The Circus Train Conspiracy

by Edward Marston

  ‘Indeed, I could.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, ‘climb aboard and I’ll drive you there.’

  A few minutes later, the three of them got out of the trap and walked across to the charred remains of the bushes. Colbeck readily accepted the Irishman’s claim that something had been poured over the foliage to accelerate the fire but he questioned the claim that a burning rag would have been used.

  ‘He’d have had to stand too close in order to throw it,’ he reasoned. ‘Having set it alight, he’d have wanted a speedy escape route. That means he’d have been much further back, hidden behind the trees with a horse. Let’s take a look.’

  Picking his way through the undergrowth, Colbeck walked for well over twenty yards before he stopped beside an oak tree with a wide girth. Its lowest branches reached down to some thick bushes that masked a convenient hollow in the ground. He pointed it out to his companions.

  ‘This is the kind of spot,’ he decided. ‘Crouched down here, he could have chosen his moment and lit a very long fuse that led to a rag soaked in oil. As soon as that was ignited, those bushes would burst into flame.’

  ‘What a clever devil!’ observed Lill.

  ‘Are you referring to me or to him?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘To both of you, I suppose.’

  ‘Yours is a better explanation than mine, Inspector,’ said Mulryne. ‘Not that it will make much difference to Mr Moscardi. He doesn’t care how the fire started. The only thing he thinks about is coping with the results.’

  ‘What sort of mood is he in?’

  ‘He’s throbbing with anger.’

  ‘What about everyone else?’ said Colbeck. ‘When you were camped near Fourstones, there was a lively atmosphere. Everybody caught up in the derailment was quick to recover. A pall of sadness is hanging over you now.’

  ‘It’s the same with both camps. People are losing hope.’

  ‘Let’s go and report to Mr Moscardi. What sort of a welcome can we expect?’

  Mulryne grinned. ‘Oh, he’ll throw his arms around you and kiss you on both cheeks. Then again,’ he added, ‘he might refuse to speak a word to either of you.’

  It was a short but enjoyable walk. Lydia Quayle looked straight ahead of her at all times so that she exhibited no fear or nervousness. Caleb Andrews, on the other hand, was keen to look in every direction. His neck twisted so quickly and at such acute angles that it was soon aching. Wherever he turned, he saw nobody watching them. What he did see were the two uniformed policemen on their beat. It was a reassuring sight for him and for Lydia.

  ‘They’ll never be far away from the house,’ he said.

  ‘I know and I’m very grateful.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘I’m just happy to be out in the fresh air again, Mr Andrews,’ she replied. ‘It’s a tonic in itself.’

  ‘I’d never call this fresh air but it’s far better than what I had to breathe in on the footplate. Being an engine driver is a filthy job. I’d come home almost black sometimes.’

  ‘Do you miss the railway?’

  ‘No,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘but I bet that it misses me.’

  When they returned finally to John Islip Street, he paused at the door and looked behind him. Lydia kept her gaze fixed on the house. She’d had the courage to defy the stalker and go for a walk. It was a minor triumph.

  ‘All clear,’ announced Andrews. ‘There’s nobody following us.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘You’ve been a great help. I might even take another walk later on.’ Inhaling deeply, she drew herself up to her full height. ‘I feel better now.’

  It was no more than the detectives had expected. When they called on Moscardi, they had to withstand a long tirade before they could even get a word in. Shaking with fury, he raised his voice to full volume. He also included many words in Italian to add spice and colour. Having survived many such rants from Edward Tallis, Colbeck bore up well. Lill was more sensitive and twitched at some of the accusations levelled at them.

  ‘I’m sorry that you feel we deserted you, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but face the truth, if you will. Had the inspector and I been travelling with you, that fire would still have been set alight and your wonderful horses would still have been scattered over the countryside. How are they, by the way?’

  ‘Most of them have been caught,’ replied the other, sulkily.

  ‘Had they come to any harm?’

  ‘Luckily, they hadn’t.’

