‘Another glass of gin will help to settle it.’

‘I’ve had enough already.’

Florrie hooted. ‘Hear that, girls? Someone’s had enough. We can never have enough booze. It’s the one thing that keeps us alive. Come on, Maureen,’ she urged. ‘Get another glass inside you and let your back hair down. Yes, and it’s about time you let your knickers down as well, if you ask me.’

The comment caused an eruption of mirth and made Maureen cringe with embarrassment. Everybody was looking at her and some of the older women began to offer her crude advice. Even Agnes, her best friend, joined in the general teasing. It was excruciating. Trembling all over, Maureen got to her feet, snatched up her handbag and rushed to the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I really do feel ill. I’ve got to go.’

Ignoring the pleas of the others, she left the building, trotted across the courtyard and went into the pub. Curious eyes looked up as she hurried through the bar to the exit and let herself out. It was only when she was well clear of the Golden Goose that her heart stopped pounding and the prickly heat began to fade. Facing her friends at work on the following day would be something of a trial but she couldn’t have stayed to endure any further mockery. Her only consolation was that the other canaries would soon forget her when they’d had more drink and exchanged more stories about work at the factory. They’d bonded in a way that she’d simply been unable to do. As she walked along the pavement, she rehearsed the apology that she’d have to make to Florrie Duncan for storming out of the party. Valuing her friendship, Maureen didn’t want to lose it. But she was right on the verge of doing so.

Thirty yards from the pub, she turned a corner and lengthened her stride. It was then that she heard a violent explosion from somewhere behind her. It made her blood run cold. Maureen dashed back to the corner and looked down the street at a scene of utter devastation. Glass had been shattered, bricks thrown far and wide and roof slates turned into deadly missiles. Flames were visible and thick smoke was curling angrily up into the air. The outhouse from which she’d just fled was now on fire with five dead canaries trapped somewhere beneath the rubble.

Sickened by what she saw and seized by a clawing despair, Maureen lost all control of her body and collapsed to the ground in a heap. She never even heard the anxious cries of neighbours and the clanging approach of the fire engine.

Harvey Marmion was just leaving Scotland Yard when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned to see a uniformed constable coming at speed towards him. Marmion’s heart sank. He sensed an emergency and that meant his wife would not see him home as early as promised. Marmion would be on extended duty.

‘Excuse me, Inspector,’ said the constable, ‘but there’s an urgent message from Superintendent Chatfield. He’d like to see you immediately.’

‘I don’t suppose you could tell him that I’ve already gone, could you? No,’ said Marmion, seeing the baleful look in the other man’s eye, ‘that would be unfair on you because you’d get the blame.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right, I’ll go. Thanks for the message and goodbye to a restful evening in my armchair.’

Minutes later, he was tapping on the door of his superior’s office. Marmion had an uneasy relationship with Claude Chatfield, not least because they’d both applied for the same promotion to the rank of superintendent. In the event, Marmion had decided that he didn’t really want a job that would keep him chained to a desk for most of the time so he deliberately fluffed the interview. Unfortunately, that left Chatfield with the feeling that he’d been the better candidate and it fed his already inflated sense of self-importance.

‘Come in!’ he snapped in answer to the knock.

‘You sent for me, sir?’ asked Marmion, entering the room.

‘Yes, I did, Inspector. I want you to go to Hayes immediately.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘There’s been an explosion at a pub called the Golden Goose.’

‘Has a Zeppelin tried to bomb that munitions factory again?’

‘This has nothing to do with an air raid,’ said Chatfield. ‘Early reports say that a bomb went off in an outhouse, killing five people and wounding others inside the pub. And before you ask me,’ he continued, seeing the question form on Marmion’s lips, ‘this is nothing to do with a burst gas main. It was definitely a bomb. The fire brigade found fragments.’

‘Isn’t this something the local police can handle?’

‘I think it might involve Special Branch. If the bomb turns out to have been planted by enemy aliens, then it’s out of our hands. In the short term, however, we need to establish the facts of the case.’ Chatfield’s face darkened. ‘That’s why the commissioner recommended you.’

‘That was very good of him,’ said Marmion, gratified.

Glad that Sir Edward Henry had shown such faith in him, he was sorry to disappoint his wife yet again. But the incident in Hayes sounded serious and had to take precedence. He had the strong feeling that Chatfield would have preferred to assign someone else to the case but had been overruled. That fact did nothing to remove the latent hostility between inspector and superintendent. It only made Chatfield more resentful. He was a tall, stick-thin man with bulging eyes and thinning hair. Fond of dramatic gestures, he rose to his feet and pointed to the door.

‘Well — what are you waiting for?’

‘Do you have no more details to give me, sir?’

‘You know as much as I do, Inspector.’

‘Then I’ll round up Joe Keedy and be on my way.’

Chatfield smirked. ‘A little bird tells me that you and the sergeant have had a tiff. I hear there’s been some domestic upset.’

‘Then you heard wrong,’ retorted Marmion.

‘I could always move Keedy to another position, if you wish.’

‘That won’t be necessary. He’s an outstanding detective and I enjoy working with him.’ He turned on his heel. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

‘Keep me informed of all developments,’ ordered Chatfield.

‘I wouldn’t dare to keep anything from you, Superintendent.’

After giving him a cold smile, Marmion left the office and walked down the corridor. He was still smarting at the comment about his private life and wished that Chatfield had not heard the rumours. Marmion had been caught on the raw. There was unresolved tension both in his family and work life. Joe Keedy, a man with whom he’d built up an impressive record of success, had been unfailingly loyal, reliable and enterprising. His loyalty had now been called into question because he and Alice Marmion had formed an attachment that alarmed her father. It was not merely the age gap between his daughter and the sergeant that worried him, nor was it the fact that Keedy had a reputation as a ladies’ man with a string of conquests in his past. What irked Marmion was the knowledge that the man who worked closely beside him had kept the relationship secret for so long. Adding to her father’s disquiet, Alice had joined the Women’s Police Service. It had made him very unhappy.

‘Damn you, Joe Keedy!’ he snarled to himself. ‘London is full of pretty girls. Why the hell did you have to choose my daughter?’

Much as he loved her, Alice Marmion was very far from Keedy’s mind. All that concerned him at that moment in time was potting the red and making sure that the cue ball didn’t snooker itself behind the cluster of remaining reds. Studying the table, he worked out the angles with care before he bent his tall, wiry body into his familiar crouch. At the precise second that he played his shot, a voice rang out.

‘Hey, Joe — you’re wanted! The inspector’s waiting outside for you.’

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Keedy as the cue ball followed the red into the pocket. He turned to confront the man who’d called out to him. ‘Look what you made me do, you idiot! I ought to have that shot again.’