Read Online Death on the Last Train by George Bellairs - Free Book Online Page B

sessions.
    â€œHa!! Sit down, Inspector,” boomed Mrs. Beaglehole. “The very man I want … Bernard, stop fussing about and sit down …”
    â€œI’ve just finished my business with your husband, Mrs. Beaglehole, and I must be getting off. There’s the inquest immediately after lunch …”
    â€œYou needn’t worry about that, Inspector. It will be adjourned,” said the J.P. with finality. She stood before the fire, warming and rubbing her huge haunches and pointed masterfully to a chair, fixing her protruding eyes on Littlejohn.
    â€œI daresay, madam. But, unless you’ve any useful information to give me about the deceased or the crime, it’s no use my wasting your time and mine …”
    â€œWasting time? I
never
waste time. I want the full details of the case up to date, Inspector. I shall be on the bench which will eventually commit your quarry to the assizes when you catch him …”
    â€œUntil then, madam, I must beg to be excused.”
    Mr. Beaglehole’s eyes opened wide in admiration. What wouldn’t he give to be able to talk like that! He boldly saw Littlejohn to the door, wrung him cordially by the hand and returned to face his dumbfounded partner …
    Meanwhile, Cromwell had fared little better at the munition works. He received, a mixed reception. Clad in his cloth cap, for none of the shops in Salton had a bowler to fit him, he was mistaken for a trade union leader, a Ministry of Supply inspector, a communist agitator and a visiting delegate from Russia, respectively. Most of the workpeople were disappointed when they heard he was from Scotland Yard. They asked him why he’d needed to arrive there disguised. No, nobody had bothered about Tim Bellis and his woman. The rougher element made remarks about the pair of them which brought blushes toCromwell’s modest cheeks. They took a liking to him, personally, however, gave him a lunch in the canteen and entertained him with workers’ playtime.
    Before the inquest, Littlejohn had the chance of a word or two with some of the witnesses.
    Ted Drake and his mate, both dressed in their best, with the fireman looking as though he had left the coat-hanger in his jacket, stated they had been too occupied with the signal and worried about the cause of the halt to notice what was happening in the train behind. Drake was sweating with fear at the thought of giving evidence and somehow his memory refused to function. The guard, however, who was more used to coroner’s courts, his mother-in-law having committed suicide and his brother having been killed in a street accident, was more self-possessed.
    â€œWhoever climbed in the train while it were stopped must a’ climbed in on the oppersight side to the signal,” he said oracularly, slowly throwing back his head and closing his eyes portentuously as he did so. He had a face like a rabbit, buck teeth and all. His eyebrows were singed off, for he smoked a lot in his van.
    â€œI agree there, guard,” replied the the Inspector, refraining with difficulty from being sarcastic. “You’d have seen anybody moving about on your own side of the train.”
    â€œYus. No openin’ or closin’ doors on that side. But on the other …well … Oo knows what went on?”
    He thrust his face close to that of the detective and breathed stale thick twist over him.
    â€œBut one thing I can say that’ll p’raps be of use,” he whispered, drawing back and raising a long rhetorical finger with a dirty nail. “When Ted Drake blew at the signal … when Ted Drake blew at the signal, a fellow in one of the ’ouses on the side of the line threw up ’is bedroom window and started to curse ’orrible …”
    â€œYou’re thinking he may have seen something as he overlooked the opposite side from the signal?”
    â€œThat’s it. You got me. ’E may ’ave seen the