Page 14 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“Improbable, not impossible.”
Victor got up and set his teacup on the table. “I need paper, a pencil and a map of the area between Brighton and London with the train line marked.”
Peter went to fetch the items.
“You think she was murdered first, don’t you, Miss Fox?” Goliath asked. “Someone stabbed her and pushed her dead body out of the window. That’s why she didn’t scream.”
“I’m afraid so. I can’t think of another explanation. There was nowhere to hide in that compartment, and she didn’t leave the car at any point en route.”
“Was there blood in her compartment?” Victor asked.
“I didn’t check, but I assume not, or the police would have been notified.” That ruled out his stabbing theory.
“You said she had a bag with her. You didn’t see it when you passed the empty compartment at Victoria Station?”
“I’m quite sure it wasn’t there.”
Peter returned with the items and laid the map out on one of the tables. He traced his finger over the black railway line between Brighton and London. It branched off at one point only to rejoin it again, to allow for the faster express train to overtake the train that stops all stations.
Goliath, standing behind us since he was taller, raised a good question. “Is there a slow section? Somewhere she could jump out without getting too hurt?”
Frank scoffed. “A woman jump out of a moving train?”
“Don’t you call me an idiot again.”
“Then don’t say idiotic things. Women don’t jump out of trains.”
I leaned closer to the map to study it. “While I generally agree with your sentiment that women tend not to do stupid things, Frank, I can think of one reason why she might jump out of a slow-moving train—she was trying to escape. However, the express doesn’t slow down except when it pulls into a station.” I pointed to the two stations on the line before Victoria, both in built-up areas. “They’re too public and it was broad daylight. We would have heard about witnesses seeing a woman jump from her compartment window by now. It had to have happened in the countryside, where no one was about. The train sped along without slowing, so I doubt anyone would survive the landing.”
Victor pointed to the Ouse Valley Viaduct. “My guess is here. There are a few scattered farmhouses, but none close to the viaduct.”
Peter offered the paper and pencil to Victor. “Did you want these to make a copy of the map?”
Victor took them, then passed them along to me. “Draw the layout of the carriage, taking note of who was in each compartment and where the exits are.”
I sat down and the men crowded around as I sketched the first-class carriage’s layout. “At the front end is the door that exits onto the platform. It’s the only direct access for passengers getting on or off. The compartments are on the left side of the narrow corridor. In the first compartment, starting at that end, was Ruth Price. She was alone. In the second compartment was the lady with the large hat who bumped into me on the platform in Brighton before I got on. I didn’t notice until we got off that there was another woman in there with her. She also wore a large hat. In compartment number three was Clement Beecroft.”
“The actor?” Goliath asked.
“Actor and impresario. There was a second man in his compartment. He was…odd.”
“In what way?” Peter asked.
“He looked like a laborer. Or a pugilist. His nose was somewhat squashed in.”
“In a first-class carriage?” Frank tutted. “What’s the world coming to?”
“Maybehekilled her,” Goliath agreed.
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions based on a man’s clothes or nose,” I said wryly. “But I admit that he seemed out of place. In compartment number four were Lord and Lady Pridhurst and their grown daughter, Odette. I met them in Brighton. They stayed at the same hotel as us. Then it was we three, in the final compartment. No one passed our door to reach Ruth’s, so we can discount passengers from other carriages. Nor did Ruth go in the opposite direction to the next carriage. If she was murdered then bundled out of her window, the murderer must be someone occupying the compartments between hers and ours.” I counted up the dots I’d placed in each square that signified compartments. “Seven suspects. But something has just occurred to me.”
The men looked at me, but it was Victor whose mind worked most like mine. “You never saw their faces?” he asked.
“I did not.”
“Whose faces?” Peter asked.
I pointed to the second compartment, the one next to Ruth’s. “There were two women in here wearing large hats that obscured their faces. The one with the wine-red flowers on the brim had bumped into me just before I saw Ruth get on the train, but I didn’t see the other woman get on. I only saw her when I got off. What ifshewas Ruth? She may have carried the hat and clothes in her bag and changed into them before changing compartments at some point during the journey.”
