. That wound caused instantaneous death, or I’m no judge of such matters, so that by no human possibility could he have got rid of the gun.’

  Once again the Inspector nodded.

  ‘You said, sir,’ he remarked after a pause, ‘that at that time you thought you were the only people on the coach. When did you find you weren’t?’

  ‘Just before the train stopped, when that young man joined us in the corridor. And it seems to me that he might be able to tell you something, because he’d been talking to the dead man.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because he said so. “Good God!” he said, “what’s happened? I was only talking to him ten minutes ago.” Then he had another look and said: “What on earth has he done that for?” And by that time the train had stopped and the guard took charge.’

  He glanced at his watch.

  ‘That’s positively all I can tell you, Inspector, so with your permission I’ll get away.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said the Inspector quietly, ‘but at the present juncture that is quite impossible. You don’t seem to realise,’ he continued a little sternly, ‘that a man has, so far as we know, just been murdered under conditions that render it impera
tive that the other occupants of the coach should place themselves unreservedly at the disposal of the police. Other points may arise over which I shall want to see you later. And now, before I interrogate the other gentleman, there is one further question. Did either of you two gentlemen hear the sound of a shot?’

  ‘I certainly didn’t,’ said Major Blackton, ‘but then I was at the far end of the coach.’

  ‘I didn’t, either.’ The clergyman glanced at his wife. ‘Did you, my love?’

  She shook her head decidedly.

  ‘I heard nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Thank you, madam.’ He beckoned to the young man. ‘Now, sir, will you tell me what you know of this affair? First—your name.’

  ‘Carter—Harry Carter.’

  ‘Did you know the dead man?’

  ‘I did,’ said Carter quietly.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Samuel Goldberg.’

  ‘Had you spoken to him since leaving London?’

  ‘I had a long talk with him. That’s what made it so amazing, because he seemed his usual self when I left his compartment.’

  The Inspector consulted his notebook.

  ‘You said to Major Blackton: “What on earth has he done that for?” or words to that effect. What did you mean by that remark?’

  Carter stared at him.

  ‘Just what I said. I couldn’t make out why he should commit suicide.’

  ‘Why should you assume it was suicide?’

  Carter stared at him even harder.

  ‘What else could it have been? Unless it was an accident.’

  ‘It was neither suicide nor an accident, Mr Carter. Goldberg was murdered.’

  ‘Murdered? But who by?’

  ‘That is what we are endeavouring to find out. Now, Mr Carter, am I to understand that you didn’t hear Major Blackton and the guard talking in the corridor after the train started again and saying it was murder?’

  ‘I did not, and for a very good reason. I returned almost at once to my own compartment to try and think out how this very unexpected development was going to affect me.’

  The Inspector stopped writing and glanced at Standish. Then he looked steadily at Carter.

  ‘Mr Carter,’ he said gravely, ‘it is my duty to say one thing to you. We are investigating a case of murder, and everything points to the fact that the murderer was one of the people who travelled from London in that slip coach. You need not tell me anything that might, in certain eventualities, incriminate you.’

  Carter stared at him in amazement.

  ‘Good God!’ he burst out at length, ‘you aren’t suggesting that I had anything to do with it?’

  ‘I am suggesting nothing,’ answered the Inspector shortly. ‘I am merely pointing out your possible future position. And having done so I will now ask you in what way Goldberg’s death could affect you? You need not answer if you don’t wish to.’

  ‘But, of course, I wish to. I’ve got nothing to hide. I owed him money, and I was wondering whether his suicide—as I then thought it was—would wipe out this debt.’

  ‘Had your discussion with him previously concerned this debt?’

  ‘It had,’ said Carter.

  ‘Was it an acrimonious interview?’ asked the Inspector mildly.

  ‘Well, when you ask your bookie not to press for payment and he cuts up rough, it’s not very pleasant.’

  ‘And it terminated some ten minutes before you found that Goldberg had, as you thought, committed suicide?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘May I ask how much was the sum involved?’

  ‘A thousand pounds.’

  Inspector Grantham tapped his teeth with his pencil.

  ‘One final question, Mr Carter. Did you know that Goldberg was going to travel by this train?’

  ‘I hadn’t an idea of it until I found him in the same coach.’

  The inspector rose and closed his notebook with a snap.

  ‘That is all for the present,’ he said, and then, for the first time, Ronald spoke.

  ‘I should like to ask you two or three other questions, Mr Carter. When you had your interview with Goldberg, did you sit by the door?’

  ‘I did—in the opposite corner to him. By Jove! Now I come to think of it, I’ve left my gloves there!’

  ‘Was the window open?’

  Carter thought for a moment.

  ‘It was: wide.’

  ‘And the door?’

  ‘Shut.’

  ‘Now, Mr Carter, I want you to think carefully. Did he throw a raw egg at you?’

  Carter stared at Ronald with a look of utter amazement, which changed to an angry flush.

