‘Now that you mention it,’ recalled Leeming, scratching his chin, ‘they did seem a little embarrassed when I questioned them. I put it down to the fact that they had no shoes on.’
‘They’re hiding something, Victor.’
‘Do you think they might be in league with the robbers?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘If that had been the case, they’d have fled when the crime was committed. My guess is that they helped the robbers in another way – by being lax in their duties.’
Light was starting to fade noticeably so the Inspector lengthened his stride. Leeming increased his own speed but Inspector McTurk was panting audibly as he tried to keep pace with them. When they reached Leighton Buzzard Station, they saw that there was a sizeable crowd on the station. Colbeck ignored them and led the way to the rolling stock that was standing in a siding. The railway policeman who had been dispatched by McTurk was standing officiously beside the guard’s van.
Handing his top hat to Leeming, Colbeck first clambered up into the luggage van to examine the huge safe in which the money had been locked. Designed and built at the factory of one of England’s most reputable locksmiths, John Chubb, the safe was made of inch thick steel plate. It was three feet high, wide and deep, with a door formed by the hinged lid that swung back on a guard-chain. On the front wall of the safe were keyholes to twin locks, whose interior mechanism was almost six inches deep.
Colbeck admired the quality of construction. The positioning of the locks, and the need for a combination number, confronted any burglar with almost insurmountable problems. Cracksmen whom he had arrested in the past had always admitted how difficult it was to open a Chubb safe. Yet, in this case, the doors of the safe were gaping. Colbeck made a quick search of the van but found nothing that could be construed as a clue. He left the van, dropped to the ground and moved across to inspect the broken handles on the doors of the mail coach. One blow from a sledgehammer was all that had been required. Opening a door, Colbeck hauled himself up into the coach.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ called McTurk.
‘Am I?’ he replied.
‘I searched it thoroughly myself.’
‘I’m sure that I’ll see your footprints, Inspector.’
‘You’ll find nothing, I can tell you that.’
Colbeck beamed at him. ‘Thank you for your encouragement,’ he said. ‘It’s heartening to know we have your sage counsel to call upon.’
McTurk replied with a snort but Colbeck did not even hear it. He had already stepped into the coach to begin his search. Instead of being divided into separate compartments, the carriage consisted of one long space that had been adapted to enable mail to be sorted in transit. A table ran the length of one wall and, above that, was a series of wooden pigeonholes into which letters and parcels could be slotted. There were no signs of a struggle.
Robert Colbeck was meticulous. Beginning at one end of the coach, he made his way slowly forward and combed every inch. The search was painstaking and it produced no evidence at first but he pressed on nevertheless, bending low to peer into every corner. It was when he was almost finished that he saw something that appeared to have fallen down behind the table. It was a small white object, resting against the side of the coach. Colbeck had to get on his knees and stretch an arm to its fullest extent to retrieve the object. When he saw what it was, he gave a smile of satisfaction and went across to the door.
Inspector McTurk and Sergeant Leeming waited beside the track.
‘I told you there was nothing to see,’ said McTurk, triumphantly.
‘But there was,’ Colbeck told him. ‘You missed something.’
‘What?’
‘This, Inspector.’ He held up the card that he had found. ‘Now we know why the mail guards were taken unawares, Victor,’ he went on. ‘They were too busy playing cards to do their job properly.’
‘No wonder they kept their mouths shut,’ said Leeming.
‘My guess is that the policemen were in there with them. Instead of staying at their post in the luggage van, they preferred to pass the time with a game of cards.’ Colbeck leapt down to stand beside McTurk. ‘I fear that some of your men are unable to follow your excellent example, Inspector,’ he declared. ‘Unlike you, they do not know how to obey instructions.’
CHAPTER THREE
It took some while to persuade Frank Pike to abandon his bedside vigil. Consumed with grief, he seemed to feel that it was his bounden duty to remain beside the injured driver, as if his physical presence in the stationmaster’s office were the only hope of ensuring recovery. Having instructed his sergeant to take statements from the other people involved, Robert Colbeck turned his attention to Pike and, with a mixture of patience, sympathy and cool reason, eventually coaxed him into another room, where they could talk alone.
‘What about Caleb?’ asked Pike, nervously.
‘Mr Hayton, the stationmaster, will sit with him,’ explained Colbeck, putting his hat on the table. ‘If there’s any change in his condition, we’ll be called immediately.’
‘I should have done more to help him, sir.’
‘Let me be the judge of that, Mr Pike.’
‘When that man hit Caleb, I just went numb. I couldn’t move.’
‘It’s been a very distressing experience for you,’ said Colbeck, taking the chair behind the table. ‘I daresay that you’re still suffering from the shock of it all. Why don’t you sit down and rest?’
‘I feel that I should be in there with Caleb.’
‘Think of the man who attacked him. Do you want him caught?’
‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Pike with sudden urgency. ‘I do.’
‘Then you’ll have to help us. Every detail you can provide may be of value.’ He indicated the bench and the fireman slowly lowered himself on to it. ‘That’s better,’ he said, producing a pencil and pad from his inside pocket. ‘Now, in your own time, tell me what happened from the moment that the train was flagged down.’
Pike licked his lips with apprehension. He clearly did not wish to recount a story in which he felt his own conduct had been grievously at fault, but he accepted that it had to be done. On the other side of the wall, Caleb Andrews was fighting for his life. Even if it meant some personal discomfort for Pike, he knew that he had to be honest. It was the only way that he could help in the search for the men who had robbed the train and forced him to drive the locomotive off the track.
‘When was your suspicion first aroused?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Not until the signalman threw his flag aside and drew a pistol.’
‘Can you describe the fellow?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Pike with feeling. ‘He was as close as you are, Inspector. I looked him right in the face. He was a big man, around my own height, and with ginger whiskers. But it was his eyes I remember most clearly, sir. They was cold as death.’
Notwithstanding the fact that he was still badly shaken, Frank Pike gave a full and lucid account of the robbery, albeit punctuated with apologies for the way that he felt he had let the driver down. Noting down everything in his pad, Colbeck prodded him gently with questions until he elicited all the details. The fireman’s deep respect and affection for Caleb Andrews was obvious. Colbeck was touched. He tried to offer a modicum of reassurance.
‘From what you tell me,’ he said, ‘Mr Andrews was a plucky man.’
‘Caleb would stand up to anybody.’
‘Even when he was threatened with a loaded pistol.’
‘Yes,’ said Pike with a note of pride. ‘He was fearless.’
‘That courage will stand him in good stead now. He has a strong will to live and it should help him through. When his condition is more stable, I’ll arrange for him to be taken home. Meanwhile, I’ll make sure that’s he’s moved to a proper bed.’