The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series)

by Edward Marston

  ‘Ah,’ said Brendan Mulryne, swallowing his brandy in a gulp as if it was his last drink on earth, ‘this is the life, Inspector. And to think I might be heaving cargo at the docks all day long.’

  ‘You were working in the Devil’s Acre last time we met.’

  ‘I had to leave The Black Dog.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Because I had a disagreement with the landlord. He had the gall to hit me when I wasn’t looking and I take violence from no man. Apart from anything else, he did it at the most inconvenient time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was teaching his darling wife a few tricks in bed.’

  Brendan Mulryne roared with laughter. He was an affable giant with a massive frame and a face that seemed to have been hewn out of solid teak by a blind man with a blunt axe. Though he was roughly the same age as Colbeck, he looked years older. There was an irrepressible twinkle in his eye and he had a ready grin that revealed a number of missing teeth. Mulryne had once been a constable in the Metropolitan Police Force but his over-enthusiasm during arrests led to his expulsion. Having caught a criminal, he had somehow seen it as a duty to pound him into unconsciousness before hauling him off to the police station. He had always been grateful to Colbeck for trying to save him from being discharged.

  Since his dismissal, Mulryne had drifted into a succession of jobs, some of them firmly on the wrong side of the law but none that offended the Irishman’s strange code of ethics. He would only steal from a thief or commit other crimes against known villains. It was Mulryne’s way of restoring what he called the balance of society. In his heart, he was still a kind of policeman and that was why the present situation had so much appeal for him.

  Having crossed the Channel the previous evening, they had spent the night in Le Havre before taking the train to Mantes. Mulryne was a much livelier companion than Victor Leeming. It was his first visit to France and he was thrilled by everything he saw. When the train rattled over the Barentin Viaduct, he gazed down with awe.

  ‘Be-Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘Will you look at that? It’s almost as if we was flying, Inspector.’

  ‘Thomas Brassey built the viaduct.’

  ‘Then I’ll be happy to shake his hand.’

  ‘Not too hard,’ advised Colbeck. ‘You’ve got the biggest hands I’ve ever seen on a human being. You can crack walnuts with a gentle squeeze. Go easy on Mr Brassey.’

  ‘I will.’ His face crumpled with sympathy. ‘But I’m sorry to hear about Sergeant Leeming.’

  ‘Victor was unlucky.’

  ‘He taught me a lot when we were both in uniform.’

  ‘You’re a detective now, Brendan, in the Plain Clothes Division.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mulryne, emitting a peal of laughter, ‘clothes don’t come any plainer than these.’

  He was wearing the same moleskin trousers, canvas shirt and tattered coat that had served him in the docks, and his hobnail boots were also suitable for work on the railway. A shapeless hat completed the outfit but he had removed it when they boarded the train. Mulryne was tickled by the fact that he was dressed like a typical navvy while travelling in a first class carriage.

  ‘I’ll be carrying on the family tradition,’ he said, proudly.

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. My father was a navvy in the old days when the word had its true meaning. Father – God bless him – was a navigator who helped to cut canals. I was born in a navvies’ camp somewhere along the line.’

  ‘I never knew that, Brendan.’

  ‘I’m a man with hidden secrets.’

  ‘You’ll certainly have to hide a few when we get to Mantes.’

  ‘I’ll soon charm my way in.’

  ‘That’s what Victor thought but they found him out.’

  ‘It takes an Irishman to beguile the Irish, so it does.’

  ‘It’s the reason I chose you. Most of them are decent, honest, hard-working men and they couldn’t have a better priest than Father Slattery.’ He saw Mulryne’s glum expression. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t know I’d have a priest to worry about.’

  ‘Father Slattery is a dedicated man.’

  ‘Yes – dedicated to stopping the rest of us having a bit of fun. It’s the reason I couldn’t stay in Ireland. It’s so priest-ridden. You only had to fart and they’d make you say a novena and three Hail Mary’s. The place for a man of the cloth,’ he declared, soulfully, ‘is in a church and not on a railway.’

