‘Chappel, I want you to dig deeper and more energetically in this area. The girl was very keen on returning to Park Lane. You still have contacts?’ Sandilands asked.

‘How deep should I dig? That’s the question, sir. It’s posh round there. I could end up revealing cabinet ministers in their socks, military gents out of uniform, police chiefs in considerable embarrassment …’

‘All right, we get the picture, Chappel. Be discreet – but dig! Grease a few palms if you have to. I want this particular trail followed.’

‘Well, I’m taking Mrs Throckmorton’s for a dead end.’ Hopkirk took up the tale again, reddening. ‘Nothing known at the address she gave us.’

‘My fault.’ Joe broke in swiftly to stem his super’s embarrassment. ‘It was I who authorized her return to what she claimed as home. I was present for the last act of her performance. And what a turn she gave us. We should perhaps be combing the cast lists at the Old Vic to find her.’ He gave a rueful smile and admitted: ‘I even gave her my handkerchief!’

‘She’d already got through mine,’ Hopkirk grumbled.

‘Yes, I must say – and perhaps the superintendent will agree? – she was the perfect Mayfair gadabout. I still can’t picture her in the role of cold-blooded killer who turns up to witness an execution she has organized and paid for. And who coolly proceeds to deliver the coup de grâce herself when she sees that her minions have bungled it.’

Bacchus sighed with annoyance. ‘Never mind the character assessment. Can we stick to the facts? The gun? Was she searched?’

‘No. She could have put it into her bag. She had one of those little velvet dolly bags hanging on her wrist. A Browning’s not small but she could have got it in there.’ Hopkirk’s voice was leaden. ‘But – a Browning in a dolly bag? I ask you! Let’s be reasonable, shall we? This isn’t a woman’s crime. They don’t like guns. She probably had some perfectly acceptable female reason for being in the vicinity. It might not have been one she chose to share with the Old Bill but reasonable by her lights. Adultery … fornication … the usual.’ His voice was tight with distaste.

‘Takes two, Hopkirk, old chap … very often one of each sex … but in Melton Square?’ Joe laughed and pulled a face.

Bacchus and Fanshawe exchanged looks. After a moment, coming to a decision, Bacchus spoke for the Branch. ‘You’d be wrong to dismiss a female input,’ he said carefully. ‘Look here, gentlemen – we know there are Irish women heavily involved with the Fenian movement. And they are every bit as fanatical as the men.’ With a further glance of consultation with Fanshawe, he added: ‘Anyone who reads The Times will be aware of that much.’ He continued to speak slowly, weighing his words. ‘These are women who are adept with gun and bomb and doubtless dolly bag. We’ve been fortunate enough to extract … to come by … information from the inside regarding these recruitments.’

No one considered embarrassing the Branch by asking for further elaboration.

‘It’s what we feared. It begins to look as though we could have got one of those harridans over here,’ Captain Fanshawe commented, voicing everyone’s worst suspicions. ‘Fresh off the ferry? A sleeper recently activated? MI5 got anything useful?’

Joe shook his head. ‘Nothing they’re confiding to us, at any rate,’ he said, sidestepping the question. He was remembering the disturbing report by the head of Irish Intelligence delivered to the assembled group in Devon. Two or three women with links to the IRA had unaccountably gone missing. It was feared that one of them might be bringing her destructive rage to the capital.

‘I’m wondering if CID have scared her off. Did she have any idea that you had suspicions of her?’ Fanshawe asked.

‘How could she? We didn’t!’ Inspector Chappel voiced his exasperation. ‘As far as she knows, she’s got clean away. Damn it! All the hankies she could use and a lift out of there!’

‘Followed by the sympathies of the crowd.’ Bacchus voiced his derision. ‘And she will therefore be feeling quite at liberty to take the next step in this escalating series of political murders.’ He made an effort not to sound triumphant. ‘Well, we are where we are. Snakes and ladders is a mighty good training for this sort of exercise. Welcome back to square one, gents!’

‘No. Welcome to the start of a fresh game,’ said Joe. ‘But this time we play with loaded dice. We look on this as a chance to move forward and up. Before we leave this room we’ll have exact plans in place for the next throw.’

Everyone nodded. Spines straightened, not unfriendly glances were exchanged across the table. The Branch men managed an easy smile.

‘And the scenario we have in mind? The list of targets we’ve supplied?’ Bacchus’s voice took on a chill drawl as he added: ‘I wouldn’t like to think our information was going to waste. A good deal of trouble – ours – and pain – others’ – went into the acquisition of that list. MI5, to whom we handed it, gave it very careful attention. The Home Secretary has commented.’

Joe spoke firmly. ‘It’s not being ignored by us either. The prime minister has had a copy, of course. But I’m not convinced that it was presented to Lloyd George with the right degree of urgency by our emissary. He was allowed space to dismiss it with a merry quip and a flourish of his usual Welsh panache. Rather preoccupied with the Russian menace, I’m afraid. I shall catch him myself at breakfast first thing tomorrow morning and draw his attention with some emphasis to the three names remaining. This calls for a degree of drama. Perhaps you could supply me with a fresh copy, James? A neat one. With heavy crossings out and asterisks by the last three?’

‘A little blood spatter with that, sir?’ Bacchus asked. ‘We can supply.’

‘No need.’ Joe didn’t hide his amusement. ‘One of those three names at least should give him pause. Might even make him choke on his toast and marmalade.’

He turned to the superintendent. ‘Hopkirk, I want your squad to continue to handle the admiral’s death as a civil case. Revisit the scene. Liaise with the press. Keep them on side. Make frequent mention of the Met’s involvement. This may be the moment to adopt the French style of crime reporting. The Branch has to hide itself from the public eye but there’s no reason why the CID shouldn’t show its face. Everyone loves a hero. Next time the flash bulbs pop, present your handsome features to the camera lens instead of the palm of your hand, Hopkirk.’

Bacchus peered across the table at the superintendent, affecting an interest. ‘Full face or side on, sir? In view of the idiosyncratic nose-line, I wonder if you have a preference?’

Joe chose to take the question seriously. ‘Full face. And take your hat off, Hopkirk. One look at your leonine head and the country will see a battered Beowulf. And feel itself in safe hands. Didn’t he promise to return to his people in their hour of need?’

‘That was King Arthur, sir.’

‘That was Sir Francis Drake, sir.’

Bacchus and Fanshawe offered simultaneous information.

‘Never short of a hero at any rate, this country of ours,’ said Joe comfortably. ‘Someone always steps forward. And just think, Hopkirk, what one compelling image did for Lord Kitchener!’

‘Sir!’ Buoyed by Joe’s tongue-in-cheek flattery, Hopkirk felt cheerful enough to offer the table his version of the famous Kitchener glare and a parody of the Kitchener gesture. ‘And I’ll remember not to give ’em the finger.’

‘Oh – and better to convey the clear impression we are looking no further. Stress that we have the villains under lock and key. We have their confessions. The next man to deliver judgement on the matter will be Sir Archibald Bodkin.’

‘Wearing his little black cap,’ said Fanshawe with relish.

‘James … time, I think, to narrow our focus and let the Branch loose to do what the Branch does best – anticipate, protect, save lives. And we’ll start by reinstating the security squads we’d set up.’