Then Reg walked away, and a younger man, dressed identically, took his place.
And Jack turned, as the stationmaster gestured to the side entrance into the station’s little office.
Jack waited for Sarah to follow.
“After you — think he doesn’t exactly like me.”
And Sarah laughed, leading the way.
*
The door led into the ticket office — small and cramped enough that the three of them had to stand quite close.
Over Reg’s shoulder, Sarah saw Tim — an unused stool beside him — as he stood waiting for the rush of customers that had still not materialised.
In the corner she saw an old CCTV monitor, the screen split into four views of the station.
Going to need to check that, she thought.
“All right,” Reg said, “what do you want to know?”
Sarah took out her notebook — drawing another disapproving glance from the station manager.
And she went over all the facts — as they knew them — from Mandeville’s family.
“Is that all about right?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, yes, of course. That son of his, the “smoker” I call him, dashing onto the train before it had barely stopped. Then storming out, yelling at the top of his lungs. Made quite a scene, I don’t mind telling you.”
Jack cleared his throat.
“Guess he could be forgiven for reacting that way, hmm? Not every day you lose a dad like that.”
The humour of Jack’s words was lost on Syms. Sarah saw the other man, Tim, look over now and then.
Though they spoke quietly, he could easily follow every word.
“There’s nothing we’ve left out? Nothing we’ve missed?”
Reg shook his head. “No. I saw Mr Mandeville at the window as the train departed for Cheltenham Racecourse. Upon the train’s return, he wasn’t there. My staff checked each and every carriage immediately — nothing. I’m as baffled as anyone. And I must say, it doesn’t reflect well on the Great Cotswolds Steam Railway!”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You don’t want to get a reputation for losing passengers.”
Again, the crack brought no smile from Reg. Sarah thought she knew why.
“You knew Mr Mandeville, yes? Bit of a regular?”
And Reg nodded slowly. “Yes. Every Sunday. Same train. He loved the trains.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “We visited his house. Saw his model train set, looking, well, very much like this.”
Reg’s face brightened. “Yes, Mr Mandeville was someone who understood why our little train line here is so very important.” Another deep breath. “And I for one can’t bear the thought that something … something bad has happened to him.”
Yes, Sarah thought, the crusty station manager has a genuine affection for old Bernard.
She looked to Jack. A nod — he’d noted that as well.
Then Jack asked, “You yourself … you didn’t ride the train, right? Just watched it pull away?”
A nod from Reg. “Yes, of course. My place is here, at the ticket window. Sunday’s our busiest day, you see. Full complement of staff on board: Archie on duty as guard, Jim Wakely in the buffet car, providing hot drinks and snacks. No need for me—”
Then, an interruption.
From the man at the window.
“But I did. I rode the train. I was on it.”
Sarah saw Reg look over, annoyed at either the interruption or the unsolicited information being shared.
Or maybe both.
“Really?” she said, flipping over a new page in her notebook. “And you are?”
“Tim Waite,” said the man.
Sarah turned back to Reg for approval. “Do you mind? A few words?”
He gave a shrug and a nod, and she and Jack walked over to Tim Waite.
Who may, she thought, be one of the last people to have seen Bernard Mandeville.
7. Retracing Steps
Jack looked back to Reg. The stationmaster’s eyes locked on him as now he came close to Tim Waite.
Probably lots of issues of decorum being violated here, Jack thought.
“So, Tim, you rode the train?”
“Yes. Mr Syms here,” another glance at the master of the ticket office, arms grimly folded, “he suggested that, as part of my orientation, that I take a ride. Now that I was about to come fully on board, so to speak, with the organisation. I’m new, you see.”
Jack looked at Sarah. His message: what we have here may be our first eye witness.
How much of a witness, Jack would need find out.
“So — obvious question, Tim — did you see Mr Mandeville? During the trip I mean?”
Tim nodded. “Why yes. I mean, I had no official duties, Archie had that all in hand.”
“Archie? The guard, yes?”
“That’s right. He does all the checking and stamping of tickets. Strictly his job.”
Jack had the feeling, the way Tim said that, that Archie was as protective of his job punching tickets as old Reg here was about manning his ticket window.
And part of him, well, he simply loved that. Old-school Brits could be so … orderly!
He saw Sarah cock her head.
“And you saw Mr Mandeville?”
“Oh, yes. He was in first class. Seated by the window. I didn’t disturb him of course. I just walked the length of the train, and well — before I knew it — we were at the racecourse.”
Jack nodded.
“That’s something I’m curious about, Tim. When you got to Cheltenham, you got off the train?”
A nod. “Oh yes — wouldn’t miss that! I love seeing them uncouple the locomotive, move it to the other end. Quite an operation!”
Then, as if he felt his superior’s eyes on him, “And masterfully done, I must say.”
Jack smiled. “I can imagine …”
He felt Sarah looking at him, about to come to the big question.
“And I guess when you got to Cheltenham, lots of people got off, hmm?”