  ‘He does valuable work,’ said Colbeck. ‘More to the point, he knows everyone. That’s why you ought to meet him, Brendan. He can introduce you to the others. Father Slattery is a way in.’

  ‘And will I be seeing you at the service on Sunday, Liam Kilfoyle?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘You said that last week and the week before.’

  ‘It slipped my mind,’ said Kilfoyle, evasively.

  ‘St Peter has been known to let certain things slip his mind as well,’ cautioned the priest. ‘How will you feel when you reach the Pearly Gates to find that he’s forgotten all your good deeds?’

  ‘I’ll remind him of them.’

  ‘The best way to do that is to attend Mass.’

  ‘I worship in my own way, Father Slattery.’

  ‘That’s wonderful! When you come on Sunday, you can give us all a demonstration of how you do it. We can always learn new ways to pray, Liam.’ He beamed at Kilfoyle. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Are you going to let the Lord down yet again?’

  Kilfoyle swallowed hard. ‘I’ll try not to, Father.’

  ‘Spoken like a true Catholic!’

  The old man chuckled and went off to speak to a group of men nearby. It was the end of the day’s shift and Slattery was trying to increase the size of the congregation in his makeshift, outdoor church. Kilfoyle was glad to see him go. A wayward Christian, he always felt guilty when he talked to the priest. Memories of sinful nights between the thighs of another man’s wife somehow thrust themselves into his mind. It was almost as if Father Slattery knew about his moments of nocturnal lechery with Bridget.

  ‘What did that old bastard want?’ said Pierce Shannon, coming over to him. ‘Did he want you to train for the priesthood?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘Be careful, Liam. You’d have to be celibate.’

  ‘Then the job’d not suit me. I’ve got too much fire in my loins for the church. Father Slattery will have to look elsewhere.’

  ‘Well, it had better not be in my direction.’

  ‘Why not, Pierce? You might end up as a cardinal.’

  ‘If I’m a cardinal, you’re the Angel bleeding Gabriel.’

  They traded a laugh. Shannon stepped in closer.

  ‘By the way,’ he said, casually, ‘it’s a shame about that friend of yours, Victor Leeming. He could have been useful to us.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘I suppose the truth is that he just didn’t fit in here. Pity – he was a good worker.’

  ‘Victor won’t be doing any work for a while.’

  ‘I liked the man. He had a good punch.’

  ‘He was certainly a match for you, Pierce.’

  ‘Only because he caught me unawares that one time,’ said Shannon, thrusting out his chest. ‘In a proper fight, I reckon that I could kick seven barrels of shit out of him.’

  ‘Don’t try to do that to Brendan,’ warned Kilfoyle.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Brendan Mulryne. He was helping us to shovel spoil into the wagons today. He’s got muscles bigger than bloody pumpkins. He made me feel puny beside him. Brendan could fill two wagons in the time it took me to fill one.’

  ‘What sort of man is he?’

  ‘The best kind – joking all day long.’

  ‘I prefer a man who keeps his fucking gob shut while he works.’

  ‘Then stay clear of Brendan. He can’t keep quiet.
We got on well together. He feels the same about priests as me. He’d rather roast in Hell than be forced to listen to a sermon.’

  ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘Dublin.’

  ‘And he’s a real navvy?’

  ‘With hands like that, he couldn’t be anything else.’ Kilfoyle saw the giant figure ambling towards him. ‘You can meet him for yourself, Pierce. Here he comes.’

  Shannon turned a critical eye on Brendan Mulryne, who was smiling amiably at everyone he passed and making cheerful comments as he did so. When he spotted Kilfoyle, he strolled across to him. Mulryne was introduced to Shannon. As they shook hands, the latter felt the power in the other’s grip.

  ‘I’m looking for somewhere to sleep tonight,’ said Mulryne. ‘The ganger told me there’d be room at Pat O’Rourke’s. Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Kilfoyle, pointing. ‘He owns that stone house at the end of the row. Pat will look after you. Built the house himself.’

  ‘How much does he charge?’

  ‘Almost nothing.’

