A Bespoke Murder

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cyril Burridge sat on a bench in Green Park and ate the sandwiches his wife had prepared for him. His new colleagues preferred to have their lunch in a nearby restaurant but he spurned their company. Whenever possible, he liked to be out in the fresh air, especially on such a warm day. In his immaculate suit and homburg hat, he looked rather incongruous eating out of a lunch box but he ignored the curious glances he attracted. There was no escaping the fact that there was a war on. Soldiers on leave strolled past him in uniform with wives or girlfriends on their arms. Recruiting posters were featured on a hoarding. As he’d passed the vendor at the gate, Burridge had noticed that the newspaper headline told of more bombs being dropped on London by Zeppelins. The Germans were spreading their attack and causing grave concern in the capital. It was not shared by Burridge. He was more interested in tearing off a piece of bread and breaking it up so that he could toss it to the birds dancing around his feet. They pecked thankfully at the crumbs.

When someone sat down beside him, the birds flew away. He turned to berate the newcomer, only to discover that he was next to Inspector Harvey Marmion.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ said the detective. ‘Your employer told me I might find you here.’

‘I like to feed the birds.’

‘That’s a laudable habit, Mr Burridge.’

‘Then why did you frighten them away?’

‘They’ll be back when they realise I’m no threat,’ said Marmion. ‘Those crumbs are far too inviting to leave.’

Burridge glared. ‘What are you after this time, Inspector?’

‘I want the usual thing, sir — more information.’

‘Get it somewhere else. I know nowt.’

‘I think you’d be surprised what you know. You just don’t happen to think it’s relevant. Tell me about Mr Cohen and Mr Fine.’

‘I disliked them both.’

‘How well did they get on together?’

Burridge spluttered. ‘How should I know? I were there to work, not to watch the others.’

‘Do you think Mr Cohen was aware of Mr Fine’s … inclinations?’

‘No,’ said the tailor, ‘he were taken in along with Mr Stein. I’ve got a sharper eye for these things.’

‘Would you describe yourself as a prejudiced man?’

‘Aye — and I’m proud of the fact. I’ve got my standards and no time for them as don’t meet them. Howard Fine fell well short of those standards. I were glad when he went.’

As he fired the next question, Marmion looked him in the eye. ‘Did you dislike him because he was a homosexual or because he was a Jew?’

‘I’ve nothing against Jews,’ said Burridge, angrily. ‘I’ve spent most of my life working with and for them. They’ve always treated me fairly. No, Inspector, I’m not prejudiced in that way. When it comes to sodomites, however, then I’m very prejudiced, as every decent man should be. People like Howard Fine are a disgrace.’

‘I daresay you passed on your low opinion to him.’

‘He knew where I stood.’

‘And did Mr Cohen share your prejudice?’

‘Ask him. He does have a tongue in his head, you know. What I will say is that the manager were troubled when Fine were kicked out. I loathed Mr Stone, as you know, but I agreed with what he did. It’s the only time Herbert Stone and me were of one mind.’

Marmion glanced down at the birds now hopping around only feet away from them. Burridge tossed them some more bread. They pecked away, sometimes fighting over the same crumb. Marmion was amused by their antics.

‘I told you they’d soon come back,’ he commented.

Burridge sniffed. ‘I just wish you hadn’t done so as well.’

‘Do you find my questions so intrusive?’

‘I find them dishonest, Inspector,’ said the other. ‘You ask one thing but you’re thinking another. You’re trying to trick me into saying what you want to hear.’

‘And what’s that, sir?’

‘I haven’t a bloody clue!’

Burridge’s rebuff brought the conversation to an end. He began to wrap up the remaining sandwich before putting it into the box on his lap. When the Yorkshireman got up abruptly, the birds scattered. Marmion rose to his feet and fell in beside him. They walked towards the gate at the Piccadilly end.

‘I’ll come back to the shop with you,’ he said.

‘Well, it’s not by invitation.’

‘Really? I thought you were revelling in my company.’ His sarcasm produced a throaty laugh from Burridge. ‘Did you know that Mr Fine lives in Brighton?’

‘I didn’t know and I don’t care.’

‘What reason could Mr Cohen have for visiting him there?’

‘Ask him.’

‘They were hardly friends when Mr Fine worked in London.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’m going on evidence so far gathered.’

‘Then it’s obviously insufficient,’ said Burridge. ‘People in the same trade congregate together. I’m sure it’s the same with detectives. David Cohen were a tailor and so were Howard Fine. That’s reason enough for them to meet in Brighton or anywhere else. There’s another thing for you to ponder,’ he continued. ‘Mr Cohen holds a position in the Jewish Tailors’ Guild. He’s on the national committee. Even if he hated everything about Mr Fine, he’d do his damnedest to get him to join.’

Marmion kept pace with his companion’s purposeful stride.

‘Why did you become a tailor, Mr Burridge?’

