Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Exercise a little patience,” said Mr. Piggin, “and I will endeavour to explain. After five attacks, commuters — as you can imagine — became careful. They took precautions. They travelled, where possible, in parties. Then came this period of more than three months in which nothing happened. Precautions were relaxed — prematurely, you may think — but such is human nature.”

Mr. Piggin was now studying his current year’s diary.

“On Thursday, January twentieth, a Mr. Osbaldistone was travelling to Bures, where he planned to spend a long weekend with an old friend. This involved changing at Marks Tey. The train was slowing as it approached Kelvedon, the station before Marks Tey, when he suddenly realised that he was alone in the carriage with one other man and that this man was advancing on him, with his left hand in his overcoat pocket. The consciousness of his peril deprived him, he said, of the power to move or shout. He was mesmerised. Most fortunately, at that moment a young man — the son of the house that he was visiting — came through the connecting vestibule into the carriage. He said, ‘Mr. Osbaldistone, isn’t it? I guessed it might be you. You’re spending the weekend with us.’ By this time the other man had opened the carriage door and departed. When Mr. Osbaldistone related his experience, as he did, with some embarrassment, that evening, his hosts impressed on him that it was his duty to communicate with the police. Whether he was right or wrong in his suspicions, it was at least possible that he was the first man to come face-to-face with the killer and live to tell the tale. ‘You must describe him,’ they said.”

Because the first victim, a Mr. Mathieson, had worked in Stepney and lived in Romford, both places being in No. 2 Area East, the case had been assigned to the head of that area, Chief Superintendent Oliphant. He had delegated the routine handling of it to Chief Inspector Mayburgh at Cable Street, and it was to Mayburgh that Mr. Osbaldistone duly reported.

Mr. Piggin said, “I gathered from them — Osbaldistone is, by the way, a client of this firm and an old friend of your father’s — that it was not a happy experience. I’m sure he did his best, but it amounted to very little. He said, quite reasonably, that he wasn’t examining the man’s face. His attention was fixed on his left hand, which appeared to be drawing some sort of weapon out of his coat pocket. He couldn’t see more than the handle, but yes, it might have been a life preserver, something like that. ‘Or the whole thing might have been your imagination,’ says Mayburgh. ‘Yes, it might have been,’ Osbaldistone agreed. ‘But I was too worked up to notice precise details.’ All this was in answer to a series of bad-tempered questions and grunts. The inspector considered that Mr. Osbaldistone had no right to get worked up. He should have been making a careful inspection of his assailant.”

“Mayburgh sounds a bit of a brute,” said Hugo.

“He’s an old-fashioned rhinoceros who tries to arrive at the truth by butting at it, head first. His second-in-command, Inspector Barley, on the other hand, is what you might call — hum — a scientific policeman.”

Hugo gathered from Mr. Piggin’s tone that his description of Inspector Barley was not intended to be entirely complimentary.

“In the end,” he said, “he got nothing out of Mr. O. except that his presumed attacker looked, in every way, like a normal City worker. Pale face, clean-shaven, indeterminate features, no distinguishing marks. When he said that the man was ‘ordinary’ he had said it all. His failure on that occasion may account for the inspector’s wish to question you.”

“For God’s sake! Why me? I never even saw the man.”

“The working of the inspector’s mind is a closed book to me. All I can tell you is that there was a message on our answer-phone when I arrived that he would like to see you at ten o’clock. It’s a quarter to ten now. Better not keep the rhinoceros waiting.”

When Hugo was ushered into Mayburgh’s office he saw a man who could have been nothing but a middle-ranking policeman. One who had started at the bottom and crashed upwards not caring what toes he trod on. The red face, bristling hair, and angry eyes said it all. He barked at Hugo to sit down and opened fire with the observation that Hugo should not have disturbed the body.

“But I had to be certain the man was dead.”

“Were you in any doubt about it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then why did you touch him?”

“If I hadn’t, he’d have fallen onto the floor. You wouldn’t have wanted that, surely.”

“It’s not what I want, it’s what the medical experts want. They can make useful deductions if they find the body exactly as it was at the point of death.”

This seemed like nonsense to Hugo, but had evidently gained the approval of the young man in glasses who was sitting quietly in the corner. The scientific Inspector Barley?