‘What were the names of the others?’ she demanded.

‘Sergeant Keedy has the full list.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy, taking out his notebook and flipping to the correct page. ‘Here we are, Mrs Radcliffe. The other victims are as follows — Florence Duncan, Enid Jenks, Shirley Beresford and Jean Harte.’

‘What about Maureen Quinn? She was there as well.’

‘She was fortunate enough to leave before the bomb went off.’

‘That’s just the kind of thing she’d do,’ said Sadie with asperity. ‘Talk about the luck of the Irish. It had to be Maureen, didn’t it?’

‘You should be pleased to hear that someone escaped the blast.’

‘I am, Sergeant, but why wasn’t it my daughter? Why couldn’t she have left that pub in time? It’s so unfair. Agnes has got a husband at the front and she works at that factory all the hours that God sends us. Doesn’t that entitle her to a bit of luck? Hasn’t she earned it?’ she went on with undisguised bitterness. ‘Why does it always have to be Maureen? Who’s she that she gets special treatment time and again?’

‘There’s no answer to that, Mrs Radcliffe.’

‘Agnes lost her first baby and damn near killed herself bringing her little lad into the world. It was one thing after another. She always seemed to be the one who got hurt most.’

‘In this instance,’ Marmion noted, ‘there were four other victims.’

Sadie lowered herself onto the arm of the settee. ‘Yes, I know,’ she conceded, ‘and I’m sorry for their families. They’ll feel the way I do.’ She drifted off again for a few moments then gave a wan smile. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’

‘What is, Mrs Radcliffe?’

‘The one thing I feared most was that Agnes would be killed in an explosion at work. It happens in all the munition factories, only they keep it out of the papers most of the time. There have been two cases at Hayes, though they were in the Cap and Detonator Section. I used to thank God that my daughter didn’t work there.’

‘It’s a dangerous place,’ said Marmion. ‘The mercury fulminate they use is highly explosive and can be very unstable.’

‘Yet it was outside the factory that Agnes came to grief.’

‘Yes, it is ironic, I agree.’

‘Who did it, Inspector?’ she asked, getting up again.

‘It’s too early to say.’

‘You must have some idea.’

‘We’ve already set an investigation in motion. That means we have to gather evidence slowly and painstakingly.’

‘But you will catch him, won’t you?’ she pleaded. ‘You will arrest the devil who did this terrible thing to my daughter.’

‘We will, Mrs Radcliffe.’

She fixed him with a glare. ‘Is that a promise?’

‘It’s both a promise and a firm commitment,’ said Marmion. ‘This is a heinous crime. However long it takes, we’ll get the person or persons behind it.’

Superintendent Claude Chatfield expected his officers to work hard but he also pushed himself to the limit. Long after the time when he should have gone home, he was still at his desk in Scotland Yard, reading his way through a sheaf of papers and making notes in the margin. When the telephone rang, he snatched it up and barked into the receiver.

‘Is that you, Marmion?’

‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply. ‘I’m ringing from the police station in Hayes.’

‘What have you discovered?’

‘The situation is very bad. It’s also rather confused.’

‘Have you identified the victims?’

‘Thanks to the sole survivor, we have the names and addresses of the other five women. Next of kin have been informed in all five cases.’

‘Give me the full picture.’

Taking a deep breath, Marmion launched into his report. He kept one eye on the notes in front of him and confined himself to the known facts. There was nothing that the superintendent hated as much as uninformed guesswork and the last thing that Marmion wanted to do was to arouse his ire. When he’d heard the full report, Chatfield was ready with a crucial question.

‘Should we call in Special Branch?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s my considered opinion.’

‘Does it have any basis in fact?’

‘I believe so,’ said Marmion. ‘This outrage was specifically aimed at one or all of the six people who attended that party. There’s no propaganda value whatsoever for the enemy. These were ordinary young women who simply wanted to celebrate a birthday. For reasons unknown, someone objected to the occasion and was ready to go to extreme lengths to stop it.’

Chatfield was irritable. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Inspector?’

‘The killer was a local man with a good knowledge of explosives.’

‘There’s no shortage of people like that in Hayes.’

‘Quite — that’s why the munitions factory will have to be put under the microscope. We may well find that the person we’re after works there. It would put him in the right place to hear about the time and place of that birthday party.’

‘Have you made any contact with the factory?’

‘Sergeant Keedy paid a visit there earlier on. They allowed him to use their telephone to ring the home of the works manager, Mr Kennett. He’s been apprised of the details and promised to give us all the help we need.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Chatfield. ‘Strict security always surrounds munitions factories. Just getting through the front gate is an achievement. They work on the theory that everyone is a potential spy.’

‘It’s probably the safest thing to do, sir.’

‘I daresay it is. Thank you, Inspector. You seem to have been to the right places and asked the right questions. I’ll draft a report and leave it on the commissioner’s desk.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Five young lasses blown to smithereens at a party — the press will go to town on this story. Make sure you don’t tell them too much.’

‘I never do, Superintendent.’

‘If you’re heading back to Scotland Yard, you may find me still beavering away in my office.’

‘Don’t wait there for us,’ said Marmion, anxious to avoid seeing him at the end of a long day. ‘We still have a lot of work to do here, sir. The sergeant wants me to meet Maureen Quinn. Something about her troubled him somewhat.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s what I’m off to find out. I’ll report to you first thing in the morning.’

‘Good,’ said Chatfield, suppressing a yawn. ‘And you’re quite sure that we’re looking for a local man.’

Marmion was adamant. ‘I’d stake my pension on it, Superintendent.’

Midnight found the two constables still on duty outside the Golden Goose. It was lonely work. The disaster had exhausted the curiosity of those in the vicinity so nobody came to pry. They chatted, complained about the chill wind, then moaned when a steady drizzle began to fall. Huddled in the doorway of the pub, they exchanged a few jokes to pass the time. Neither of them even saw the figure that approached silently on the other side of the street and kept to the shadows. When he reached the Golden Goose, the man stopped, looked at the debris, then walked on with a smile of deep satisfaction.

When he heard the knock at the front door, Eamonn Quinn thought at first that it was a nosy neighbour who’d caught wind of the explosion at a pub in Hayes. Ready to dispatch the caller with a few choice words, he was taken aback when he opened the door and saw two well-dressed strangers standing there. Marmion performed the introductions and asked politely if they might speak to his daughter.

‘She’s gone to bed,’ said Quinn, abruptly.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We were very much hoping for a word with her.’

‘Well, it’s not convenient. Maureen will be fast asleep by now.’

‘Then we won’t disturb her.’

He was about to turn away when Maureen came into the narrow passageway.

‘Who is it, Daddy?’

‘Hello,’ said Keedy, recognising her. ‘It seems that your daughter is not quite so tired after all, Mr Quinn. May we come in and talk to her?’