‘I had no choice. It were in my blood. My father were a tailor and so were my granddad.’

‘And I believe your son is carrying on the tradition.’

‘Oh, you’ve found that out, have you? Yes, Arnold is in the trade and so is my son-in-law, as it happens. Why are you checking up on my family, Inspector?’ he said, resentfully. ‘Are you planning to write my biography?’

‘Every detail is useful, sir.’

Burridge was sardonic. ‘Happen I should tell you about my Uncle Reuben, then,’ he said. ‘He lives in Doncaster with Auntie Doris. They’ve got five children and a dog called Alfred. Then there’s my brother, Martin, up in Scarborough, of course. Would you like to hear about the time he broke his leg on the ice?’

‘All right, all right,’ said Marmion, holding up a hand, ‘that’s enough, thank you. I hear you loud and clear.’

‘Does that mean you’ll leave me alone at last?’

‘It means that I’ll let you walk back to the shop alone.’

‘Good.’

‘But I’m glad that we had this brief chat.’

Burridge smiled. ‘Did you get what you came for, Inspector?’

‘Oddly enough,’ said Marmion, ‘I believe that I did.’

It was not until evening that they could discuss the problem in depth. Until then Irene sat at home with her mind in turmoil. Had her old friend been party to a murder in Liverpool? The dates tallied. On the day he’d got back to the city, Gill boasted, he’d gone out to attack a German family so far unscathed by the backlash after the Lusitania sinking. He’d later retracted his claim, yet his name was now linked in a newspaper to the murder. Irene tried desperately to explain it away, to exonerate him somehow. The article only said that the police wished to speak to him. They didn’t describe him as a suspect, still less as a man on the run. And Gill hadn’t behaved like someone being hunted. He moved around as if he had no qualms whatsoever.

Anxious to believe him, she was bound to take her sister’s confession into account. Dorothy had told her about the encounter with Gill and about the way he’d sworn her to secrecy. Irene was shocked at her sister’s dishonesty and chastised her for being so gullible. Two things, however, had become clear. First, Dorothy’s unusual behaviour the previous day had now been explained and, secondly, Irene realised that the person who’d followed her and Miss James must have been Ernie Gill. Since he didn’t know where Dorothy worked, he must also have trailed her. It was disconcerting to feel that the sisters were both being watched. If Gill really did have a job as a barber, how could he find the time to stalk Irene and Dorothy?

It all came down to the name of his mother. In stating that she’d been called Dorothy, he’d told a blatant lie and, in all probability, had done the same to Irene when they first met. That showed how unscrupulous he could be. Gill never expected that the two women would become aware of the deception. Now that they had, they felt cheated. Irene was seething. A friend she’d known for years had been revealed as an arrant liar with an obsessive interest in her. To get closer to Irene, he was even prepared to manipulate her sister. Yet his scheming didn’t prove him capable of murder. The police could, after all, simply be after him in the hope that he might have information that could lead to an arrest.

When she heard the key in the front door, Irene rushed to open it. Dorothy came in with an expression of utter dejection on her face. She was so eager to resume the discussion that she didn’t even remove her hat and coat. She simply sat on the sofa in the living room and grasped Irene’s hands.

‘I don’t know how I got through today,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t stop brooding on it.’

‘I’ve been doing the same, Dot.’

‘What have you decided?’

‘Nothing — I can’t make up my mind.’

‘You must report him to the police,’ said Dorothy, firmly.

‘What if he’s innocent?’

‘Then he’ll be released to go his own way.’

‘And the first thing he’ll do is to come looking for us,’ said Irene. ‘If we tell the police his whereabouts, Ernie will be very cross with us.’

‘He took part in that murder, Irene.’

‘That’s not what it said in the Liverpool Echo.’

‘He’s a suspect.’

‘Not necessarily — he could just be a witness.’

‘Go to the police right now. I’ll come with you.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, Dot.’

‘Please don’t tell me he’s a friend,’ said Dorothy, scornfully. ‘After the way he’s treated the pair of us, you owe him nothing.’

‘Yes, I do — I owe him my life.’

‘He may have saved your life but he’s taken someone else’s. You read the report. That poor man was beaten senseless, Irene. While he was in hospital, he never even recovered consciousness. He just faded away. That’s what Ernie Gill helped to do to him.’

‘We don’t know that for certain.’

‘I know,’ asserted Dorothy. ‘If you’re too scared to report him, then I’ll do it myself. What was that address he gave you?’

Irene broke away from her and paced the room. Her brain seemed on the point of bursting. Arms folded and lips pursed, she walked up and down as she went over the arguments yet again. Eventually, she came to stand in front of Dorothy.

‘He’s got to have the chance to defend himself, Dot.’

‘Let him do that in front of the police.’

‘He needs to be warned beforehand,’ said Irene. ‘I wonder if I should go to the house again and speak to him.’