  ‘Then the attack failed in its purpose. That’s worthy of celebration, surely?’

  ‘I agree,’ Lill chimed in.

  ‘What is there to celebrate?’ yelled Moscardi. ‘My circus is falling to pieces. The men are fearful, the women are crying and the animals are turning on their keepers. Nobody wants to go on yet they’re afraid to stay here. We’re in purgatory, Inspector, and you’re telling me to celebrate.’

  ‘I was merely suggesting that you look at this in a different light,’ said Colbeck. ‘You came through it more or less intact. And you won’t be caught unawares next time because you know another attack may be planned. One man caused that derailment. It’s likely that he was also responsible for stampeding your horses. Are you really frightened of one man?’

  ‘Of course, I’m not. What frightens me is the state my circus is now in. You can feel the dejection. We’ve always been able to solve any problems in the past but not this time. We’ve become victims. And all our troubles,’ he went on, increasing the volume, ‘can be laid at the door of Sam Greenwood. If you’d had the sense to listen to me and arrest him, today’s attack would never have happened and we’d be singing all the way to Newcastle.’

  ‘Sergeant Leeming will already have confronted Mr Greenwood. He’s on his way back from Bristol with a full report.’

  ‘I don’t need any report about that black-hearted bastard. I know him of old.’

  ‘If he is involved,’ said Colbeck, ‘I promise you that he’ll answer for it.’ He looked Moscardi in the eye. ‘Let me say this to you. When we spoke this morning, you were so scornful of my abilities that I decided to let you manage without them. I can’t operate successfully without the respect and cooperation of the victims I’m actually trying to help. Sadly, I’m getting neither of those things from you, Mr Moscardi.’

  ‘You don’t deserve either,’ murmured the Italian.

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. What I’m prepared to offer you is a bargain. I will do everything in my power to bring your enemy to justice. That doesn’t mean I’ll be here in person twenty-four hours a day but, when I’m absent, Inspector Lill or Sergeant Leeming will be here in my stead and they’ll have policemen at their behest. In return,’ continued Colbeck, meeting his glare without flinching, ‘I expect you to show patience and understanding. You know how to run a circus better than anyone. I know how to catch villains.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Lill. ‘The inspector has had an incomparable record of success.’

  ‘Bear with me, Mr Moscardi. Let me do things my way and give me your full support. Is that too much to ask?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  He’d been in such good spirits when he left Bristol that he was not daunted by the prospect of a long train journey north. Victor Leeming believed that he’d had a successful visit to Greenwood’s circus. After a probing interview with its owner, he came away with the feeling that the man was more than capable of employing someone to inflict harm on a hated rival. The sergeant had also done some detective work among the circus artistes, getting honest answers to all the questions Colbeck had asked him to pose. When he heard that Greenwood had sent a man to keep an eye on Moscardi’s Magnificent Circus, he was convinced that he’d identified the villain behind the derailment. All that he had to do on his return, Leeming thought, was to arrest someone named Bevis. The evidence against him was persuasive. As a former Strong Man, he’d have had no difficulty lifting a couple of sleepers. If he’d mingled with the cir
cus employees, he might easily have overheard talk of the plan to travel to Newcastle by train. Bevis was the man on the hill, he concluded. When they caught him, they’d surely find that one of his hands had been bandaged.

  Secure in the knowledge that he was returning with vital evidence, he let his thoughts turn to the murder investigation. They were still in the dark there. Unaware of the recent advance in the case, he believed that they didn’t know who the victim was or exactly how she’d died. Anonymous corpses were a common sight to him. During his years in uniform, he’d come upon several victims of a harsh winter, miserable creatures who’d frozen to death in the streets or tossed themselves into the river in despair. When some excavation was taking place in London, he was on hand when three skeletons were unearthed. Each had appalling wounds to their skull and two of them had had an arm cut off. Their identities were never discovered. They were nameless victims of brutal murder. Leeming wondered if the woman in the shallow grave would join them in the catalogue of unsolved crimes.

