Edward Tallis was a stout, red-faced man in his fifties with a shock of grey hair and a neat moustache that he trimmed on a daily basis. His years in the army had left him with the habit of command, a passion for order and an unshakable belief in the virtues of the British Empire. Though invariably smart, he felt almost shabby beside the acknowledged dandy of Scotland Yard. Tallis derided what he saw as Colbeck's vanity, but he was honest enough to recognise the inspector's rare qualities as a detective. It encouraged him to suppress his instinctive dislike of the man. For his part, Colbeck, too, made allowances. Seniority meant that Tallis had to be obeyed and the inspector's natural antipathy towards him had to be hidden.

Tallis thrust the paper at him. 'Read it for yourself,' he said.

'Thank you, sir.' Colbeck needed only seconds to do so. 'This does not tell us very much, Superintendent.'

'What did you expect – a three-volume novel?'

'It claims that the victim was thrown from a moving train.'

'So?'

'That suggests great strength on the part of the killer. He would have to pitch a grown man through a window and over the parapet of the Sankey Viaduct. Unless, of course,' he added, handing the telegraph back to Tallis, 'he opened the door of the carriage first.'

'This is no time for idle speculation.'

'I agree, Superintendent.'

'Are you in a position to take charge of the case?'

'I believe so.'

'What happened in court this morning?'

'The jury finally brought in a verdict of guilty, sir. Why it should have taken them so infernally long, I can only hazard a guess. The evidence against Major Harrison-Clark was overwhelming.'

'That may be,' said Tallis with gruff regret, 'but I hate to see a military man brought down like that. The major served his country honourably for many years.'

'That does not entitle him to strangle his wife.'