‘That’s the last thing you should do,’ argued Dorothy. ‘If he’s a killer, you’ll be an accessory. In warning him, you’d be aiding his escape. I can’t let you do that, Irene. It’s too dangerous. And there’s something else,’ she added. ‘What if he turned nasty?’

‘Ernie would never hurt me.’

Dorothy was curt. ‘He’d hurt anybody, if he was cornered.’

Irene was more confused than ever. She didn’t want to return to the house where Gill was lodging but she had a vague feeling that he deserved a chance. Irene had a sense of obligation that her sister would never comprehend. It couldn’t be ignored.

‘Well?’ demanded Dorothy, ‘what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to sleep on it, Dot,’ said Irene. ‘Everything may seem a lot clearer in the morning.’

Joe Keedy hated the delay. With the chance of some action in the offing, he was eager to get involved but had to kick his heels until Friday. When it finally came, he was in a state of high excitement. He was due to join members of the True British League that evening in what he suspected would be some kind of attack on property. At worst, he might get to arrest the leader of an odious organisation committed to violence against Jews; at best, he might be helping to solve the case that had been taxing them so much. Either way, Keedy stood to gain.

Harvey Marmion was more circumspect.

‘Don’t expect too much, Joe,’ he advised.

‘I have a good feeling about this, Inspector.’

‘You could be setting yourself up for disappointment. They might have called off today’s little adventure altogether, or you might get to the Lord Nelson to discover that nobody’s there. What if they rumbled you?’

‘Then they’d have thrown me out there and then,’ said Keedy.

‘It’s a mistake to have high hopes, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Fair enough. I accept that.’

‘Thankfully, the commissioner has sanctioned the exercise. It’s always good to have support from the top.’

‘What if he didn’t authorise it?’

Marmion chuckled. ‘If I thought there was any chance of that happening,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t have told him about it. We’d simply have gone ahead.’

‘There’s that devious streak of yours coming out again,’ said Keedy, laughing.

‘I’m just being practical. Good results are what matter.’

‘We’re supposed to obey orders.’

‘So was Nelson,’ said Marmion. ‘Luckily, he didn’t always do so and achieved great victories as a result.’

Keedy grinned cheekily. ‘Are you telling me I can disobey you whenever I fancy?’

‘I’m telling you to exercise discretion, Joe. By the way,’ he went on, picking up a sheet of paper, ‘I had another report from the man I put on David Cohen. He’s discovered something interesting.’

‘Let me guess — Howard Fine is Cohen’s illegitimate son.’

‘There is a blood relationship between them, as it happens.’

‘Really? I was only joking.’

‘It’s not that close. It turns out that the firm that Fine joined in Brighton when he left London is run by David Cohen’s cousin.’

‘Does that mean Cohen recommended Fine for the job?’

‘Something of the kind must have happened.’

‘Wheels within wheels, eh?’

‘Yes, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘The problem is that they keep turning faster and faster.’ There was a tap on his door. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and an attractive young woman entered with a folder. She walked to the desk and offered it to Marmion.

‘This has just been sent to us, Inspector,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

Handing the file over, she gave a polite smile of farewell and went out again. Keedy had not taken his eyes off her. As the door shut behind her, he gave a whoop of approval.

‘That’s one bonus of the war,’ he observed. ‘When I came to Scotland Yard, we only had male clerks. Now that manpower is scarcer, we’ve got something much nicer to look at.’

Marmion opened the folder and read the brief report inside.

‘Forget her,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ve got something even nicer to look at here.’

‘What is it?’

‘During an attack on a house in Liverpool, a man of German origin was beaten to a pulp. He died some days later. The police are searching for a man by the name of Ernest Gill.’

‘So?’

‘Someone walked into her local police station this morning and gave Gill’s address. It’s one that we’ve already come across, Joe.’

‘When was that, Inspector?’

‘It was when we looked at the criminal record of bald-headed Bradley Thompson. This man must be a friend of his because they live at the same house. He might well be a member of the True British League as well.’ He gave the sheet of paper to Keedy. ‘There’s a description of Gill here. Make a note of it. You may be able to do our colleagues in Liverpool a big favour.’

Ernie Gill walked jauntily along the street beside his friend. They were both wearing dark clothes and Thompson’s bald head was hidden beneath an oil-stained cap. They turned a corner and saw the sign outside the Lord Nelson swinging creakily in the wind.

‘I like the League,’ said Gill. ‘They get things done.’

‘That’s why I joined, Ernie. I tried one or two other groups but all they did was talk and shove leaflets through letter boxes. The day after I came here,’ said Thompson, ‘we were painting slogans on the windows of Jewish shops. A week later, we were throwing bricks through them.’

‘I enjoyed setting that car alight.’

His friend sniggered. ‘Pity the owner wasn’t sitting in it.’

They reached the pub and went in through the swing door. There were several people drinking in the lounge bar but they ignored them and headed for the room at the rear. As they entered, Thompson looked around with a smile of satisfaction.