  ‘Are you trying to be funny? Because, if so, it seems to me neither the time nor the place. A raw egg? Why the devil should he throw one at me?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ronald. ‘Why the devil should he? Well, Grantham, what do you propose to do now?’

  The Inspector, who had frowned slightly at Ronald’s last question, again took charge.

  ‘I’m afraid I must request you three gentlemen, and you, too, madam, to remain here for a little while yet. I know, sir, I know about your hound show, but this is even more important. Guard—come with me. And you too, Mr Standish—if you care to.’

  We returned to the slip coach and the guard unlocked the door. Then, leaving him on the platform, we entered the carriage.

  ‘What do you make of it, Mr Standish?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘At the moment, Grantham, remarkably little,’ said Ronald. ‘There are one or two very strange features about the case. Have you come to any conclusion yourself?’

  ‘Only to the obvious one that Goldberg was murdered by someone who was in this coach. Further than that I would not care to go, though it would be idle to deny that of the four occupants the most likely is Carter. Of course, it is possible that there was someone else in the carriage who escaped when the train stopped, but there are two grave difficulties to put up against that theory. First, it was the clergyman who pulled the communication cord. Surely, the murderer would have done it himself. And even if he didn’t, but had seized on this unlooked-for chance of escaping, he would have been bound to be seen by people in the train. I mean, one knows that when a train stops unexpectedly everyone’s head goes out of the window.’

  ‘And what about the egg?’ remarked Ronald thoughtfully.

  ‘Confound the egg!’ cried Grantham irritably. ‘You’ve got it on the brain.’

  ‘I have,’ agreed Ronald, unperturbed. ‘But before we go any farther, let us examine the compartment thoroughly again.’

  I watched them from the corridor for ten minutes, and at the end of that time the Inspector came out and joined me.

  ‘Nothing of value; no trace of any weapon.’

  ‘And no trace of any more eggs,’ said Ronald. ‘Now, don’t get angry, Inspector. I’m not fooling. But when an extremely bizarre fact intrudes itself on one it is advisable not to overlook it. Now, have you ever heard of a man carrying one raw egg about with him? Frequently have I known people to take half a dozen or even three in a paper bag, but not one. There isn’t even a paper bag. Was he, then, carrying this solitary egg in his hand or in his pocket? However, let us go on a little further. Assuming for the moment that he had got this one egg, why did he throw it at the door? It seems a strange pastime.’

  ‘Your second point is easier to answer than your first,’ said the Inspector. ‘Goldberg was unarmed, and when he looked up and saw the murderer standing in the carriage he threw the first thing at him that came to hand.’

  ‘This solitary egg.’ Ronald stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Was he holding it, studying its beauty? Or was it on the seat beside him? However, perhaps I am over-stressing the point. Where are you off to now?’
>
  ‘To get on with the case, Mr Standish,’ answered the Inspector tersely. ‘I don’t know how or why that egg got there, but I do know that that man was murdered. Almost certainly the murderer flung the weapon out of the window, but it is just possible he did not. So my first move will be to search the baggage of the four people I have detained.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Ronald quietly. ‘Have I your permission to wait here a little longer? There are one or two more points I would like to look into, and I will, of course, pass on anything I find to you.’

  With a faint smile the Inspector departed and Ronald turned to me.

  ‘There’s something very rum, Bob—very rum indeed about this affair. Apart from the egg, who shut the window? Did Goldberg, after Carter had left him? Did the murderer, either before or after he’d done it? Or is Carter lying? I don’t think he is.’

  Ronald was talking half to himself.

  ‘To place too much reliance on faces is dangerous, but I don’t think he is. His evidence has the ring of truth. And I ask you—would he have left his gloves here if he’d done it?’

  He went back into the compartment and stood staring round.

  ‘The clergyman—what about him? And our military friend? As things are, the clergyman is the more likely, as the other had to pass the door to get to this compartment. Moreover, we only have the clergyman’s word that he saw people beckoning to him from the other train. It’s unlikely, of course, but it’s conceivable that he, too, was in debt to Goldberg, and has staged a pretty piece of acting the innocent after killing him. Means his wife is in collusion with him, but stranger things have happened. But it’s that damned egg that beats me.’

  ‘Well, old boy,’ I said, ‘I admit it’s very peculiar, as you say, but it seems to me we’ve got to accept it as a fact that Goldberg was in possession of one raw egg. I mean, it isn’t likely the murderer came with an egg in one hand and a gun in the other.’

  Ronald spun round and stared at me.

  ‘Great Scott! Bob,’ he cried, ‘I believe—’

  He broke off abruptly, and dashed into the next compartment, where he opened and shut the window several times, while I looked on in blank amazement. What on earth there was in my semi-jocular remark that had caused this activity was beyond me, but I knew better than to ask. And then he returned to the scene of the murder, and kneeling down on the floor by the door he examined the sticky mess of shell and yolk on the carpet.