'Timothy Dowd,' said Mulryne, lapsing back into his days as a constable, 'I'm arresting you on a charge of attempted burglary.'
'You double-crossing bastard!' howled Dowd.
But it was the last thing he was able to say because Mulryne tightened his hold and squeezed all the breath out of him. Kilfoyle came running to see what had caused all the commotion. When he burst in, he almost tripped over Shannon's body.
'What happened to Pierce?' he demanded, bending over his friend. 'Who hit him?'
'I did,' replied Mulryne, triumphantly. 'He'll be out for ages, Liam. I caught him a beauty.'
Kilfoyle let out a roar of anger and pulled out a knife. Before he could move towards Mulryne, however, Colbeck stepped out to block his way. Kilfoyle waved his knife threateningly.
'Who the fuck are you?'
'The man who's here to disarm you,' said Colbeck, hitting him on the wrist with his club and making him drop his weapon. 'You must be Liam Kilfoyle.'
'What of it it?'
'I'm a friend of Victor Leeming.'
'That dirty, treacherous, lying cunt!'
'He asked me to pass on a message,' said Colbeck, tossing the club aside so that he could use his fists. 'Attacking people from behind is unfair. This is how you should do it.'
He pummelled away at Kilfoyle face and body, forcing him back by the sheer power of his attack. The Irishman tried to fight back at first but he was soon using both hands to protect himself. When Colbeck caught him on the nose, Kilfoyle stumbled back into the arms of Superintendent Tallis as the latter came into the office.
'Have we got them all?' asked Tallis, holding his man tight.
'Hello there, sir,' said Mulryne, effusively, as if encountering a favourite long-lost relative. 'How wonderful it is to see you again, Superintendent, even if it is on foreign soil. Forgive me if I don't shake hands but Timothy here needs holding.'
'How many of you were there, Brendan?' said Colbeck.
'Five, including me.'
'We've three of them here – that leaves one.'
'He was caught as well,' said Tallis. 'We've got the whole gang.'
'And you saved me the trouble of trying to pick up this bleeding safe,' said Mulryne, giving it a kick. 'It weighs three ton at least.'
'It shouldn't.' Colbeck picked up the fallen lantern and walked across to the safe. He opened the door to show that it was completely empty. 'Thanks to your warning, Brendan, we took the precaution of removing everything of value out of it.'
The interrogation took place in Thomas Brassey's office. It was obvious that Kilfoyle, Dowd and Murphy had no idea who had sponsored their work from England. They were mere underlings who obeyed orders from Pierce Shannon. Accordingly, the three of them were taken away and held in custody. On the following morning, they would be handed over to the French police. Shannon sat in a circle of light provided by a number of oil lamps. Colbeck and Mulryne were present but it was Edward Tallis who insisted on interrogating their prisoner. Hands behind his back, he stood over Shannon.
'Who paid you?' he asked.
'Nobody,' replied the other, rubbing his aching jaw.
'Don't lie to me. Somebody suborned you. Somebody told you to bring this railway to a halt. Who was it?'
'Nobody.'
'So you did everything of your own volition, did you?'
'What's that mean?'
'That it was all your own idea, Pierce,' explained Mulryne.
'Yes, that's right.'
'So why did you do it?' said Tallis.
Shannon gave a defiant grin. 'Fun.'
'Fun? Is it your notion of fun to cause extensive damage to the property of the man who is employing you? Is it your notion of fun to put the thousands of men on this site out of work?'
'Yes.'
'He's a bleeding liar, sir,' said Mulryne.
'Keep out of this,' ordered Tallis.
'But I know the truth. Liam told me. That's Liam Kilfoyle. He's the scrawny one that fell into your arms like an amorous woman when you came in here. Liam reckons this man met up with Pierce and offered him money to wreck this railway – a lot of money. Enough to let them all retire.'
'And who was this man?'
'Liam didn't know.' He pointed at Shannon. 'But he does.'
'Shut your gob!' snarled Shannon.