  ‘That’s good because I haven’t got two bleeding pennies to rub together.’ He became conspiratorial. ‘Hey, I don’t suppose that either of you know how I can pick up a little extra money, do you?’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Shannon.

  ‘Any way at all, friend.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘On my last job, I made a tidy sum at cockfighting.’

  ‘Nobody will want to fight a cock as big as yours,’ said Kilfoyle with a giggle. ‘And, if you’re talking about the kind with feathers and sharp claws, then Mr Brassey won’t allow that kind of thing on any of his sites.’

  ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t fucking grieve.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better,’ said Shannon, warming to him at once. ‘How else have you made money in the past, Brendan?’

  ‘All sorts of ways. Best of all was prize-fighting.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I’d take on all-comers with one hand strapped behind my back. They not only paid for the chance to take a swing at me,’ said Mulryne, ‘I got my share of the bets that were laid as well.’

  ‘Very crafty.’

  ‘I’ve got a devil of a thirst, Pierce. That takes money.’

  ‘Not here,’ said Kilfoyle. ‘The brandy’s dirt cheap.’

  ‘I know. I tried some on the way here. Anyway,’ Mulryne went on, ‘I’d best find O’Rourke so that I’ve got somewhere to lay my fucking head tonight. Then it’s off to the nearest inn with me.’

  ‘We’ll take you there,’ volunteered Shannon.

  ‘Thank you, friend. I might hold you to that.’ He caught sight of Father Slattery among the crowd and recoiled. ‘Is that the bleeding priest they told me about?’

  ‘That’s him, large as life.’

  ‘Then keep the bugger away from me.’

  ‘Father Slattery is harmless enough,’ said Kilfoyle.

  ‘Not to me, Liam. There’s a time and place for priests and this is not it. When I’ve worked my balls off all day,’ asserted Mulryne, ‘the last thing I want is a dose of religion. A good drink and a warm woman is all I need and Father Slattery looks as if he’s never tasted either.’

  Maria Brassey was an excellent hostess. She gave the guests a cordial welcome and served a delicious meal. When he spoke French by demand, Robert Colbeck discovered that she had an excellent grasp of the language. She was delightful company and presided over the table with her husband. After dinner, however, she knew exactly when to withdraw so that the men could talk in private.

  ‘Have you had any success while I was away?’ said Colbeck.

  ‘A little,’ replied Brassey. ‘The nightwatchmen caught two men pilfering but they had nothing to do with all the damage we’ve suffered. I paid them what I owed and ordered them off the site.’

  ‘That, of course, is another avenue we might explore.’

  ‘What do you mean, Inspector?’

  ‘Discontented former employees. Men with a grudge.’

  ‘You’ll not find many of those,’ said Aubrey Filton, the other guest. ‘Mr Brassey is renowned for his fairness. If the men step out of line, they know they’ll be sacked. They accept that.’

  ‘Most of them, perhaps,’ said Colbeck. ‘But I can see how it would rankle if someone was dismissed from a job that would guarantee two years’ work for them.’

  ‘We keep a record of every man we employ.’

  ‘Then I’d like to take a close look at it, Mr Filton.’

  The three men were comfortably ensconced in chairs in the living room of the country house that Brassey had rented. It was close enough to the site for him to get there with ease, yet far enough away to be out of reach of the incessant noise that was created. Having grown up on a farm, the contractor always preferred a house that was surrounded by green fields. It made him feel as if he were back in his native Cheshire. He sipped his glass of port.

  ‘How is Sergeant Leeming?’ he said.

  ‘Very glad to be back home,’ returned Colbeck. ‘Victor took a beating but no permanent damage seems to have been done. He simply needs plenty of time to recover.’

  ‘That sort of thing would put me off police work forever,’ said Filton. ‘It’s far too dangerous.’

  ‘Victor is not so easily deterred.’

  ‘And what about this new fellow?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Colbeck with a smile, ‘you can rely on him. If you set off an explosion under Brendan Mulryne, you’d not scare him away. He has nerves of steel.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you bring him here in the first place?’ said Brassey. ‘Was he assigned to another case?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘He doesn’t look like a detective at all.’

