Read Online Peril on the Royal Train by Edward Marston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward Marston
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came to see ye, Bella.’
‘I should be working.’
‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and so should I but I had to ask ye a favour.’
‘What do ye mean?’
When he took the handbill from his pocket, he felt a surge of tenderness. He was holding something that might transform their lives if they had courage enough to turn their backs on their respective families. Bella looked up with eyes full of hope.
‘Well?’ she prodded. ‘Are ye going to speak?’
He cleared his throat and ran his tongue over dry lips.
‘How well can ye read?’ he asked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Victor Leeming was glad to reach the comparative safety of Glasgow and to stand on solid ground once more. The journey from Beattock had been testing. As the train struggled up the Bank with the aid of two locomotives, Leeming didn’t dare to look out of the window. The gradient felt alarmingly steep and his hope that they’d eventually reach the summit was eroded by a garrulous companion who told him scary stories of wheels losing their grip during heavy rain or of the train sliding backwards when the rails were rimed with frost. Scenic beauty held no interest for him. It was only when they arrived at his destination that he felt confident enough to peer through the glass. They’d entered Buchanan Street station and were slowing to a halt. The sergeant gulped with relief. After miles of open countryside, the clamour, bustle and industrial grime of Glasgow were wonderfully reassuring.
The letter of introduction did more than offer him access to the headquarters of the Caledonian Railway. It gained him an unexpectedly cordial welcome and equipped him with a willing guide in the shape of John Mudie, a red-haired young man with a nervous laugh and an affable manner. Charged with offering unlimited assistance to the detective, Mudie did everything that was asked of him. The first thing that Leeming wanted to see was the service record of the three victims of the disaster. Dougal Murray, the fireman, and Alan Grint, the guard, had worked for the Caledonian for years. It had been their sole source of employment. Jock Laidlaw, the driver, had been more ubiquitous. He’d worked for two of the smaller Scottish railway companies before spending four years with the North British. According to Mudie, the driver had been lured to the Caledonian by the promise of higher wages and better working conditions. Laidlaw had been with them for a few years now.
‘What else can I show you, Sergeant?’ asked Mudie.
‘I’d like to hear about any discontented employees who’ve recently left. Do you keep any record of them?’
‘We have a long list of people whose employment was terminated. It goes back over the years.’
‘I’m only interested in those who parted company with you in the last six months, say. Does anyone come into that category?’
‘Rather too many, I fear,’ admitted the Scotsman.
‘Give me some examples,’ said Leeming.
They were in a small office that reminded him of the pokey room assigned to him at Scotland Yard. The difference was that Mudie’s domain was scrupulously tidy. He had Colbeck’s predilection for order. Leeming’s natural habitat, by contrast, was an amiable clutter. Mudie abhorred disarray. Everything was self-evidently in its proper place. Plucking a ledger from a shelf, he opened it, found the page he was after and ran a finger down a list of names.
‘We’ve had five men dismissed for drunkenness, two for persistent lateness, three for disobeying orders from a superior and one …’ Mudie paused as he searched for the right words. ‘And one was sacked for behaving improperly with a young woman during the night shift. Add to that a couple who resorted to violence.’
‘And did all these people work on the footplate?’
‘No, no, Sergeant, this also covers station staff and railway policemen.’
‘Are any of those dismissals in any way connected with the three people who were killed in the crash?’ asked Leeming.
‘I should be working.’
‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and so should I but I had to ask ye a favour.’
‘What do ye mean?’
When he took the handbill from his pocket, he felt a surge of tenderness. He was holding something that might transform their lives if they had courage enough to turn their backs on their respective families. Bella looked up with eyes full of hope.
‘Well?’ she prodded. ‘Are ye going to speak?’
He cleared his throat and ran his tongue over dry lips.
‘How well can ye read?’ he asked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Victor Leeming was glad to reach the comparative safety of Glasgow and to stand on solid ground once more. The journey from Beattock had been testing. As the train struggled up the Bank with the aid of two locomotives, Leeming didn’t dare to look out of the window. The gradient felt alarmingly steep and his hope that they’d eventually reach the summit was eroded by a garrulous companion who told him scary stories of wheels losing their grip during heavy rain or of the train sliding backwards when the rails were rimed with frost. Scenic beauty held no interest for him. It was only when they arrived at his destination that he felt confident enough to peer through the glass. They’d entered Buchanan Street station and were slowing to a halt. The sergeant gulped with relief. After miles of open countryside, the clamour, bustle and industrial grime of Glasgow were wonderfully reassuring.
The letter of introduction did more than offer him access to the headquarters of the Caledonian Railway. It gained him an unexpectedly cordial welcome and equipped him with a willing guide in the shape of John Mudie, a red-haired young man with a nervous laugh and an affable manner. Charged with offering unlimited assistance to the detective, Mudie did everything that was asked of him. The first thing that Leeming wanted to see was the service record of the three victims of the disaster. Dougal Murray, the fireman, and Alan Grint, the guard, had worked for the Caledonian for years. It had been their sole source of employment. Jock Laidlaw, the driver, had been more ubiquitous. He’d worked for two of the smaller Scottish railway companies before spending four years with the North British. According to Mudie, the driver had been lured to the Caledonian by the promise of higher wages and better working conditions. Laidlaw had been with them for a few years now.
‘What else can I show you, Sergeant?’ asked Mudie.
‘I’d like to hear about any discontented employees who’ve recently left. Do you keep any record of them?’
‘We have a long list of people whose employment was terminated. It goes back over the years.’
‘I’m only interested in those who parted company with you in the last six months, say. Does anyone come into that category?’
‘Rather too many, I fear,’ admitted the Scotsman.
‘Give me some examples,’ said Leeming.
They were in a small office that reminded him of the pokey room assigned to him at Scotland Yard. The difference was that Mudie’s domain was scrupulously tidy. He had Colbeck’s predilection for order. Leeming’s natural habitat, by contrast, was an amiable clutter. Mudie abhorred disarray. Everything was self-evidently in its proper place. Plucking a ledger from a shelf, he opened it, found the page he was after and ran a finger down a list of names.
‘We’ve had five men dismissed for drunkenness, two for persistent lateness, three for disobeying orders from a superior and one …’ Mudie paused as he searched for the right words. ‘And one was sacked for behaving improperly with a young woman during the night shift. Add to that a couple who resorted to violence.’
‘And did all these people work on the footplate?’
‘No, no, Sergeant, this also covers station staff and railway policemen.’
‘Are any of those dismissals in any way connected with the three people who were killed in the crash?’ asked Leeming.
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