Mulryne laughed. 'Compliments pass when the quality meet.'
'If I'd known you were a fucking traitor, I'd have killed you.'
'You're in no position to kill anyone,' Tallis reminded him. 'Now stop playing games and answer my questions. Who paid you and why did he want this railway to be abandoned? He's the man who dragged you into all this? Do you want him to get off scot-free?'
'Yes,' said Shannon.
'Who paid you, man?'
'Nobody.'
'Tell me, damn you!'
'I just did.'
'Give me a name.'
'Pierce Shannon. Would you like another? Queen Victoria.'
'I'd like you to tell me the truth.'
'I have.'
'Who is behind all this?'
'Nobody.'
Shannon was beginning to enjoy the situation. Resentful at being caught, and infuriated by Mulryne's part in his capture, he was at least getting some pleasure out of frustrating Tallis. No matter how hard the superintendent pressed him, he would volunteer nothing that could be remotely helpful. Tallis kept firing questions at him with growing vexation. Eventually, Colbeck stepped in.
'Perhaps I could take over, sir,' he suggested.
'It's like trying to get blood from a stone,' said Tallis.
'Then let me relieve you.'
'If you wish.'
Tallis withdrew reluctantly to a corner of the room and watched.
Colbeck brought a chair and placed it directly in front of Shannon. He sat down so that he was very close to him.
'When I first came to France,' he told Shannon, 'I brought my assistant with me – Sergeant Victor Leeming.'
'I knew he was a bleeding copper,' said the other with derision. 'I could smell him. I enjoyed beating him up.'
'I'm glad you mention beating someone up because that's the subject I was just about to raise with you. Would you describe your friends – Kilfoyle, Dowd and Murphy – as violent men?'
'They're Irish – they like a decent brawl.'
'The same goes for me,' said Mulryne, happily.
'I'm only interested in Mr Shannon's friends,' said Colbeck. 'At least, they're his friends at the moment. That, of course, may not last.'
Shannon was guarded. 'What are you on about?'
'The contents of your pockets.'
'Eh?'
'When we searched you earlier, you were carrying a large amount of money. A very large amount, as it happens. Where did it come from, Mr Shannon?'
'That's my business.'
'No,' said Colbeck, 'it's our business as well. And it's certainly the business of your three friends. We searched them as well, you see, and they had substantially less money on them. Even allowing for the fact that they had spent some of it on drink, they were clearly paid far less than you for any work that they did.' He turned to Mulryne. 'How much were you paid for tipping over those wagons?'
'A week's wages,' replied Mulryne.
'Mr Shannon had over two years' wages in his pocket, Brendan. Unless, that is, Mr Brassey has been particularly philanthropic. What this all indicates to me is that one person held on to most of the money he'd been paid while the other three were deprived of their fair share. That's robbery. What do you think the others would do to Mr Shannon if they knew the truth?'
'Break every bleeding bone in his body, Inspector.'
'That's the least they'd do, I should imagine.'
'I earned that money,' insisted Shannon. 'I had the brains to plan things. The others are all fucking boneheads.'
'I'll pass on that charming description of their mental powers when I talk to them,' said Colbeck, smoothly, 'and I must thank you for admitting tha
t you were, after all, paid by someone else.' He flicked a glance at Tallis. 'Our first trickle of blood from the stone.'
Shannon sat up. 'I'm not saying another fucking word.'
'Then you're throwing away any hope of defending yourself. When we hand you over to the French police, you'll be charged under their law and in their language. When you get into court,' Colbeck went on, 'you won't understand a single word of what's going on so you'll be unable to offer anything by way of mitigation.'
'What's that?'
'It's a way of shortening the sentence you're likely to get. If you claim – as you did earlier – that everything that happened was your idea, then you'll face several years in prison. If, on the other hand, you were simply obeying someone else's orders – and if you tell us who that someone is – your sentence might be less severe. In fact, I'd make a point of telling the French police how helpful you've been.'
