'Detectives from Scotland Yard!'

'Yes, sir,' said Constable Praine. 'Two of them.'

'I don't care if it's two or twenty. We don't want them here.'

'No, Inspector.'

'We can solve this crime on our own.'

'If you say so.'

'I do say so, Constable. It was committed on our doorstep.'

'That's not strictly true,' said Praine, pedantically. 'The Sankey Viaduct is halfway between here and Manchester. Some would claim that they have a right to take over the case.'

'Manchester?'

'Yes, Inspector.'

'Poppycock! Arrant poppycock!'

'If you say so.'

'I do say so, Constable.'

'The train in question did depart from Manchester.'

'But it was coming here, man – to Liverpool!'

In the eyes of Inspector Sidney Heyford, it was an unanswerable argument and the constable would not, in any case, have dared to quarrel with him. It was not only because of the other man's position that Walter Praine held his tongue. Big, brawny and with a walrus moustache hiding much of his podgy young face, Praine nursed secret ambitions to become Heyford's son-in-law one day, a fact that he had yet to communicate to the inspector's comely daughter. The situation made Praine eager to impress his superior. To that end, he was ready to endure the brusque formality with which he was treated.

'I'm sure that you are right, Inspector,' he said, obsequiously.

'There is no substitute for local knowledge.'

'I agree, sir.'

'We have done all that any detectives from the Metropolitan Police would have done – much more, probably.' Heyford turned an accusatory glare on Praine. 'How did they get to know of the crime in the first place?' he demanded. 'I hope that nobody from here dared to inform them?'