‘Only too glad to help, Jack,’ he said, ‘though I’m still not sure what it’s all about. When the milkman called in, he said there was something in the paper about a murder in Shoreditch. I hope that was nothing to do with your family.’

‘It was, Perce,’ said Dalley, grimly. ‘The victim was my nephew, Cyril.’

‘Blimey! What happened?’

‘They’re still trying to work that out.’

‘Murdered — that’s terrible! I remember Cyril well — came in here from time to time. He was a cocky young devil and I liked him for that.’

Dalley told him all he knew about the crime and how his wife and his brother-in-law had reacted to the news. He warned Fry that he might have to take time off again in the course of the next few days.

‘Do what needs to be done, Jack,’ said Fry. ‘I can manage here.’

‘You must have been rushed off your feet.’

‘Rather be busy than idle.’

‘So would I,’ said Dalley. ‘But what’s going to keep me busy from now on is trying to console Nancy. This has shaken her up. She loved Cyril. My brother-in-law is in pieces, as you can imagine, but Nancy is far worse.’

‘Anything we can do?’

‘Yes — just hold the fort here.’

‘Thinking of Nancy,’ said Fry. ‘Would it help if my wife went to keep her spirits up? Elaine is good at that.’

‘Thanks all the same, Perce, but we’ll be all right.’

‘Offer stays open.’

Dalley gave a nod of gratitude and looked around the forge. He recalled the many occasions when his nephew had visited the place in his younger days. Ablatt had been eager, fresh-faced and uncomplicated. He’d been in awe of his uncle’s skills and developed a love of horses. Education had lured him away from the forge and put ideas into his head with which Dalley took issue. On the occasions when they’d been alone together, they’d had some lively arguments. The blacksmith had always enjoyed their exchanges even though they’d shown the wide gap that had opened up between uncle and nephew.

‘Who were those men who came here?’ asked Fry, washing his hands in a pail of water. ‘I didn’t catch their names.’

‘One of them was Inspector Marmion, who’s in charge of the case. The other was Sergeant Keedy.’

‘Do they have any idea who killed young Cyril?’

‘They don’t, Perce, but I do.’

‘Oh?’

‘It was someone who took against him because he was a conchie. To be honest,’ confessed Dalley, ‘I went off him a bit myself when he started telling me that war was evil and that it was wrong to bear arms. Well, you heard him sounding off in here a couple of times. What are we supposed to do, I asked him — surrender to the Germans and let them take over the country?’

‘Yes, I remember what he said.’

‘He had a clever answer as usual. Cyril had a clever answer for everything. Even though he was my nephew, there were times when I just wanted to punch him on the nose to bring him to his senses.’

‘P’raps you should have done just that.’

‘Nancy would never have forgiven me.’

‘But it might have saved his life.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

Fry dried his hands on an old towel. ‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘None of my business, of course, but you don’t seem as upset as I’d be if it was my nephew.’ Seeing a flash of anger in the blacksmith’s eyes, he was immediately repentant. ‘Forget I said that, Jack. I take it back.’

Dalley’s ire subsided at once and he became pensive. He thought about the moment when he caught his wife and brother-in-law in a tearful embrace. Grief was visibly devouring them. It troubled Dalley that he could not feel their pain to the same degree and that he remained somewhat detached from it all. In spite of their many disagreements, he liked his nephew and should have been shattered by his death. Because he was not, he was assailed by guilt.

‘You’re right, Perce,’ he said, quietly. ‘I’d never admit this to Nancy but I can’t mourn him the way that she can. It’s something to do with his beliefs. Cyril is not the only conchie in the country. There are far too many of the buggers. Women hand out white feathers and you sometimes read stories in the papers about conchies being thrown in a pond or beaten up. It’s happening everywhere.’

Fry was terse. ‘Got no sympathy for them, Jack.’

‘Neither have I — they asked for it.’

‘But I’m very sorry about Cyril. I understand people turning on a conchie but there’s a limit. Murder is going too far.’

‘That’s what I think. It’s a dreadful crime. You wouldn’t want your worst enemy to be battered to death like that.’ Dalley was bewildered. ‘So why don’t I feel like the others? Is there something wrong with me, Perce?’ he asked with concern. ‘Am I being cruel? Why — God forgive me — am I almost relieved that he’s dead?’

Hannah Billington had committed herself fully to the work of the WEC. She was unfailingly generous with her time and money. At the end of a long day, she was always willing to use her own car as a taxi, driving her colleagues home no matter how far it took her out of her way. It was Alice Marmion and Vera Dowling who were given a lift this time. They were quick to accept the offer. Travelling home after dark could sometimes have unexpected hazards. Relaxed in Hannah’s company, Alice was as chatty as ever but her friend was silent for most of the journey. Seated in the back of the vehicle, Vera lacked the confidence to take a full part in the conversation. She was the first to be dropped off. When the car started off again, Hannah turned to her passenger.

‘I must say that you make an odd couple,’ she observed.

‘Really — in what way?’

‘You’re so forthright and Vera is so reserved. The poor girl wouldn’t say boo to a goose, whereas you’d be capable of wringing its neck and roasting it for supper.’

Alice grinned. ‘I’m not sure about that, Hannah.’

‘But you take my point.’

‘I think so.’

‘It must be a case of attraction of opposites.’

‘Vera is not as shy as she looks. If you want the truth, she was the one who first suggested that we should give up our jobs and join the WEC. It’s just that she feels rather cowed by you.’

‘Why?’ asked Hannah with a laugh. ‘Am I that intimidating?’

‘You are to Vera.’

‘And do I unsettle you as well?’

‘Not in the least,’ said Alice. ‘I admire the way you run things. You’ve got so much energy and you know how to organise people.’

‘I do my best.’

‘The WEC is very different from what either of us expected. People kept telling us that it would be full of suffragettes who’d try to convert us, but it’s not like that at all. All sorts of people have joined.’

‘Yes, that’s right — everyone from domestic servants to members of the peerage. Many of us do believe in equal rights for women but we don’t ram it down people’s throats. Also, of course,’ said Hannah, ‘the militant suffragettes have suspended their campaign until the war is over. They don’t need to break windows in Oxford Street when German bombs will do the job for them.’

‘What will happen when the war is over?’

‘Who can say? One would like to think that the government will show some appreciation for the work that women have done. We’ve proved that we can do even the most onerous and dangerous jobs. The least reward that we deserve,’ insisted Hannah, taking the car around a sharp bend, ‘is a say in the way this country is run.’

‘You ought to be a Member of Parliament.’

‘Oh, I don’t have any ambitions in that direction, Alice.’

‘You’d really stir things up there.’

‘I’d be bored to tears, spending so much time with all those men.’ She peered through the windscreen. ‘I’ve been here before but I can’t quite remember how. Am I going the right way?’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘it’s the next left then the second on the right. It’s so kind of you to give us both a lift home.’

‘You worked hard today. You deserve a reward.’