Tim’s eyes went wide. “Um, well actually …”
Thinking about it …
“No. I mean I got off, of course. And Archie. He stepped down. Watching it all. Think that’s a check he does at each switch, supervising, you know …”
Jack looked at Sarah.
“But no passengers got off?” Sarah said. “None at all?”
Tim shook his head. “No. I think most people — especially if it’s not a race day — passengers do a round trip. Their cars are parked here you see. No other way of getting back. Though—”
So far, this information had been pretty disappointing.
“A few people did get on at Cheltenham.”
“You remember what they looked like?” said Jack.
“Hmm, I didn’t really take much notice to be honest. A big family group I think: mum, dad, aunts and uncles, kids jumping around, you know. A young couple. An older couple.”
Tim had looked away as if he was mentally doing a careful accounting.
“That’s all?” Jack said.
“I think … so. I mean, I wasn’t really checking. I imagine the Cheltenham station manager could confirm that count. Not a lot, anyway. And all of them huddled inside the station’s waiting room. It was a blustery day, I can tell you.”
Finally, Reg at the back took a step closer to Tim Waite, clearing his throat for effect.
“So, I imagine that’s it then. I’m sure these people are very grateful, Tim, for your helpful information.”
Jack looked at Reg.
Could the old gent be capable of sarcasm?
Seemed so …
But Jack kept looking at him.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Reg. Just a few more question, hmm? Then,” another big smile, “we’ll be out of your hair, and out of your office.”
With pursed lips, Reg looked at his watch, and nodded.
The train due to leave in ten minutes.
And about that fact … Jac
k had an idea forming.
But for now — quickly, back to Tim Waite …
*
Sarah had watched Jack expertly interrogate the affable new railway volunteer.
But, unfortunately, with no useful results.
Having had a personal contact with Bernard Mandeville, Tim would certainly have remembered seeing the elderly and elegant man step off the train.
Which meant … Bernard Mandeville didn’t get off.
And again, Sarah had the thought: but that’s impossible …
“So, Tim, for the return trip to Cherringham Junction, same routine for you?”
“Not quite.”
The man fired a sheepish look at the stationmaster.
“Not … quite?” Sarah followed up.
“Well, after the locomotive was turned around, the front now the back and all that, I got ready to climb aboard, but … um …”
“But what, Tim?” Jack said.
Sarah could see that for perhaps the first time in this impossible mystery, with any concept of an actual crime still so far away, a look of hope — maybe anticipation — bloomed in Jack’s eyes.
Were they about to hear something important?
“Anyway, I, um … well, you see …”
Sarah took a breath even as Tim paused.
All of a sudden, Tim is not exactly a flowing fount of information, Sarah thought. The man now perhaps wishing he had kept quiet about being on the train.
Nobody likes all those questions …
“What did you do, Tim?”
Now an even longer pause.
“Mr Reynolds—”
“Archie. The guard,” Reg Syms added. His tone clearly indicating his displeasure with his new trainee being interrogated.
“Yes. Well, Mr Reynolds saw me and said, well, he said I could make the return trip actually on the loco. Rather than in the carriages.”
“He suggested that?” Jack said. “You didn’t ask him first?”
Tim nodded. “Gosh, no, I wouldn’t dream of doing that, first day on the job and all!”
“Sounds like you were surprised to be asked, Tim,” said Sarah.
“Absolutely!” said Tim. “I mean — it’s quite a privilege, isn’t it?”
Jack looked at Sarah.
His eyes with a bit of new interest.
After all, she thought, maybe we have a suspect now don’t we?
“So,” Jack said, “you didn’t see Mr Mandeville on the train, in his first-class cabin on the return?”
“Well, no. How could I? From the plate? But—”
Now Reg Syms cleared his throat, probably signalling from his perspective … enough of this …
“—I didn’t see anyone get off at Cheltenham; I was right on the platform. So, Mr Mandeville must still have been in his compartment. Isn’t that right, Mr Syms?”
“Yes. Now, if you lot wouldn’t mind, I have a station and ticket window to run. Train leaves in five minutes!”
Tim stepped away, clearing the way for Reg Syms to assume his post in front of the bars of the ticket window.
The message to Jack and Sarah was clear: this was over.
Now if you would please vacate my ticket office!
But Sarah looked at Jack. A smile on his face. A surprise in store, Sarah thought.
*
Despite Reg Syms’s dismissal, Jack stood there.
He turned to Sarah. “You know what? What might be really helpful?”
Sarah didn’t have a clue.
“What would that be, Jack?”
She noticed that even the stationmaster was watching this little performance of Jack’s.
“Well, train’s about to leave. I think for us to understand what may have happened, may not have happened …”
She finished the thought for him.
“We take the train?”
Phrased as a question, but the idea — perfect.
Now that they knew that someone on board had stopped Tim Waite from walking the train on the return journey.
Jack took a step closer to the stationmaster.
“Yes. Exactly. Maybe have a chat with this … Archie?”
Jack was looking right at Reg Syms.
“I think that’s rather irregular, Mr Brennan. He’s sure to be far too busy to engage in idle chit-chat. He is the guard, after all!”