‘He’s not here,’ he said with contempt. ‘I knew he wouldn’t be.’

‘Give him time, Brad,’ suggested the man in the dungarees. ‘I don’t think he’ll be frightened off somehow. Ernie wasn’t, was he?’

Gill cackled. ‘You can say that again. This is just what I want. I feel really at home here.’

‘That’s good, because we’ll have plenty of work for you to do.’

‘Where are we going this evening?’

‘It’s another commission.’

‘Somebody must hate Jews as much as we do if he keeps on doling out money like this. What’s his name?’

‘I don’t ask,’ said the man. ‘He gets what he pays for and we get some more cash for our coffers. We’ll spend some of it in the bar here tonight.’

There was a general laugh of approval. As well as the man in the dungarees, there were two other members of the True British League. One was a short, emaciated, sallow individual in his fifties with a fringe beard flecked with grey. The other was a strapping young man with thick eyebrows meeting each other above a bulbous nose. Like Brad Thompson, he had the wild-eyed look of someone who was keen to exercise his muscles. While both men acknowledged the newcomers with a nod, they left the talking to their leader.

‘I’ll drive,’ said the man in the dungarees, ‘and Brad can sit beside me. The rest of you can travel in the back of the lorry. That goes for the new man as well.’

‘He won’t come,’ said Thompson.

‘Oh yes he will — he believes in our cause.’

‘Lots of people do but they’re too afraid to show it.’

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Gill, stepping forward. ‘We need a group like this in Liverpool. Some parts of it are crawling with Jews, and Manchester’s even worse.’

‘The True British League is here to clean up London and drive the Jews out,’ said the leader. ‘One day, we may be able to carry the message to other cities. I’ve got an idea, Ernie,’ he added, snapping his fingers. ‘Perhaps you could start a branch in Liverpool.’

Thompson smirked. ‘He won’t be going back there in a hurry.’

‘No,’ said Ernie, laughing, ‘I sort of outstayed my welcome.’

‘The coppers are still looking for him.’

Without warning, the door was flung open and Joe Keedy stepped in. He was wearing the same rough apparel as before. He identified the man in the dungarees as the one to whom he’d talked on his first visit. Keedy recognised Brad Thompson as well but the other three faces were new to him.

‘Here I am,’ said Keedy, rubbing his hands together.

‘Brad thought you’d be scared off,’ said the leader. ‘I knew that you wouldn’t let us down.’

‘I wasn’t going to miss out on the fun.’

‘Right, let’s get on our way. Brad’s in the cab with me. You’re in the back of the lorry with Ernie and the others.’

‘Which one’s Ernie?’ asked Keedy.

‘I am,’ said Ernie, stepping forward. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m someone who doesn’t want the country polluted by Jews.’

‘That’s all we need to hear,’ said the leader. ‘Follow me. We’ll go out the back way.’

He took them through a door in the far wall and out into the courtyard. The lorry was waiting. While the leader climbed into the cab, Thompson went to crank the engine. Keedy clambered into the rear of the lorry and sat down. The others got in after him. After a couple of turns, Thompson started the engine then hauled himself up into the cab. The lorry pulled away with four men, two cardboard boxes and some cans of petrol in the back. As it swung into the street and picked up speed, it shot past a car parked in the shadows. Keedy was the only one aboard who knew that it would follow them.

The car turned into the drive and came to an abrupt halt. As the engine was switched off, the front door opened and Miriam Stein came out. Her brother-in-law climbed out of the vehicle.

‘It’s nice to see it back here again,’ said Miriam, running a hand over the bonnet. ‘I remember the day that Jacob bought it. He was so proud of his car.’

‘It’s a lovely smooth drive, Mimi.’

‘We should have thought of it before.’

‘Yes,’ said Stone, ‘it’s the obvious thing to do. Since my own car was destroyed, I should have reclaimed this one from the garage right away. It just never occurred to me.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your mind, Herman.’

‘There’s been one crisis after another. Talking of which,’ he said, glancing at the house, ‘how is Ruth?’

‘She’s surprisingly well. I still don’t understand why she sneaked out of the house like that but she’s come back almost refreshed. She’s even eaten a proper meal at last.’

‘That’s encouraging.’

‘And she’s promised not to run off like that again.’

‘I’ll want more than an apology from her,’ warned Stone. ‘She put us through hell yesterday. I’ll never forget the shock of seeing her bedroom window wide open.’

‘Leave her be for a while,’ advised Miriam. ‘She needs rest.’

‘What Ruth needs is to be under restraint.’

‘That’s the worst thing we could do to her, Herman. It was being watched all the time that made her want to get away. We took away her freedom. Ruth wanted it back.’

‘And what did she do with her freedom?’ he asked, irritably. ‘She went gallivanting off to the West End. Ruth was asking for trouble. What was she trying to do?’ he said, waving an arm. ‘Get herself assaulted all over again?’

Miriam flared up. ‘That’s a terrible suggestion.’