  Then he remembered that he was working with Robert Colbeck, a man who would never admit defeat in an investigation. Regardless of how long it took and how much hard work it demanded, Colbeck had a knack of digging up information about murder victims. When he and Leeming had found the body of a man whose face had been made unrecognisable by corrosive acid, Colbeck had identified him within days. He’d done the same with a headless woman fished out of the Thames. A surge of pride coursed through him. Nothing was beyond them. Leeming felt that he’d already met the man behind the conspiracy to ruin Moscardi’s circus. It was more than likely that, during his absence, Colbeck had solved the murder as well. Both cases would have been brought to a satisfactory conclusion and the detectives could return to the bosom of their respective families. Instead of travelling in a train, Leeming was being swept along on a wave of optimism that was invigorating.

  ‘Thank you so much for responding to our appeal,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve lifted a veil from the investigation.’

  ‘When I saw the appeal,’ admitted Underhill, ‘I ignored it at first.’

  ‘Why was that, sir?’

  ‘Well, I thought, it couldn’t possibly be Mrs Pulver. What could she be doing up there in Northumberland? And who could want to kill such a gentle soul as her? Margaret Pulver was a saint.’

  ‘You speak as if you know her well.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Underhill, quickly. ‘My wife and I only met her from time to time. But I heard about the kind things she did for other people. If anyone was in trouble, Mrs Pulver was always the first person to help and console them. Given her circumstances, I find that remarkable. After a shattering blow like the one she’d suffered, most people would tend to lock themselves away and mourn in private.’

  Even though Underhill had provided vital information, Colbeck was not sure if he could bring himself to like the man. He was too sleek and self-assured. Now in his forties, he was a handsome individual with the kind of long, curly hair and moustache that would need constant attention. Underhill was a solicitor in Shrewsbury but the quality of his apparel and the note of superiority in his voice hinted at private wealth as well. As a rule, Colbeck liked solicitors. He talked their language. Before he’d joined the Metropolitan Police Force, he had been a rising young barrister and, as such, was constantly in touch with one firm of solicitors or another. He was grateful that Donald Underhill had not been among them.

  ‘What exactly was this blow she suffered?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘She lost her husband and two children. It was tragic.’

  ‘When was this, Mr Underhill?’

  ‘Oh, it must have been four or five years ago,’ replied the other. ‘Richard Pulver – he was her husband – had a passion for sailing. They had a cottage on the Welsh coast where they spent their holidays. Whenever it was possible, Richard would take his wife and the two boys out in his boat.’

  ‘Was he a good sailor?’

  ‘He was an excellent one, Inspector, but even his skills were unequal to the situation in which he found himself. They were caught in a squall near the Menai Straits and were blown miles off course. When the squall developed into a gale, they were done for. It was weeks before the bodies were found.’

  ‘That must have been devastating for Mrs Pulver.’

  ‘I made a point of speaking to the police sergeant who had to deliver the news to her. He told me that she fainted on the spot.’

  ‘I’ve been in situations like that myself. It’s always distressing.’

  ‘Yet somehow she found the strength to go on alone. That was when I realised what an extraordinary woman she was. How many of us could withstand a loss like that and go on to craft a new and fulfilling life?’

  ‘Very few, I should imagine,’ said Colbeck. ‘What did Mr Pulver do?’

  ‘He was a man of independent means who liked to dabble in the property market. At least, that’s how he described himself. My own view is that he was much more than a dabbler. His property empire extended to London. When he wasn’t sailing his boat, he was often visiting the capital.’

  ‘Where did they live?’

  For a man who claimed to be a mere acquaintance of the family, Underhill knew a great deal about it. The Pulvers, he told Colbeck, lived in the manor house of a small village near Shrewsbury. Most of the three hundred acres attached to it were leased out to a tenant farmer. What intrigued Colbeck was the news that a branch railway line had been built across the outer edge of the estate.

  ‘Such developments often meet with local opposition,’ he said.

