‘Why do you think Leach will waver?’ he asked.

‘I don’t doubt the sincerity of his pacifism,’ said Marmion, ‘and he won’t renounce that. But I sensed a weakness. He’s engaged to be married. He has to make decisions that involve two people. That could make things a lot trickier.’

Leach’s head was pounding. So much had happened in the space of a couple of hours that he was confused and fearful. He’d awoken with a sense of dread, then been told what Hambridge had learnt about a gruesome murder during the night. Leach felt certain that it had to be his friend. A Scotland Yard detective had confirmed the name of the victim and questioned him about his contact with Ablatt the previous day. It had left the baker completely jangled. He’d pleaded with his father to be released from his duties at the shop and, since he’d finished his delivery rounds, he was allowed to leave. Leach had arranged to meet Ruby Cosgrove that evening but he couldn’t contain himself that long. As a matter of urgency, he needed to speak to her now. She had to be told.

His fiancee had responded to the appeal for help in the war effort by working in a small factory that produced tinned meat to be sent to British soldiers in the trenches. It was boring, repetitive, undemanding labour but it gave her the feeling that she was making a contribution. Ruby worked set hours. Leach knew that during her lunch break she usually popped out of the factory to escape the pandemonium, get some fresh air and enjoy a cigarette.

When he got to the factory, he saw her lurking in a doorway with some of the other female employees. Even though she was wearing an ugly fawn overall and a fawn scarf, the mere sight of Ruby Cosgrove lifted his spirits. Spotting him, the other women nudged Ruby and giggled. One of them whispered something in her ear and she blushed. By the time he got to them, Leach was out of breath.

‘What are you doing here, Gordon?’ she asked in surprise.

Unable to find the words at first, he gave the other women such a look of desperation that they took pity on him and moved away so that the couple could talk alone. He led Ruby to a low wall and made her sit down.

‘I had to come,’ he said, lowering himself down beside her.

‘Whatever’s the matter with you? You’re trembling.’

‘There’s something I must tell you, Ruby.’

‘Well, be quick about it,’ she said. ‘The hooter will go in a minute.’

He looked into her face and realised why he loved her so much. Ruby had an exaggerated prettiness that had captivated him when he first met her and a way of jiggling her head about as she spoke that he found entrancing. He didn’t mind that she was rather plump. If anything, it added to her attraction, the large bust swelling under her overall, the generous thighs and wide hips enlarging her contours. He hated having to pass on such tragic news but he could hold it in no longer. Taking her by the shoulders, he inhaled deeply.

‘Something terrible has happened,’ he said.

She tensed. ‘What is it?’

‘Cyril is dead.’

‘No!’ she exclaimed, palms slapping against her chubby cheeks. ‘I don’t believe it. Tell me it’s not true, Gordon. Tell me it’s some kind of joke.’

‘I swear that it’s true — and there’s worse to come.’

‘What could possibly be worse than that?’

Tears now streamed down his face. ‘He was murdered, Ruby. A detective came to the bakery to tell me. While we were all waiting for him at Fred’s house, Cyril was battered to death.’

It was all too much for Ruby. She simply couldn’t cope with the gravity of the news and its many implications for her fiance, and for her. While she liked Ablatt, she resented him for taking up so much of Leach’s time. All that resentment vanished now, drowned beneath a flood of sympathy. After biting her lip and emitting a laugh of disbelief, she swayed to and fro before fainting into his arms.

When the factory hooter sounded, she never even heard it.

‘Are you Horace Waldron?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘But I was told that you were.’

‘Then you was told lies — my name is Horrie.’

‘It’s only a diminutive of Horace.’

‘What the fuck is that?’

‘Never mind, sir.’

‘And who are you calling “sir”? What’s your game?’

‘I need to speak to you.’

‘Not when I got work to do.’

‘This is important.’

‘So is earning my bleeding beer money.’

Joe Keedy could see that he was in for a difficult interview. When he tracked Waldron down in the cemetery, the man was standing in a grave that was three feet deep. Surly and uncooperative, Waldron chewed on a pipe but there was no tobacco in it. He resumed his digging. Squatting down, Keedy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

‘Let go of me,’ snarled Waldron.

‘I have to ask you some questions, sir.’

‘Bugger off!’

‘Or perhaps you’d rather answer them in the nearest police station?’

‘That explains the stink round here — you’re a copper.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keedy from Scotland Yard and I’m involved in a murder inquiry.’

‘Then why not leave me alone and get on with it.’

‘I am getting on with it, sir.’

As the gravedigger tried to carry on with his work, Keedy grabbed the spade and wrenched it from his grasp, throwing it down on the grass. Waldron bunched his fists and issued a string of expletives. After threatening to hit Keedy, he thought better of it. Assaulting a detective had serious consequences. Besides, the sergeant was much younger and looked muscular. Waldron folded his arms and scowled.

‘What’s this about a murder, then?’

Keedy stood up. ‘A man named Cyril Ablatt was brutally killed last night.’

‘Really?’ asked Waldron, before releasing a guffaw and slapping his knee in celebration. ‘Are you telling me that snivelling little coward is dead? That goes to prove it — there is a God, after all.’

‘I believe that you knew Mr Ablatt.’

‘Yes — I knew the cocky bastard and I despised him.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Cyril always knew best. No matter what the argument was about, he had to have the last bleeding word. Oh, he was clever, I’ll give him that. He read lots of books and suchlike. But he looked down on me, Sergeant Whatever-Your-Name-Is.’

‘It’s Keedy — Sergeant Keedy.’

‘Nobody does that to Horrie Waldron. I got my standards, see?’ Hauling himself out of the grave, he retrieved his spade and used it as a prop. After looking Keedy up and down, he shifted the pipe to the other side of his mouth. ‘Why have you come bothering me, then?’

‘Where were you yesterday evening?’

‘Where else would I be but in the pub?’

‘Would that be the Weavers Arms?’

‘Yes — they serve a good pint.’

‘Are there witnesses who’d confirm that you were there?’

Waldron eyed him warily. ‘Ask the landlord. He’ll tell you. Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I did slip out for an hour or two.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘That’s my business,’ said Waldron, belligerently.

‘It happens to be my business as well.’

‘It’s private.’

‘There’s no such thing as privacy in a murder investigation.’

Waldron was indignant. ‘I got nothing to do with that.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Keedy, meeting his gaze without flinching. ‘Let me remind you that withholding evidence is a crime. We can also add the charge that you’re impeding a police officer in the execution of his duties. If you don’t answer my questions properly, we can have this conversation through the bars of a cell in which you’ll be locked. Understood?’ The gravedigger glowered at him. ‘That’s better. Now then, let’s go back to what I asked. Where did you go last night?’

‘I went to see a friend — nothing wrong with that, is there?’

Keedy took out his notebook. ‘What’s the name of this friend?’

‘I’m not saying.’

‘In short, there was no friend. You invented him.’