‘We have to be realistic. The streets are full of drunks at that time of night. Anything could have happened to her.’

‘Thanks to the police, she got back home safe and sound.’

‘Yes, but only after she’d given us a fright. I don’t think you should be so forgiving, Mimi. We need to remonstrate with her. If I hadn’t been so busy all day, I’d have spoken very sternly to Ruth.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t do that just now,’ she said. ‘Ruth knows she did wrong. Let’s leave it at that for the time being.’

Stone saw the determined look in her eye. Miriam was asserting herself. After consideration, he agreed to back off from his niece for a while. About to go into the house, he was reminded of the last time he’d left a car on the drive.

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘I’ll put it away in the garage. For some unknown reason, I’ve obviously become a target for someone.’

Keedy didn’t need to trawl for information. It was readily supplied by Ernie Gill, who couldn’t stop bragging about the way he’d helped to set fire to a synagogue, then destroy an expensive motor car. What he couldn’t confirm was that he and the others had been instrumental in the attack in Jermyn Street. Quite apart from the man’s activities in Liverpool, Keedy had enough to arrest him. Gill had freely confessed. Seated in the back of the lorry, it was difficult to follow the route they were taking. The vehicle lurched round corners and rattled over uneven roads. Keedy kept one eye on the car following them while trying to divert his companions from doing so.

At length, the river appeared on their left. The lorry then went through a maze of streets before juddering to a halt. Late evening shadows turned the buildings into massive dark blocks of stone. The area felt deserted. Jumping out of the cab, the leader banged on the side of the lorry. Gill passed the cans of petrol to him. Keedy watched as the other two men lifted boxes of kindling onto the pavement. When he got out of the lorry, Keedy was standing beside Brad Thompson whose tone was condescending.

‘Keep your eyes open,’ he said. ‘We’ll show you how it’s done.’

‘He wants to join in, Brad,’ said the leader. ‘Right?’

‘Right,’ confirmed Keedy. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re very close to a warehouse that needs burning down.’

‘Who owns it?’

‘A man named Herbert Stone — except that his real name is Herman Stein and he’s a Jewish immigrant who ought to be driven out of Britain altogether with the rest of his kind.’

‘Why not use the lorry?’ asked Keedy. ‘Why not drive up, start the fire then disappear fast? According to Ernie, that’s what you did at the synagogue.’

‘Ernie should learn to button his lip,’ said the leader, shooting a look of reproach at Gill. ‘It didn’t work at the synagogue. The fire brigade got there too soon. We’ll take no chances this time. The place is guarded. Our information is that there are four nightwatchmen on duty. Brad and the others will take care of them while you and me,’ he continued, jabbing Keedy, ‘will get inside and start a blaze.’

‘I’d rather light the fire,’ complained Gill.

‘You stay with me, Ernie,’ said Thompson. ‘We’ll knock out those nightwatchmen. That’s why I gave you that cosh.’

The leader beckoned them close. ‘This is how we’re going to get inside the warehouse …’

Marmion had driven the car himself with a detective beside him and three more crammed into the back seat. They kept the lorry in sight and, when it slowed down to a halt, they turned into a street nearby and parked at the kerb. One man ran to the corner so that he could keep a furtive watch on the occupants of the lorry. Marmion had already guessed where they’d be going because he knew who owned a warehouse nearby. Herbert Stone was under attack yet again. It made their job easier. Instead of having to follow, the detectives could get ahead and prepare an ambush.

‘This way,’ said Marmion, gesturing to his men. ‘We can cut through there and beat them to it. Follow me.’

They trotted down a narrow lane strewn with rubbish.

Keedy decided to make his move before any of the nightwatchmen got hurt. Thompson and Gill were each carrying a cosh, the older man had an iron bar and the younger one brandished a hammer as if dying to use it. Under his arm was a box of kindling. Keedy was carrying a large petrol can and the other box of kindling. The leader had the other two cans of petrol. Spread out, they moved stealthily and stepped into a doorway when an occasional vehicle went past. The warehouse came into view. They all knew the plan. Gill was to approach the building and distract the nightwatchman on duty in the gatehouse so that the others could move into position. When Gill had persuaded the man to open the door, he would offer him a cigarette, then cosh him when he was off guard. Once inside the building, they’d dispose of the other nightwatchmen while the petrol was splashed about and the kindling set alight. When the fire took hold, Keedy knew, there’d be no hope of stopping it.

Timing was everything. If he made his move too early, the detective might find himself isolated and he was no match for four armed men and their leader. If he left his intervention too late, a nightwatchman could be knocked unconscious. Keedy had to hope that Marmion and the others were at hand to come to his aid but he saw no sign of them. He began to fear that they’d been shaken off by the lorry as it twisted and turned through the docks.

