‘But I’ve done nothing wrong,’ bleated the other.
‘You can tell that to Superintendent Tallis.’
Accepting that there was no escape, Shanklin gave in. He gulped in air and looked around guiltily. Leeming saw no need to put handcuffs on him. Easing him back into the cab, he stepped in after him. The driver, who had watched the arrest with fascination, did not need instructions.
‘Scotland Yard, is it, guv’nor?’ he said, snapping the reins to set the horse in motion. ‘I thought there was something funny about him when I picked him up at the railway station.’
Leeming spent the journey trying to find out where Shanklin had been all day but the man refused to tell him. On the orders of the superintendent, Leeming said nothing about the handwriting on the letter and the funeral card. It was a revelation Tallis wanted to keep for himself. On arrival at their destination, Leeming paid the driver and hustled his prisoner into the building. They went straight to the superintendent’s office.
Edward Tallis was so pleased with the arrest that he permitted Leeming to stay while he questioned the suspect. His technique differed radically from that favoured by Colbeck. While the inspector was effortlessly polite, drawing out information slowly by the most subtle means, Tallis chose a more direct and intimidating approach. After the preliminaries, he made Shanklin sit down so that he could loom over him.
‘Did you send Mr Bardwell a funeral card?’ he demanded.
‘No,’ replied Shanklin, caught off-balance.
‘Did you send a note to your office this morning, explaining that you were to unwell to go to work?’
‘Yes, Superintendent – I had a migraine.’
‘It did not prevent you writing this letter,’ said Tallis, snatching it off his desk to wave in front of him. ‘Do you recognise this as yours?’
‘Yes, I do. Where did you get it from?’
‘We wanted an example of your handwriting, sir, so that we could compare it with this.’
Picking up the funeral card in the other hand, Tallis held it beside the letter and watched the suspect’s reaction. After swallowing hard, Shanklin tried to talk his way out of the situation.
‘The writing is similar, I grant you,’ he said, ‘but not the same.’
Tallis grinned wolfishly. ‘I can explain the slight discrepancy,’ he said, shaking the letter. ‘This one was written when you were troubled by a migraine. Your hand trembled. The only thing that afflicted you when you scribbled the message on the card was cold malevolence.’
‘Fortunately,’ said Leeming, ‘Mr Bardwell never saw the card.’
‘Leave this to me, Sergeant,’ warned Tallis.
‘I felt that he ought to be told.’
‘I can handle this interview.’
Leeming backed away. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Well, Mr Shanklin,’ said the superintendent, ‘are you going to persist in your denial? We know that you had motive, means and opportunity to send this card. When you were first interviewed by Sergeant Leeming, you made no bones about your hatred of Mr Bardwell. You revelled in his pain.’
‘I had good cause to do so,’ argued Shanklin.
‘Then you did send that taunt to Mr Bardwell?’
Shanklin chewed his lip. Confronted with the evidence, there was no hope of evading the truth. ‘Yes, I did,’ he confessed.
‘Nothing can excuse the wording on that card. However, that’s a minor matter compared with the crime for which you’re charged.’ Tallis’s index finger was accusatory. ‘Did you or did you not conspire to derail the Brighton Express?’
‘I swear that I did not, Superintendent.’
‘The evidence indicates otherwise.’
‘What evidence?’ wailed Shanklin. ‘If everyone who has a grudge against Horace Bardwell is suspected, this room would be filled to capacity. He’s a loathsome human being. I admit freely that I’d derive immense satisfaction from reading his obituary – even though it would conceal the ugly truth and praise him to the skies. But I did not,’ he emphasised, ‘take any steps to cause a train crash that might have killed him.’
‘We believe you engaged someone else to do it,’ said Leeming.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ cautioned Tallis. ‘Don’t interrupt.’
‘Tell him, sir.’
‘All in good time,’ said the other.
He put the card and the letter aside then perched on the edge of the desk. He waited patiently. The superintendent might be relaxed but Shanklin was squirming in his seat. Tallis locked his eyes on the suspect and spoke with deliberate calm.
‘Do you understand the seriousness of the crime, sir?’
‘I did not commit it,’ retorted Shanklin.
‘That’s not what I asked you. Please answer my question.’
‘Yes, of course I understand how serious it is.’
‘Twelve people were killed and dozens were badly injured, Mr Bardwell among them. Would you agree that a man who connived at such a disaster is nothing short of a fiend?’
‘I could not agree more, Superintendent.’
‘Then why did you do it?’ snapped Tallis, moving to stand over him like a vulture over a carcass. ‘Why did you and your confederate commit that crime? Why did you kill and maim innocent people in the reckless pursuit of a private feud? You and Dick Chiffney will hang for what you did. The pair of you deserve no mercy.’
‘No!’ howled Shanklin in despair. ‘I’d never sink to anything like that. It’s downright evil. What sort of a man do you take me for? You must believe me, superintendent. I had nothing whatsoever to do with the crash. As for Dick,’ he said, ‘I haven’t seen him for months.’
‘Then you do know the man.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘That’s not what you told me,’ said Leeming.
