Free The Excursion Train by Edward Marston Page B

where he might be, and why he had committed the hideous crime.
    Hoxton was to blame. She was fervent in that belief. Disliking and distrusting the area, she wished that they hadnever moved there. The tragedy that, from the very start, she felt was imminent had now taken place. The irony was that it had prompted a display of sympathy and generosity among her neighbours that she had never realised was there. In losing a husband, she had gained unlikely friends.
    She was still lost in prayer when she heard a knock on her door. The sudden intrusion alarmed her. It was as if she had been shaken roughly awake and she required a moment to gather herself together. A second knock made her move towards the front door. Then she hesitated. What if it were someone who had discovered she was the wife of Jacob Guttridge and come to confront her? Should she lie low and ignore the summons? Or should she answer the door and simply brazen it out? A third knock – much firmer than the others – helped her to make her decision. She could hide no longer behind her maiden name. It was time to behave like the woman she really was – the widow of a hangman. Gathering up her skirt, she hurried to the door and opened it wide.
    Louise Guttridge was so astonished to find her son standing there that she was struck dumb. He, too, was palpably unable to speak, seeing his mother for the first time in three years and unsure how his visit would be received. Michael Guttridge looked nervous rather than penitent, but the very fact that he was there touched her. Louise’s feelings were ambivalent. Trying to smile, all that she could contrive was a grimace. He cleared his throat before speaking tentatively.
    ‘Hello, Mother.’
    ‘What do you want?’ she asked, suspiciously. ‘Have you come here to gloat?’
    ‘Of course not.’ He sounded hurt. ‘May I come in?’
    ‘I don’t know, Michael.’
    ‘But I’m your son .’
    ‘You were – once.’
    And she scrutinised him as if trying to convince herself of the fact.
     
    ‘I knew that you’d need my advice,’ said Caleb Andrews, nudging his elbow. ‘Whenever there’s a crime on the railway, bring it to me.’
    ‘Thank you for the kind offer,’ said Colbeck, amused.
    ‘How can I help you this time, Inspector?’
    ‘Actually, it was Madeleine I came to see.’
    ‘But I’m the railwayman.’
    ‘Stop playing games, Father,’ said his daughter. ‘You know quite well that Robert would not discuss a case with you.’
    ‘All right, all right,’ said Andrews, pretending to be offended. ‘I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll get out of your way.’
    And with a wink at Madeleine, he went off upstairs to change out of his driver’s uniform. Left alone with her, Colbeck was able to greet her properly by taking both hands and squeezing them affectionately. For her part, Madeleine was thrilled to see him again, glad that she had taken the precaution of wearing her new dress that evening. Colbeck stood back to admire it and gave her a smile of approval.
    ‘We saw your name in the newspaper,’ she said. ‘I can see why the Great Western Railway asked for you.’
    ‘It’s a double-edged compliment. It means that the investigation falls into my lap, which is gratifying, but – if I fail – it also means that I take the full blame for letting a killer escape justice.’
    ‘You won’t fail, Robert. You never fail.’
    ‘That’s not true,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve made my share ofmistakes since I joined the Metropolitan Police. Fortunately, I’ve been able to hide them behind my occasional successes. Detection is not a perfectible art, Madeleine – if only it were! All that we can do is to follow certain procedures and rely on instinct.’
    ‘Your instinct solved the train robbery last year.’
    ‘I did have a special incentive with regard to that case.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she said, returning his smile. ‘But I don’t think that I was your only inspiration. I’d never seen anyone so