The leader gave the order and Gill set off, ambling along and puffing at a cigarette. When he saw the light in the gatehouse, he paused to wave to the man inside. After a few moments, the nightwatchman pushed the window ajar so that he could hear Gill. They got into conversation. The barber was relaxed and unthreatening. He was so plausible that the nightwatchman was eventually tempted to open the door. Gill reached in his pocket for the cigarettes. It was the moment that Keedy had been waiting for and he sprang into life.

‘It’s a trick!’ he yelled, running towards the gatehouse. ‘Get back inside and lock the door.’

The man was baffled at first. When he saw Gill pull out the cosh, however, he didn’t hesitate. Leaping back into the safety of the gatehouse, he locked the door and pressed the bell to alert his colleagues in the warehouse. Keedy, meanwhile, had tackled Gill with such power that he bowled him over and forced him to drop his weapon. Thompson was enraged at the betrayal. He charged after Keedy with his cosh held high but he got nowhere near him. Two detectives suddenly came out of the shadows to overpower him, relieve him of his weapon and, in spite of his frantic struggles, put handcuffs on him. Thompson was soon lying face down on the pavement with Gill beside him, also securely handcuffed.

The remaining two detectives used surprise to advantage, coming out of nowhere to take on other members of the gang. The older man was easily arrested and deprived of his weapon but the younger one was much stronger and put up a fight. Keedy had to lend a hand to subdue him. The leader had been quick to gauge the situation. When he heard Keedy shout his warning and saw five men emerge from hiding to attack them, he realised that it was futile to resist. They’d soon have to contend with four nightwatchmen as well. The odds were impossible. The leader therefore discarded the cans of petrol and took to his heels.

Harvey Marmion was after him at once. Having seen the group approaching in the gloom, he’d picked out the leader from the way that he was conveying his orders with gestures. When the man fled, Marmion ran in pursuit, their footsteps echoing along the empty streets. The leader was obviously heading for the lorry. Marmion had to reach him before he could start the vehicle. Pushing himself to the limit, he tried to ignore the burning sensation in his lungs and the jabbing pain in his legs. He was determined to get his man.

The leader heard the footsteps getting closer. When he reached the lorry, he swung round and saw Marmion haring towards him. There was no time to escape in the lorry. Instead he grabbed the starting handle and held it up menacingly. It made the detective slow to a walking pace.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Marmion of Scotland Yard,’ he said, panting, ‘and I’ve come to place you under arrest. The new member who joined the True British League the other night was my colleague, Sergeant Keedy.’

‘Stand back,’ warned the man, waving the starting handle.

‘Put that down, sir — there’s no way out.’

‘At least I can spill a little blood before I’m caught.’

As Marmion came to a halt, two of his men sprinted around the corner to help him. They slowed down when they saw what was happening. On a command from Marmion, the detectives fanned out so that they formed a semicircle around the leader. With his back to the lorry and three detectives in front of him, the man seemed to give up. The hand with the weapon dropped to his side and he sagged in defeat. Marmion wasn’t fooled. As he stepped forward to arrest him, he knew that the man would resist. When the inspector got close, the leader suddenly lashed at him with the starting handle. Anticipating the move, Marmion ducked beneath the weapon, diving into his midriff and slamming him hard against the front of the lorry. The other detectives moved in quickly to overpower the man and hold him while Marmion snapped on the handcuffs. He took a close look at the leader of the organisation. The dungarees and flat cap suggested a workman but his face belonged to a different class altogether.

‘Are you the leader of the True British League?’ asked Marmion.

The man was defiant. ‘I’m proud to hold that title.’

‘Your loathsome organisation has just been dissolved.’

‘Not before we had our triumphs.’

‘Was one of them in Jermyn Street, by any chance?’

‘Yes, Inspector — we burnt some Jews out of business.’

‘Who put you up to it?’

‘Somebody who hates them for what they’ve done to this country and who believes in our mission to drive out the scum.’

‘It was the same man who sponsored tonight’s attack,’ said Keedy, joining them with one hand on the shoulder of a forlorn Gill. ‘According to Ernie here, they were paid by someone to set fire to the synagogue and to destroy Mr Stone’s car.’

Marmion rounded on the leader. ‘Who was your paymaster?’

‘I don’t know, Inspector,’ replied the man.

‘He’s as guilty as you are. Do you want to take the rap while he goes free? That seems very unfair on you. Who is he?’

‘God knows.’

‘He must have a name.’

‘He never told me what it was.’ Marmion looked sceptical. ‘That’s the truth, I swear it. He just handed over money and gave us orders. We enjoyed working for him because he thought like us.’

‘Tell us something about him,’ urged Keedy.

‘Yes,’ added Marmion. ‘How old was he? What did he look like? How did he dress? Describe his voice. Was he a Londoner?’

‘Oh no,’ said the man. ‘He came from somewhere up North.’

The telephone call transformed him. When he came back into the room, Herbert Stone was actually beaming. Ruth and her mother were astonished by the dramatic change in his demeanour.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Miriam.

