Reade consulted his watch and gave a nod of satisfaction at the train's punctuality. Fagge's hope was that it would bring the detectives from Scotland Yard and allow him to play a decisive part in a murder investigation. As the train thundered into the station and slowly ground to a halt amid a symphony of hissing and juddering, all that Hibbert could think about was his anxious wife, the threat of unemployment and his rumbling stomach. It was several hours since he had last eaten.

After stopping at major stations on the way, the train had finally arrived at Crewe. Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming were aboard and the stationmaster went out to greet them. When he brought the visitors back to his office, Reade introduced them to Hibbert and to Fagge. At a glance, Colbeck could see that the porter was trembling and that his superior was revelling in the man's discomfort.

'This is the miscreant,' declared Fagge, pointing at Hibbert. 'He dropped a trunk onto that hatbox.'

'How do you know?' asked Colbeck.

'He admits it.'

'But did you actually see the incident, Mr Fagge?'

'No – I was on another platform.'

'Then we have no further use for you. Goodbye.'

'But I have to be here,' blustered Fagge. 'I'm the head porter.'

'We're only interested in the porter with the head,' said Leeming, unable to stop himself from blurting out his joke. He was immediately contrite. 'I'm sorry, Inspector. I meant no disrespect to the dead.'

'I'm sure that you didn't, Victor,' said Colbeck easily, turning to the stationmaster. 'Mr Reade, I assume that you reported the grim discovery to the local police.'

'Yes, Inspector,' said Reade. 'Constable Hubbleday was summoned at once. He took statements from several witnesses.'

'Then I'll want to hear what else he did.' Colbeck swung round to confront Fagge. 'How far away is the police station?'