Syms said the word “guard” as if the on-board post came with life and death duties that required perfect attention, lightning reflexes, and no distractions at all.
And there was something about all that … that Sarah simply loved.
“No worries, Mr Syms,” Jack said. “We’ll take care not to bother the train guard. And after all, you did say it’s a rather quiet travel day.”
Reg Syms sniffed.
Then Jack spun round again as though he’d just thought of something …
“Hey — here’s an idea,” he said, nodding towards the TV monitor in the corner of the office. “Seeing it is pretty quiet — think you could dig out the CCTV footage from last Sunday for us?”
“What?” said Reg.
“Don’t want to be any trouble,” said Jack, “but we ought to run through that ourselves just to be sure.”
“Really? The police have already—”
“No harm in being extra careful, hmm, Reg?” said Jack. “After all, there’s an elderly man missing here. A good man, no?”
Sarah saw Reg Syms raise his eyebrows. “Hmm, well,” he said. “I suppose if you put it like that …”
Then he tapped the ancient wood of his ticket window countertop.
“Very well then, I’ll have it prepared for your return. And by the way — you will both need tickets. Can’t have you taking a free ride!”
Sarah smiled, as she hurried to dig out some notes from her purse. A loud blast of the whistle outside signalled they had mere minutes to complete the transaction, and dash to the departing train.
She handed him the notes, while Reg Syms removed two tickets from a drawer and stamped them with what she imagined was the official seal of the Great Cotswolds Steam Railway.
Then, grabbing the tickets, she spun around.
“Let’s dash!”
8. All Aboard
Just as Jack slid into a seat next to Sarah, the train — with a final whistling salute to Cherringham Junction station — began to pull away.
She could feel the great locomotive, half a dozen carriages ahead, building up momentum, the metal wheels working in unison to pull the largely empty train.
Jack turned to her.
“This … is great.”
Sarah nodded. Despite being on board with a purpose — and a serious one, at that — this felt more like an exciting school trip.
At the front of the carriage she could see a group of mums and toddlers, the little kids standing on laps to see out of the windows.
Memories of jolly family outings when Chloe and Daniel were little came flooding back to her.
Goes so fast. Just as they say.
She liked trains — their quiet, and the solitude one could find in a leisurely trip into the anything-but-quiet city of London.
But this train, with no real destination, just chugging its way through the rolling countryside that surrounded her village, was a different story.
A perfect trip to nowhere.
“Shall we go hunt for our Mr Reynolds?”
Jack looked out the window, thinking.
“Um … well, we have the whole ride and back again. Plenty of time. Let’s just enjoy this for a bit? I’m sure, these will need to be punched.” Jack brandished his ticket. “If that’s what they do.”
“Who knows? I hope they don’t take it. I want to keep mine as a souvenir.”
“Me too!”
She watched Jack lean back against the old sprung seat and stare out of the window; the big windows providing a rolling show of hills and farmland, stands of idle cows staring at the noisy, smoky train, the sunlight cutting through the wafts of ste
am.
For the moment, she, too, simply enjoyed the ride.
*
After ten minutes or so, the connecting door at the front of the carriage opened, and a man came in, dressed in a similar regulation outfit to the stationmaster. Hat perfectly aligned. Carefully folded red handkerchief in his pocket.
Sarah looked at Jack.
“Do we … when he …?”
He shook his head. Voice low.
“Not yet, I think. We wait.”
She nodded as Archie Reynolds punched holes in the tickets of the other passengers in the car, joking with the kids and making them giggle.
Then he walked down to Jack and Sarah, a big smile on his face, and made his way to them.
“Morning folks. You picked a lovely day for a ride on the railway.”
“You can say that again,” Jack said, extending his ticket.
For a moment, Sarah thought she saw a flicker of reaction to Jack’s American accent.
Funny, she thought, how that itself could be unsettling. Not too common here, especially in the off-season.
“Excuse me, Mr—” Jack said. “Is there a tea car, someplace?”
“Of course! A small but adequate buffet, two cars up. And Mr Wakely should be all set by now. Tea, biscuits, the usual.”
Then, having punched their tickets, Archie Reynolds moved on towards the rear of the train, with a small tip to the brim of his hat, and another smile.
That smile will surely fade once we start with our questions, Sarah thought.
Jack turned to her.
“Okay. Shall we explore?”
“Definitely.”
Jack stood up. “And maybe even a spot of tea on the way.”
And with the train rocking on its ancient tracks, she followed Jack as he began a wobbly walk towards the front of the train.
When they stepped through into the next carriage, she could see it was completely empty.
Jack put his hand on her arm.
“Keep an eye on the door, will you, in case Archie comes back?”
She nodded — then watched as Jack squatted by one of the seats, inspecting the space.
“You think you could hide in here — if you really had to?” he said, pointing to the dusty metal frame of the double seat.
Sarah crouched down too: “Too small,” she said. “And for an elderly, sick man? No way.”
“Exactly what I thought,” said Jack, getting up and dusting down his jacket and trousers. “Got to be sure though. Come on.”
Cherringham--The Gentleman Vanishes Page 5