'And he'd tell them in French,' said Mulryne, proudly. 'He speaks the lingo. Doesn't he, Superintendent?'
'Yes,' said Tallis.
'What about you, sir? Do you speak French?'
'I'd never let it soil my lips.'
'To sum up,' said Colbeck, bestowing a bland smile on Shannon, 'it's a pity that you've elected to hold your tongue. You might need it to plead for mercy when we lock you up with your friends and tell them about the monetary arrangements you decided upon. When you get to court, however,' he went on, 'you can talk all you like to no effect because they won't bother to hire interpreters for someone who was caught red-handed committing a crime. Expect a long sentence, Mr Shannon – after your friends have finished with you, that is.' He stood up. 'Let's take him over there, Brendan.'
'With pleasure,' said Mulryne.
'Wait!' cried Shannon, as they each laid a hand on him. 'There was someone who put us up to this.'
'Now we're getting somewhere,' said Colbeck.
'But I don't know his name.'
'Do you expect us to believe that?'
'It's true, Inspector – I'd swear on the fucking gospel.'
'There's no need for blasphemy!' shouted Tallis. 'Keep a civil tongue in your head.'
'You must have known who this man was,' said Colbeck. 'How did he get in touch with you in the first place?'
'I was in a police cell,' admitted Shannon. 'Only for a week or so. There was an affray at a tavern in Limehouse and I got caught up in it by mistake. Anyway, this man read about it in the paper and saw that I was a navvy. He came to see me and asked me if I'd ever worked for Tom Brassey. That's how it all started.'
'Go on,' invited Colbeck.
'He tested me out then decided I might be his man.'
'What name did he give?'
'None at all,' said Shannon, 'but I did hear one of the coppers calling him "Luke" – you know, as if they were friends. I called him by that name once and he swore blue murder at me.'
'How did he pay you?'
'He waited until I'd got a job with Mr Brassey and settled in here. Then he told me what to do first so that I could prove myself. Once I'd done that,' said Shannon, 'he paid me the first half of the money so that I'd have enough to take on people I could trust.'
'And cheat easily,' said Mulryne.
'It's their own bleeding fault for being so stupid.'
Colbeck's ears pricked up. 'You say that you had the first half of the money?' Shannon nodded. 'When would you get the other half?'
'When we brought the railway to a standstill.'
'But how would you get in touch with Luke?'
'He gave me an address in London,' said Shannon. 'I was to leave a message there, saying what we'd done. Once he could confirm it, he promised to leave the second half of the money for me to collect it. And – as God's my witness – that's the fucking truth!'
'We'll need that address,' said Colbeck.
'As long as you don't tell the others about the money.'
'We don't bargain with criminals,' said Tallis.
'It's a reasonable request, sir,' Colbeck pointed out, 'and, now that he appreciates the predicament that he's in, Mr Shannon has been admirably cooperative. Some reward is in order, I believe.'
'Thanks,' said Shannon with great relief.
'We'll need that address, mind you.'
'I'll give it to you, Inspector.'
'There you are, Superintendent,' said Mulryne, hands on his hips. 'You should have let the Inspector question him from the start. He's a genius at getting blood from a bleeding stone.'
Luke Rogan was working in his office when he heard the doorbell ring insistently. He looked out of the front window to see Sir Marcus Hetherington standing there while a cab waited for him at the kerb. Rogan was surprised. The only place they ever met was in the privacy of the Reform Club. If he had come to the office, Sir Marcus must have something of prime importance to discuss. Rogan hurried along the passageway and opened the door. Sweeping in without a word, Sir Marcus went into the office and waited for Rogan to join him.
'What's the matter, Sir Marcus?' asked Rogan.
'This,' said the other, thrusting a newspaper at him. 'This is what is the matter, Rogan. Look at the second page.'
'Why?'
'Just do as I say.'
'Very well, Sir Marcus.'
