Jack looked back to Reg. The stationmaster’s eyes locked on him as now he came close to Tim Waite.
Probably lots of issues of decorum being violated here, Jack thought.
“So, Tim, you rode the train?”
“Yes. Mr Syms here,” another glance at the master of the ticket office, arms grimly folded, “he suggested that, as part of my orientation, that I take a ride. Now that I was about to come fully on board, so to speak, with the organisation. I’m new, you see.”
Jack looked at Sarah. His message: what we have here may be our first eye witness.
How much of a witness, Jack would need find out.
“So — obvious question, Tim — did you see Mr Mandeville? During the trip I mean?”
Tim nodded. “Why yes. I mean, I had no official duties, Archie had that all in hand.”
“Archie? The guard, yes?”
“That’s right. He does all the checking and stamping of tickets. Strictly his job.”
Jack had the feeling, the way Tim said that, that Archie was as protective of his job punching tickets as old Reg here was about manning his ticket window.
And part of him, well, he simply loved that. Old-school Brits could be so … orderly!
He saw Sarah cock her head.
“And you saw Mr Mandeville?”
“Oh, yes. He was in first class. Seated by the window. I didn’t disturb him of course. I just walked the length of the train, and well — before I knew it — we were at the racecourse.”
Jack nodded.
“That’s something I’m curious about, Tim. When you got to Cheltenham, you got off the train?”
A nod. “Oh yes — wouldn’t miss that! I love seeing them uncouple the locomotive, move it to the other end. Quite an operation!”
Then, as if he felt his superior’s eyes on him, “And masterfully done, I must say.”
Jack smiled. “I can imagine …”
He felt Sarah looking at him, about to come to the big question.
“And I guess when you got to Cheltenham, lots of people got off, hmm?”
Tim’s eyes went wide. “Um, well actually …”
Thinking about it …
“No. I mean I got off, of course. And Archie. He stepped down. Watching it all. Think that’s a check he does at each switch, supervising, you know …”
Jack looked at Sarah.
“But no passengers got off?” Sarah said. “None at all?”
Tim shook his head. “No. I think most people — especially if it’s not a race day — passengers do a round trip. Their cars are parked here you see. No other way of getting back. Though—”
So far, this information had been pretty disappointing.
“A few people did get on at Cheltenham.”
“You remember what they looked like?” said Jack.
“Hmm, I didn’t really take much notice to be honest. A big family group I think: mum, dad, aunts and uncles, kids jumping around, you know. A young couple. An older couple.”
Tim had looked away as if he was mentally doing a careful accounting.
“That’s all?” Jack said.
“I think … so. I mean, I wasn’t really checking. I imagine the Cheltenham station manager could confirm that count. Not a lot, anyway. And all of them huddled inside the station’s waiting room. It was a blustery day, I can tell you.”
Finally, Reg at the back took a step closer to Tim Waite, clearing his throat for effect.
“So, I imagine that’s it then. I’m sure these people are very grateful, Tim, for your helpful information.”
Jack looked at Reg.
Could the old gent be capable of sarcasm?
Seemed so …
But Jack kept looking at him.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Reg. Just a few more question, hmm? Then,” another big smile, “we’ll be out of your hair, and out of your office.”
With pursed lips, Reg looked at his watch, and nodded.
The train due to leave in ten minutes.
And about that fact … Jack had an idea forming.
But for now — quickly, back to Tim Waite …
*
Sarah had watched Jack expertly interrogate the affable new railway volunteer.
But, unfortunately, with no useful results.
Having had a personal contact with Bernard Mandeville, Tim would certainly have remembered seeing the elderly and elegant man step off the train.
Which meant … Bernard Mandeville didn’t get off.
And again, Sarah had the thought: but that’s impossible …
“So, Tim, for the return trip to Cherringham Junction, same routine for you?”
“Not quite.”
The man fired a sheepish look at the stationmaster.
“Not … quite?” Sarah followed up.
“Well, after the locomotive was turned around, the front now the back and all that, I got ready to climb aboard, but … um …”
“But what, Tim?” Jack said.
Sarah could see that for perhaps the first time in this impossible mystery, with any concept of an actual crime still so far away, a look of hope — maybe anticipation — bloomed in Jack’s eyes.