‘One of my warehouses was going to be burnt down,’ he said, ‘but the police foiled the attack. They’ve caught the men responsible. Inspector Marmion has finally got something right.’

‘That is good news, Herman.’

‘I want all the details. You’ll have to excuse me while I drive over there. Goodnight, Ruth.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Herman.’

Miriam went out to see her brother-in-law off and left Ruth alone. Something had been puzzling her ever since she’d got back from her visit to the West End. She’d spent hours racking her brain for an answer that would simply not materialise. As she tried to solve the mystery once again, she thought of the figure she’d seen in profile at the end of the alley. Though there was something familiar about his outline, she still couldn’t place him. It wasn’t a close acquaintance but someone she’d met only briefly. Ruth went through a list of names in her head but none of them fitted the man in the alley.

Her mother came back into the room, smiling for the first time since the murder of her husband. Miriam was buoyed up by the news that arrests had finally been made.

‘It’s taken such a load off my mind,’ she said with relief.

Ruth was too preoccupied to hear her. As she concentrated hard on the problem that had been vexing her, a light gradually illumined the figure in the dark alley.

‘I know who it was now, Mummy,’ she cried in delight. ‘The man who watched me last night was Mr Burridge!’

Cyril Burridge and his son had dined in style at the Cafe Royal. As it had been a special celebration, no expense had been spared. Because of the nature of the celebration, Burridge’s wife had been excluded. She was quite unaware of what her husband and son had done. They, however, were savouring their success.

‘We’re making the bastard sweat,’ said Burridge, gleefully. ‘I’ll enjoy reading newspaper reports of the destruction of his warehouse.’

‘Aye,’ agreed his son, ‘so will I.’

Arnold Burridge was a younger version of his father with the same build, facial features and mannerisms. They wore suits that they’d actually made for each other and seemed quite at ease in the plush ambience of the restaurant.

‘Best meal I’ve had in ages,’ said Burridge, ‘though I still prefer a sandwich in Green Park.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Less fattening.’

‘What do we do next, Dad?’

‘Nothing at all, son.’

‘But you talked about going for his house.’

‘That can wait, Arnold. He’ll be on the alert now. Let a few weeks pass before we strike again. Stone will start to think he’s safe. That’s the time to hit him.’

‘I still think we should get rid of him altogether,’ said Arnold.

‘Oh, no — that would be letting him off the hook. I’m going to keep the swine alive so that we can make him suffer.’

He called for the bill, paid it and left a generous tip. Then the two of them got up and headed for the door. As they came down the steps into Regent Street, they saw a car draw up at the kerb. Burridge took no notice of it until Marmion and Keedy got out and intercepted them on the pavement. Marmion raised his hat.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, glancing at the Cafe Royal. ‘This is a step up from a park bench, isn’t it?’ He turned to Arnold. ‘This is your son, I gather. When we called at the house, we were told that you’d be here.’ Burridge was silent. ‘Well, since your father won’t introduce us, Arnold, we’ll have to do it ourselves. I’m Inspector Marmion and this,’ he went on, indicating his companion, ‘is Sergeant Keedy.’

‘We’d like you to accompany us to Scotland Yard,’ said Keedy.

‘Why?’ demanded Burridge.

‘There are lots of reasons, sir. We could start off by discussing a fire at Mr Stone’s warehouse that never took place because we were able to arrest the people you paid to start it.’

Arnold was startled but Burridge remained cool.

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Sergeant,’ he said.

‘Then let’s try something else,’ suggested Marmion. ‘We can talk about the murder of Jacob Stein by someone who remained concealed on the premises until the mob arrived.’ His eyes flicked to Arnold. ‘We’ve every reason to believe that you were the killer.’

Burridge turned white and Arnold immediately looked for an escape. Pushing Marmion away with both hands, he darted off along the pavement, dodging people as he did so. Keedy was quickly in pursuit. Arnold was young and relatively fit but he’d just eaten a large meal and drunk a lot of champagne. He soon felt the effects of his indulgence. Keedy was gaining on him with every stride. In desperation, the tailor dashed across the road and almost collided with a van. Keedy went after him. By the time Arnold turned into Piccadilly, the sergeant was close enough to hurl himself forward onto the tailor’s back, causing him to stagger then fall forwards to the ground. His forehead hit the pavement with a thud and he was completely dazed. Before he knew what was happening, Arnold was handcuffed and lifted to his feet. Keedy marched him back to the car in which an ashen Burridge was already sitting. A night of celebration had turned into a day of reckoning.

Eating out was a rare treat for Ellen Marmion. The restaurant could not compete with the Cafe Royal but the meal was delicious and, more importantly, she didn’t have to cook it. The wine was exceptional. Also at the table were her husband, her daughter and Joe Keedy. It was the evening after the investigation had finally been concluded and all the loose ends had at last been tied up.

‘The commissioner was thrilled with our success,’ said Marmion, ‘and couldn’t stop congratulating us.’