Rogan opened the newspaper and scanned the second page. He soon realised why his visitor had come. What he was looking at was a report of the arrest of four men who were accused of trying to disrupt work on the railway that was being built between Mantes and Caen. Rogan recognised one of the names – that of Pierce Shannon – and assumed that the others were his accomplices. The name that really jumped up at him, however, was not that of the prisoners but of the man who had helped to capture them.
'Inspector Colbeck!' he gasped.
'Read the last paragraph,' instructed Sir Marcus. 'The much-vaunted Railway Detective believes that he now has evidence that will lead him to the person or persons responsible for the murder of Gaston Chabal. In short,' he said, hitting the top of the desk hard with his cane, 'evidence that points to you and me.'
'But that's impossible!'
'So you assured me.'
'Shannon didn't even know my name.'
'He's obviously told them enough to steer them towards you.'
'He couldn't have, Sir Marcus.'
'Then how do you explain this report?'
'Colbeck is bluffing,' said Rogan, trying to convince himself. 'He's done this before. He pretends to be in possession of more information than he really has in the hope of making someone fly into a panic and give themselves away.'
'The newspaper certainly gave me a sense of panic,' confessed Sir Marcus. 'My wife thought I was having a heart attack when I read that – and I almost did.'
'He knows nothing, Sir Marcus.'
'Then how did he manage to arrest four men in France?'
'Pure luck.'
'Colbeck never relies on luck. He believes in a combination of tenacity and cold logic. He's been quoted to that effect more than once. I do not want his tenacity and logic to lead him to me.'
'That's out of the question, Sir Marcus.'
'Is it?'
'I'm the only person that knows you were my client.'
'Do you keep records?' asked the other, glancing down at the desk. 'Do you have an account book with my name in it?'
'Of course not. I know how to be discreet.'
'I hope so, Rogan.'
'Colbeck will not get within a mile of us.'
'What can he possibly have found out?'
'Nothing of value.'
'He must have squeezed something out of those Irishmen.'
'Shannon was the only one I had dealings with. The others don't even know that I exist. And all that Shannon can do is to give them a rough description of me.' Rogan showed snaggly teeth in a grin. 'That means he'd be describing thousands of men who look just like me.'
Sir Marcus relaxed slightly. He removed his top hat and sat down on a chair, resting his cane against a wall. Rogan t
ook the unspoken hint and went to a small cupboard. Taking out a bottle of whisky, he poured two glasses and handed one to his visitor.
'Thank you,' said the old man, tasting the whisky. 'I'd hoped to toast our success but our plans have obviously gone awry.'
'We can try against at a later date, Sir Marcus.'
'This was our chance and we missed it.'
'Bide our time, that's all we have to do.'
'Until a certain detective comes knocking on our doors.'
'That will never happen,' said Rogan, airily. 'The one thing that Shannon knows is an address where he was to leave a message. Nobody at that address knows my name or where I live. It was simply a convenient way of paying Shannon the second half of his fee when his work was completed.'
'But it was not. He failed and you failed.'
Rogan was hurt. 'You can't put the blame on me.'
'You selected this idiot.'
'With the greatest of care, Sir Marcus. I asked a friend about him before I even went near him. He told me that Shannon was full of guile and quite fearless. That's the kind of man we wanted.'
'Then why has he let us down so badly?' asked Sir Marcus. 'And why is Inspector Colbeck coming back to England with such apparent confidence to hunt down Chabal's killer?'
'He's trying to frighten us.'
'He frightened me, I can tell you that.'
'You're as safe as can be, Sir Marcus,' Rogan assured him, taking a first sip of his whisky. 'So am I. London is a vast city. He could search for fifty years and still not find us. Colbeck has no idea where to start looking.'
'There's that address you gave to Shannon.'
'A dead end. It will lead him nowhere.'
'Supposing that he does pick up our scent?'
'I've told you. There's no hope of him doing that.'
'But supposing – I speak hypothetically – that he does? Colbeck has already come much farther than I believed he would so we must respect him for that. What if he gets really close?'
'Then he'll regret it,' said Rogan, coolly.
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