  ‘Richard Pulver rode roughshod over that, Inspector.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have endeared him to the villagers.’

  ‘I doubt very much if he cared about that at the time. It was only months after work began on the line that he was drowned with his two sons. Some ignorant people said he’d been rightly punished. I think it was simply appalling bad luck.’

  The two men were seated either side of a low table in Underhill’s hotel room. Colbeck had noted how large and well appointed it was. The solicitor was clearly a man who chose the best of everything. His manner had been gently modified. There’d been a whiff of condescension about him at first. When he realised how astute and well educated Colbeck was, he became more respectful. Most of the policemen with whom he usually dealt with as a solicitor had neither the money nor the good taste to dress in the same way as Colbeck. Underhill knew that he was dealing with someone out of the ordinary.

  ‘I’m sorry you were put through the ordeal of visiting the morgue, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘It can be a harrowing experience.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it was. All I saw was Mrs Pulver’s face but I was keenly aware that the body beneath the shroud had been cut open during the post-mortem. Frankly, it made my stomach heave.’

  ‘Are you absolutely certain that it was Margaret Pulver?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘There must have been obvious changes in her appearance. Death often paints unkind portraits of its victims.’

  ‘It wasn’t just her face that I recognised, Inspector. Bizarrely, the thing that was still intact was her air of refinement. She was a true lady,’ Underhill continued. ‘Death couldn’t obliterate that fact.’

  ‘You talk about her with affection, Mr Underhill, yet you were not part of her social circle.’ Colbeck watched him carefully. ‘Why did you decide to come here in person instead of telling a family member of your suspicion that the body of a murder victim in Northumberland might be that of Margaret Pulver? Identification of a corpse is always more reliable if given by someone close to them. Why did you take it upon yourself to get in touch with us?’

  Confronted by what was, in effect, an ultimatum, Mauro Moscardi had conceded that the circus did need the expertise of detectives from Scotland Yard. They could do things that he, realistically, could not. While Moscardi and his brother were tempted to go in search of Greenwood and beat a confession out of him, they were held back by a grudg
ing respect for the law. If their rival was indeed behind the attacks on the circus, Colbeck and Leeming would amass the evidence necessary to prosecute him. Moscardi, meanwhile, had to decide on a strategy for protecting the circus from a further assault. When he’d first elected to travel by road, he’d hoped that, by pushing along at a reasonable speed, they might actually get close to Newcastle by the end of the day. That possibility had now disappeared. They would have to camp overnight somewhere and reach their destination some time on the following day.

  When he discussed the matter with his wife and with Gianni, he also invited Mulryne to offer an opinion. Time and again in awkward situations, the Irishman had proved his worth. The four of them met outside Moscardi’s caravan.

  ‘I say that we move on,’ declared Gianni. ‘It was galling to watch the train with all our equipment on board shoot past us earlier on. It’s already being unloaded at the park set aside for us. We should have been on that train.’

  ‘It’s too late to argue about that now,’ said Moscardi.

  ‘I think we should spend the night here,’ said Anne, looking around. ‘This is as good a place as any. We should bring everyone together into one large camp. It’s what most people would want.’

  ‘It’s not a question of what they want,’ said Gianni. ‘We make the decisions and you all know what mine would be. While the rest of you stay on the road, I’ll ride ahead with a scouting party to make sure there are no more nasty surprises waiting for us. Is it agreed?’

  ‘No,’ replied Moscardi. ‘I’d like to hear what Mulryne has to say first.’

  ‘Well,’ said the Irishman, ‘I have sympathy with both sides of the argument. If we press on, we show our determination; if we stay here, we please the majority of people. They’re unsettled and it’s easy to see why. My own view is that it’s highly unlikely we’ll be attacked again. Whoever set those bushes alight hoped to cause more chaos than he actually did. Yes, he frightened us. Yes, he scattered the horses far and wide. But that’s all he did. We’ve recovered every animal and not one of them was harmed in any way.’