Were they about to hear something important?
“Anyway, I, um … well, you see …”
Sarah took a breath even as Tim paused.
All of a sudden, Tim is not exactly a flowing fount of information, Sarah thought. The man now perhaps wishing he had kept quiet about being on the train.
Nobody likes all those questions …
“What did you do, Tim?”
Now an even longer pause.
“Mr Reynolds—”
“Archie. The guard,” Reg Syms added. His tone clearly indicating his displeasure with his new trainee being interrogated.
“Yes. Well, Mr Reynolds saw me and said, well, he said I could make the return trip actually on the loco. Rather than in the carriages.”
“He suggested that?” Jack said. “You didn’t ask him first?”
Tim nodded. “Gosh, no, I wouldn’t dream of doing that, first day on the job and all!”
“Sounds like you were surprised to be asked, Tim,” said Sarah.
“Absolutely!” said Tim. “I mean — it’s quite a privilege, isn’t it?”
Jack looked at Sarah.
His eyes with a bit of new interest.
After all, she thought, maybe we have a suspect now don’t we?
“So,” Jack said, “you didn’t see Mr Mandeville on the train, in his first-class cabin on the return?”
“Well, no. How could I? From the plate? But—”
Now Reg Syms cleared his throat, probably signalling from his perspective … enough of this …
“—I didn’t see anyone get off at Cheltenham; I was right on the platform. So, Mr Mandeville must still have been in his compartment. Isn’t that right, Mr Syms?”
“Yes. Now, if you lot wouldn’t mind, I have a station and ticket window to run. Train leaves in five minutes!”
Tim stepped away, clearing the way for Reg Syms to assume his post in front of the bars of the ticket window.
The message to Jack and Sarah was clear: this was over.
Now if you would please vacate my ticket office!
But Sarah looked at Jack. A smile on his face. A surprise in store, Sarah thought.
*
Despite Reg Syms’s dismissal, Jack stood there.
He turned to Sarah. “You know what? What might be really helpful?”
Sarah didn’t have a clue.
“What would that be, Jack?”
She noticed that even the stationmaster was watching this little performance of Jack’s.
“Well, train’s about to leave. I think for us to understand what may have happened, may not have happened …”
She finished the thought for him.
“We take the train?”
Phrased as a question, but the idea — perfect.
Now that they knew that someone on board had stopped Tim Waite from walking the train on the return journey.
Jack took a step closer to the stationmaster.
“Yes. Exactly. Maybe have a chat with this … Archie?”
Jack was looking right at Reg Syms.
“I think that’s rather irregular, Mr Brennan. He’s sure to be far too busy to engage in idle chit-chat. He is the guard, after all!”
Syms said the word “guard” as if the on-board post came with life and death duties that required perfect attention, lightning reflexes, and no distractions at all.
And there was something about all that … that Sarah simply loved.
“No worries, Mr Syms,” Jack said. “We’ll take care not to bother the train guard. And after all, you did say it’s a rather quiet travel day.”
Reg Syms sniffed.
Then Jack spun round again as though he’d just thought of something …
“Hey — here’s an idea,” he said, nodding towards the TV monitor in the corner of the office. “Seeing it is pretty quiet — think you could dig out the CCTV footage from last Sunday for us?”
“What?” said Reg.
“Don’t want to be any trouble,” said Jack, “but we ought to run through that ourselves just to be sure.”
“Really? The police have already—”
“No harm in being extra careful, hmm, Reg?” said Jack. “After all, there’s an elderly man missing here. A good man, no?”
Sarah saw Reg Syms raise his eyebrows. “Hmm, well,” he said. “I suppose if you put it like that …”
Then he tapped the ancient wood of his ticket window countertop.
“Very well then, I’ll have it prepared for your return. And by the way — you will both need tickets. Can’t have you taking a free ride!”
Sarah smiled, as she hurried to dig out some notes from her purse. A loud blast of the whistle outside signalled they had mere minutes to complete the transaction, and dash to the departing train.
She handed him the notes, while Reg Syms removed two tickets from a drawer and stamped them with what she imagined was the official seal of the Great Cotswolds Steam Railway.
Then, grabbing the tickets, she spun around.
“Let’s dash!”