Murder on the Brighton Express by Edward Marston Page B

before long.’
     
    Captain Harvey Ridgeon was in a purposeful mood when he called at Scotland Yard that afternoon. Demanding to speak to the most senior detective on the premises, he was shown into the office of Edward Tallis. After attending church early that morning, the superintendent had spent the rest of the day going through reports of the various cases that came under his aegis and making copious notes of the instructions he intended to give to his respective officers. He could see at a glance that his visitor had come to complain.
    Once introductions had been made, Ridgeon was offered a seat. As former soldiers, they had similar attitudes, similar upright sitting positions and similar ways of speaking. What distinguished Tallis was that he no longer attached his military rank to his name, preferring the nomenclature conferred on him by the Detective Department.
    ‘What can I do for you, Captain Ridgeon?’ he asked.
    ‘I’d like you to remonstrate with Inspector Colbeck,’ said the other, coolly. ‘I find his interference both unhelpful and annoying.’
    ‘Then your argument is with the railway company itself. It was they who sought his assistance.’
    ‘I need no assistance, Superintendent. As my record shows, I’m perfectly capable of carrying out an inquiry into a railway accident.’
    ‘Nobody disputes that. The point at issue here, however, is that we are not dealing with an accident. Inspector Colbeck is certain that a heinous crime has been committed.’
    ‘The facts are open to that misinterpretation, I agree,’ said Ridgeon. ‘What surprises me is that the much-vaunted Railway Detective has misread them so wilfully.’
    ‘His report seemed convincing enough to me.’
    ‘The real fault lies with the driver, Superintendent.’
    ‘What about the bolts that were found in the bushes?’
    ‘They could easily have sprung clear when the locomotive first left the rails. Think of the force involved – the train demolished the whole track as it careered along.’
    ‘How do you explain the pickaxe found by Sergeant Leeming?’
    ‘That was the surest proof of your officers’ inexperience,’ said Ridgeon. ‘Both of them leapt to the same conclusion. Had they been as acquainted with the laziness of certain railwaymen as I am, they would have known that some of them conceal their tools under the bushes to save them the trouble of having to carry them to and fro.’
    ‘But no work had been done recently on that stretch of line,’ said Tallis, recalling the detail in Colbeck’s report.
    ‘Then the pickaxe was left there at an earlier stage and forgotten by the man who put it there. Or perhaps he’s no longer working for the company. There’s nothing sinister in that pickaxe. It’s not the first implement I’ve found concealednear the line.’
    Tallis was irritated by the mingled authority and complacence in his voice. Unlike the superintendent, Ridgeon was not given to bluster and browbeating. He opted for a calm yet incisive approach. There was no doubting the man’s credentials. Only someone of exceptional talent would have been appointed to head the railway inspectorate. For the first time, Tallis began seriously to wonder if Colbeck had made a mistake in his assessment of the crash. His instinct, however, was to support his officers steadfastly so his expression betrayed no hint of this worrying thought. He stroked his moustache meditatively.
    ‘Well?’ asked Ridgeon after a long pause.
    Tallis gave a shrug. ‘Well what, Captain?’
    ‘I’m waiting for a response.’
    ‘I put my faith in Inspector Colbeck.’
    ‘Does that mean you’re not going to reprimand him?’
    ‘Not without good reason,’ said Tallis.
    ‘But I’ve just given you that good reason,’ said Ridgeon. ‘The inspector has contradicted my findings and reached an alternative conclusion that is both mistaken and dangerous.’
    ‘Dangerous?’
    ‘If the newspapers hear that a crime is suspected, they will seize on