‘We have a connection at last,’ said Tallis. ‘It needed one person to plan the crime and another to execute it, one person to spy out the right place with his telescope and another to act on his orders. I suggest that you, Matthew Shanklin, were in league with Chiffney.’
‘I’d never trust a man like Dick,’ said Shanklin.
‘Why not?’
‘He’s far too unreliable.’
‘Then you suborned someone else to help you.’
‘My only crime was to send that malicious card.’
‘Tell us how you know Chiffney,’ said Leeming, ‘and explain why you denied it earlier.’
Shanklin shook his head wearily. ‘I was too ashamed to admit it, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Dick is a distant relative of mine. I keep as far away from the rogue as possible. He prevailed upon me to get him a job with the LB&SCR then he lost it by knocking out the foreman’s teeth. That was typical of him. Dick Chiffney is a menace.’
Chiffney was frustrated. Having been unable to carry out his orders in Brighton, he returned by train to London that evening and went into a tavern near the station to have a few drinks before he felt able to face Josie Murlow’s cross-examination. Instead of taking good news back to her, he had to admit failure. When he got back to the house, he went up the stairs and saw her waiting at the top, hands on her hips. She looked even more bellicose than usual.
‘Where’ve you been?’ she snarled.
‘You know that, my darling. I had to go to Brighton.’
‘You’ve been away all day, Dick.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, taking her by the arm to lead her back into their bedroom. ‘Let me explain.’
She was roused. ‘You’ve been drinking – I can smell it on you.’
‘I only had one pint.’
‘And what did she have?’ Josie challenged. ‘What did your fancy woman drink? That’s where you’ve been, Dick Chiffney, isn’t it – strolling along the promenade in Brighton with someone else on your arm! While I’ve been shut away here like a prisoner, you’ve been dipping your wick at the seaside.’
‘That’s a lie!’ he shouted. ‘You’re the only woman I want, Josie. You should know
that by now. Nobody compares with you, my love. In any case,’ he said, pointing to his face with a harsh laugh, ‘this ugly mug of mine frightens women away. Only you had the kindness to take me on. Do you think I’d forget that?’
‘There’s nobody else, then?’
‘I give you my word.’
She was pacified. ‘So tell me what happened.’
‘I waited and watched in vain.’
‘What were you supposed to do?’
‘That doesn’t matter. The point is that I wasn’t able to do it.’
‘Were you there to kill someone, Dick?’
‘No, no,’ he said, evasively.
‘Then why did you take that gun with you?’
‘It was for my protection, Josie. There’s lots of thieves about. You can’t be too careful.’
‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes,’ she said. ‘Any thief would have more sense than to take on a man like you. That gun was given you for a purpose – and so was that rifle. Now stop feeding me lies or I’ll walk out of here now.’
‘You mustn’t do that, Josie – you could be seen.’
‘The police are after you, not me.’
‘Just let me do the job,’ he pleaded, ‘then the pair of us can get out of London altogether. I know you’re upset because all your things are back at the house but they can be fetched. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll sneak back and get whatever you want.’
‘The only thing I want is the truth,’ she declared, giving him an ultimatum. ‘If I don’t hear it in the next few minutes, then you can find someone else to lie to because I’ll be on my way home.’
Chiffney was in an awkward predicament. If he told her the full truth, he would be breaking his word to the man who was employing him. He would also risk losing Josie altogether. When she realised the enormity of what he had already done, she would be horrified and might well want nothing to do with him. While she would happily flout the law when it served her purpose, she would never condone the crime in which Chiffney had become involved. On the other hand, to withhold everything from her would provoke Josie into walking out and he was desperate to prevent that. After careful consideration, he decided on a partial confession.
‘I met this man some weeks ago,’ he began.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Now that’s something I can’t tell you, my love, because I don’t know it myself. He made sure of that. What I can tell you is that he lives in Brighton and he’s not short of money.’
‘Why did he get in touch with you?’
‘He wanted someone who could do a job for him without asking any questions. My name was mentioned to him and he got in touch.’ He smirked. ‘It was the best bit of luck I’ve had since I met you.’
‘What sort of job is it?’
‘A dangerous one,’ he admitted.
‘I knew it,’ she said, wide-eyed with alarm. ‘He’s paying you to murder someone, isn’t he?’
‘Let’s just say that he wants a certain man hurt bad. I hurt him once already and that’s why I got that money. But there’s more to come if I hurt him again.’ She was patently worried. ‘It will be over in seconds, Josie,’ he went on, slipping an arm around her. ‘This man means nothing to us – why should we care what happens to him?’
‘Who is he?’
‘He lives in Brighton, that’s all I can tell you.’
‘Why does the other man want him hurt?’
‘Revenge,’ said Chiffney. ‘I don’t know what he did to the man who’s paying me but it must have been something terrible. In other words, he deserves what’s coming to him.’ He pulled her close. ‘So now you know the truth, Josie. I’ve been living off you too long and it made me feel bad. When I had a chance like this, I couldn’t turn it down. I’m being paid more than I could earn on the railway in ten years. Think what we could do with the money.’ Releasing her, he stood aside and indicated the door. ‘If you’re too scared to be my woman any more, you can walk out right now. Is that what you want to do, Josie? Make up your mind.’