‘Who actually committed the murder?’ asked Alice.

‘It was Arnold Burridge, whose father used to work at the shop. It turns out that Arnold was due to join him there but was turned down at the last moment. That really rankled with Cyril Burridge. It was the latest in a long line of broken promises.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy, taking over. ‘Burridge was without question the finest tailor there and Mr Stein knew it. He offered to take him into partnership and bring Arnold into the firm as well. Neither of those things happened.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ellen.

‘They believed it was because Jacob Stein had betrayed them. Wanting their revenge, they tailored what they thought was a perfect murder. Aware of the riots caused by the Lusitania tragedy, Burridge hired some extremists called the True British League to loot and burn down the premises. His son, meanwhile, was hidden in the attic, waiting for his chance to come down and stab Mr Stein to death.

‘If he’d used a gun,’ explained Marmion, ‘the shot would have been heard, so he chose a knife instead. He’d got into the premises at night with duplicate keys made from David Cohen’s set. Cyril Burridge had “borrowed” them when the manager wasn’t looking.’

‘They planned ahead very carefully,’ said Keedy. ‘Arnold waited until Ruth Stein had run out of the office before he went into it and murdered her father. And he had a piece of extraordinary luck.’

‘The safe was open,’ continued Marmion, ‘so he helped himself to the contents. He not only got away with a lot of money, he also took documents that proved Mr Stein was no longer the sole proprietor of the firm. He’d been bought out by his brother, who made all decisions affecting the business from the shadows.’

‘I see,’ said Alice. ‘It was Mr Stone who prevented Mr Burridge from becoming a partner. He refused to promote him because he wasn’t a Jew. ’

‘He also refused to give him a large pay rise that had been promised as a reward for long service.’

‘What a dreadful man!’

‘The Burridges didn’t realise how dreadful he was until they read through the documents in the safe. Stone was the real villain, not his brother. From that point on,’ said Marmion, ‘they turned their attention to Herbert Stone. With the money from the safe, they were able to employ the True British League again. Its members would stop at nothing, as Joe can tell you.’

‘I joined them myself for a few days,’ recalled Keedy, ‘and I can’t say I liked it. They were vile people, led by a disgraced lawyer, Simon Higlett, who’d fallen foul of his Jewish colleagues and blamed them for all the things he did wrong. He and his cronies got their pleasure from attacking Jewish families indiscriminately. Some of the leaflets they put out were disgusting. They made me feel sick. Thank God we’ve stopped them in their tracks.’

‘What will happen to them, Joe?’ wondered Alice.

‘Four of them will serve long prison sentences for arson,’ he replied, ‘and Ernie Gill will go back to Liverpool to stand trial for murder.’

‘Cyril and Arnold Burridge will be hanged,’ said Marmion.

‘When did you suspect them, Daddy?’

‘There were two things, Alice. I caught Burridge looking at the burnt-out building with an air of satisfaction when he had no reason to be there. The second thing was his smugness. I met him in Green Park today and he had the complacency of a man so certain he can’t be linked to the crimes that he can afford to be rude to the detective in charge of the investigation. I felt taunted,’ said Marmion, ‘and that confirmed my suspicions.’

‘Think of the wife,’ said Ellen with a rush of sympathy. ‘I can’t believe that Mrs Burridge was involved, yet she has to watch her husband and her son being sent to the gallows. How could any woman cope with two horrible blows like that?’

‘You could do it,’ teased Marmion. ‘After all, it’s no worse than having a daughter who joins the Women’s Emergency Corps and leaves home. Those were two horrible blows for you.’

‘Harvey!’ exclaimed Ellen, slapping him playfully.

The dessert course arrived and they started to eat it. Marmion enjoyed his pudding but, after the excitement of the investigation, he felt rather flat. Keedy had shared his sense of disappointment but his spirits were soon revived when his foot accidentally nudged Alice’s toe under the table. Instead of moving her foot back, she kept it where it was, nestling against his shoe. The meal was suddenly operating at two levels. Four of them were joining in a pleasant celebration and two of them had started a silent dialogue of their own below the table.

Marmion raised his glass. ‘I think we should toast Alice,’ he said. ‘She’s made two momentous decisions in the past week and we should wish her well in her new life.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Ellen, snatching up her glass and making it clear that she had no recriminations about what her daughter had decided. ‘To Alice and her future!’

‘To Alice and her future,’ echoed the men in tandem.

‘Thank you,’ said Alice, laughing happily.

‘We’ll support you in whatever you do,’ said Marmion.

‘Yes,’ said Ellen, warmly, ‘and I’m sorry if I was too maternal. I promise that I won’t try to interfere again. I’ve learnt my lesson, Alice. I can’t live your life for you.’

Keedy wondered what Ellen would think if she could see below the table. Alice had just kicked off her shoe and was stroking his ankle with her foot. He was content. He’d not only joined in the toast to Alice’s future, he was determined to be a major part of it.