  ‘He isn’t one,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I see. He’s an ordinary constable.’

  ‘There’s nothing ordinary about Brendan, I promise you. He was trained as a policeman and I had the good fortune to work with him when I was in uniform. When you have to break up a tavern brawl, there’s no better man to have beside you than him.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Colbeck did not reveal that the man he had entrusted with such an important task was, in fact, a dock labourer of dubious reputation who led the kind of chaotic existence that two conventional middle class gentlemen could not begin to understand. The less they knew about Brendan Mulryne, the better. At all events, Colbeck resolved, his name must not get back to Edward Tallis. If the superintendent became aware of the Irishman’s presence on site, Colbeck would not have to write a letter of resignation. He would probably be ejected from Scotland Yard with Tallis’s condemnation ringing in his ears.

  ‘What interests me is the next stretch of line,’ said Colbeck, draining his glass. ‘The one that runs from Caen to Cherbourg.’

  Brassey held up a palm. ‘Give us a chance, Inspector,’ he said, jocularly. ‘We haven’t finished this one yet.’

  ‘And may never do so,’ said Filton, gloomily.

  ‘Of course we will, Aubrey.’

  ‘I wonder, sir.’

  ‘Will any French companies put in a tender for the other line?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Are any contractors here big enough to do so?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Brassey. ‘The French were slow starters when it came to railways but they are catching up quickly, and contractors have seen the opportunities that are there. When the time comes, I’m sure that we’ll have a number of competitors.’

  ‘What about labour? Are there enough navvies in France?’

  ‘No, Inspector Colbeck, not really. Comparatively few railways have been built here so far. As a result, there’s no pool of experienced men on which to draw. We found that out when we built the Paris to Rouen railway some years ago.’

  ‘Yes, I believe that you imported 5,000 from England.’

  ‘It was not nearly enough,’ said Brassey. ‘I had to cast the net much wider in order to double that number. They were
mainly French but they also included Germans, Belgians, Italians, Dutchmen and Spaniards. Do you remember it, Aubrey?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Filton. ‘You could hear eleven different languages in all. It was quite bewildering at times.’

  ‘As for the line from Caen to Cherbourg, that remains in the future. We’ve not really had time to think about it.’

  ‘Somebody else might have done so,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I’m sure that other contractors are planning surveys already.’

  ‘Only because they want to build the line.’

  ‘It could be a very profitable venture.’

  ‘Assuming that we do not have another revolution,’ said Filton with a tentative laugh. ‘You never know with these people.’

  ‘Oh, I think that Louis Napoleon is here to stay.’

  ‘For a time, Mr Brassey.’

  ‘He’s a man of great ambition, Aubrey.’

  ‘That’s the impression I’ve had of him,’ said Colbeck. ‘From all that I’ve read about Louis Napoleon, he seems to be a man of decisive action. He knows precisely what he wants and how best to achieve it. Well, you’ve met him, Mr Brassey,’ he continued. ‘Is that an unfair estimate of him?’

  ‘Not at all. He’s determined and single-minded.’

  ‘Just like his namesake.’

  ‘He patterns himself on Bonaparte.’

  ‘That could worry some people. When I said a moment ago that somebody else might have thought about the extension to Cherbourg, I was not referring to your rival contractors. They simply want to build the railway,’ said Colbeck. ‘What about those who want to stop it from ever being built?’

  ‘Why should anyone want to stop it, Inspector Colbeck?’

  ‘We’ll have to ask them when they’re finally caught.’

  Brendan Mulryne might have been working on the railway for a month rather than simply a day. He related so easily to the people around him that he gained an immediate popularity. Part of a crowd of navvies who descended on one of the inns in a nearby village, he proved to his new friends that he could drink hard, talk their language and tell hilarious anecdotes about some of the escapades in which he had been involved. Since there were others there who hailed from Dublin, he was also able to indulge in some maudlin reminiscences of the city. The night wore on.