It took her an instant to do so. She started to undress.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ she decided.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Expecting to report to the superintendent the moment he returned from Brighton that evening, Robert Colbeck discovered that Tallis was in a meeting with the Commissioner, defending his officers against the jibes made about them in the newspaper and trying to justify the time and money allotted to the investigation. Colbeck instead invited Victor Leeming into his office to tell him what he had learnt in the course of his trip to the south coast. Before the inspector could speak, however, Leeming blurted out his own news.
‘I arrested Matthew Shanklin,’ he said, proudly.
‘Did the handwriting match?’
‘Yes, Inspector – he admitted sending that funeral card.’
‘Is he still in custody?’
‘No – he’s been released on bail.’
Colbeck was staggered. ‘For a crime of this magnitude?’
‘Mr Shanklin had nothing to do with the train crash, sir.’
‘Are you sure of that, Victor? I was beginning to feel certain that he and Chiffney were working in partnership.’
Leeming told him the full story, pointing out that he would much sooner face questioning by Colbeck than submit to the kind of badgering interrogation perfected by Tallis. In sending the funeral card, Shanklin was guilty of malicious behaviour designed to inflict pain on a man he despised. Beyond that, no other charges could be brought against him.
It was a setback for Colbeck. Disappointed that Shanklin was innocent of any part in the crime on the Brighton line, he was at least glad that he had been flushed out into the open. One name could now be eliminated from the major inquiry. The problem was that it left them with only a single suspect.
‘Did Mr Shanklin tell you where he’d been today?’ said Colbeck.
‘He claimed that he’d taken the day off to visit friends.’
‘That was an arrant lie.’
‘I know that he went somewhere by train because the cab driver remembered picking him up at a railway station.’
‘He’d been to Brighton. Far from visiting friends, he was there to call on his sworn enemy, Horace Bardwell.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Leeming.
‘I looked in at the hospital before I left,’ said Colbeck. ‘I wanted to see how Mr Bardwell and some of the other survivors were faring. Shanklin, apparently, came into the ward in order to gloat over Mr Bardwell. From what I could gather, there was quite a scene. Mr Bardwell was so upset that he had to be sedated for a while.’
‘That ought to be mentioned when Shanklin comes to court.’
‘It will be, Victor. I’ll make sure of it.’
‘What else did you find out in Brighton?’
‘A great deal – it’s difficult to know where to start.’
Colbeck told him about meeting Giles Thornhill, spending time with Sidney Weaver and taking tea with Ezra Follis. He also talked about the visit to the gunsmith. Leeming was puzzled.
‘Why did you advise Mr Thornhill to speak tomorrow?’ he said.
‘It’s the only way to bring our assassin out of hiding. As long as the man is at liberty, Mr Thornhill’s life is in constant danger.’
‘But you’re putting him in even more danger by urging him to speak in a public meeting, sir. He could be shot dead on the platform.’
‘I think that highly unlikely, Victor,’ said Colbeck.
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘Put yourself in the position of the man with the rifle.’
‘Could his name be Dick Chiffney?’
‘In all probability, it is. Imagine that you were stalking Mr Thornhill. When you see an advertisement for a public meeting addressed by him, what would you do?’
‘Sit at the back of the hall and wait for the right moment.’
Colbeck grinned. ‘You’d never make an assassin, I’m afraid.’
‘No, Victor – the first thing you need to do is to conceal your identity. How can you do that if you appear in public? You’ll be seen by people who can give an accurate description of you. Also, of course, there’s the small matter of making an escape from the hall. You could well be chased by some public-spirited citizen.’
‘All right,’ said Leeming, deflated, ‘tell me what you’d do.’
‘I wouldn’t let Mr Thornhill get anywhere near the hall.’
‘Then where would you kill him?’
‘Near the house,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s more private and would save me the trouble of shooting over other people’s heads in the hall. The man we’re after has been inside the grounds before, remember. He knows how to find his way around.’
‘But you told me the estate was well guarded.’
‘It is at the moment. Very few men will be on duty tomorrow.’
‘Has Mr Thornhill agreed to make that speech?’
‘He’s giving it serious thought, Victor.’
‘If he refuses to go,’ said Leeming, ‘then your plan will have no chance at all of success.’
‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll refuse somehow.’
‘Why is that, Inspector?’
‘Pride is at stake,’ explained Colbeck. ‘If Giles Thornhill is not available tomorrow, he’ll have to yield the platform to a man he dislikes intensely and I can’t see him doing that.’
‘Who is the man?’
‘The Rector of St Dunstan’s.’
Ezra Follis rose at his habitual early hour and shaved with care in order to avoid the scratches on his cheeks. Tiring of the bandaging around his head, he ignored the doctor’s advice and unwound it to reveal some gashes on his forehead. There were wounds in his scalp as well but he could not see them in the mirror and they had ceased to remind him of their presence. Now that he had discarded the bandaging, he felt much better. After dressing in his bedroom, he took a smoking cap from the wardrobe and put it on. Follis did not, in fact, smoke but the cap had been a gift from the female parishioner who had made it for him and he did not have the heart to refuse it.
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