‘Thank you.’

Following the directions, Hannah drove on into the street where Alice lived and brought the vehicle to a grinding halt. She looked up at the house.

‘Do you like it here?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I would have thought that you’d share with Vera.’

Alice was tactful. ‘That would never have worked,’ she said. ‘We’re much better off apart. Vera’s just a friend. We’re not Siamese twins.’

Hannah laughed and turned to her. Alice had the impression that she wanted to be asked in but it was late and, in any case, her landlady discouraged even female visitors after a certain time. She was about to get out of the vehicle when Hannah put a hand on her arm.

‘Have you heard from your brother recently?’ she asked.

‘No — we haven’t had a letter from Paul for weeks.’

‘My husband is stationed near the Somme. I get nothing but complaints in his letters. I daren’t tell him about his clubhouse.’ She released Alice’s arm. ‘Don’t marry a soldier, Alice.’

Alice was amused. ‘I’m not thinking of marrying anyone at the moment.’

‘With a face like yours, you’ll never be short of offers.’

‘While the war’s on, the WEC comes first.’

‘That makes two of us,’ said Hannah. ‘You go off and get a good night’s sleep while I see if I can find my way home. Goodbye, Alice.’

‘Goodbye — and thanks again!’

Getting out of the car, Alice waved her off and waited until the car was chugging down the street. Then she ran up the path and used her latchkey to let herself into the house. Any letters that came for the tenants were left on the gatelegged table in the hall. Alice crossed over to it but there was nothing waiting for her.

‘Damn!’ she exclaimed under her breath.

Ellen Marmion was never sure if she should wait up for her husband or go to bed when she felt tired. In an effort to stay up as long as possible that night, she did some knitting then read a book by the light from the standard lamp. The story failed to hold her attention and she eventually drifted off. When her husband came into the house, he found her slumbering beside a fire that had dwindled to a faint glow. Removing the book from her lap, he set it aside then kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘Is that you, Harvey?’ she asked, coming slowly awake.

He chuckled. ‘Who else were you expecting?’

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s time for bed, Ellen. Come on — I’ll help you up.’

She took his hands and let him pull her to her feet. He’d taken off his overcoat and hat and hung them up. She was in her dressing gown and slippers. Before she could stop it, a yawn suddenly escaped.

‘Why are you so late?’

‘Time stands still when I have another murder case.’

‘Where have you been all day?’

‘Trudging around Shoreditch and slipping back to Scotland Yard for the dubious pleasure of reporting to the superintendent.’

‘You should have got that job,’ she said with feeling. ‘You’d have done it much better than Claude Chatfield.’

‘Give the devil his due,’ said Marmion. ‘He was at his desk an hour before I got there and he was still working when I left. His wife must think she’s a nun. We know that’s not true,’ he added with a laugh. ‘She’s had five children.’

‘How many of them live at home?’

‘I’m not sure, Ellen — two at least.’

‘Then she won’t get lonely. When you go off, I’m entirely on my own. I can’t blame Paul for not being here but I do miss Alice. It wouldn’t be so bad if she spent the odd night or two here.’

‘She values her freedom, love.’

‘Well, it’s not doing her health any good.’

Marmion was worried. ‘How do you know? Have you seen her?’

‘Alice called in early this morning,’ said Ellen, ‘and we had a cup of tea together. She looked so thin and drawn. She claims that she’s put on weight but I couldn’t see it. There was a sense of fatigue about her.’

‘Like father, like daughter!’

‘It’s not a joke, Harvey.’

‘It wasn’t meant as one,’ he said. ‘I was being serious. Alice is like me. When she takes something on, she gives it every last ounce of her energy.’ He used a hand to suppress a yawn. ‘Up we go. I’m dropping.’

After switching off the light, he put the fireguard in the grate then followed her upstairs. When he’d been to the bathroom and changed into his pyjamas, he clambered into bed beside her.

‘What sort of a case is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s a very baffling one at the moment.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’

‘We might have. It’s too early to tell.’

‘And is this the sort of time you’ll be coming home from now on?’

‘Think yourself lucky, Ellen,’ he said, snuggling under the bed sheets. ‘Your loving husband will actually get some sleep tonight. That wouldn’t be the case if you were married to Joe Keedy. He’s got to stay awake until dawn.’

When he left the Weavers Arms, Keedy had first walked to the lane where the body had been discovered. The police had gone now, so it was possible to go to the spot where Cyril Ablatt had lain. By the light of his torch, he saw that the blood had been washed away to deter sightseers from finding the exact place. He imagined the shock that the courting couple must have felt when they stumbled on the corpse. It might have had an adverse effect on their romance. Before he returned to his vantage point, he walked around the vicinity to familiarise himself with it. These were the streets that Ablatt and his friends knew by heart. Hiding in one of them, he believed, was the killer. Their job was to root him out.

The Haveron sisters were delighted to see him again and pressed food and drink on to him. They were like a pair of eccentric aunts who’d just encountered a nephew they never knew they had and wanted to make up for lost time.

‘Do you do this kind of thing often?’ asked Rose.

‘As it happens,’ said Keedy, ‘I don’t. This is an exception.’

‘Well, it’s certainly an exception for us,’ Martha chimed in, ‘isn’t it, Rose? Who’d ever have thought that we’d play host to a detective?’

‘It’s rather exciting,’ said Rose.

‘I do hope it’s not a waste of time.’

‘So do I,’ said Keedy, touched by their sweetness. ‘But at least I’ll be comfortable in your front room. The last time I did this all night, I had to hide in the back of a cattle truck and look through the slats. You can imagine the stench.’

‘Oh dear!’ said Martha.

‘You won’t have that problem here,’ Rose assured him.

Fortunately, the sisters went to bed early every night and even the presence of a detective did not alter their routine. They wished him well, then withdrew upstairs. When he adjourned to the front room, Keedy could hear one of them walking about in the bedroom above his head. He’d politely declined their offer to light a fire for him. It was evident that Rose and Martha Haveron were ladies of limited means. He didn’t wish to make inroads into their coal supply nor did he want to make the room too snug. A warm fire might send him off to sleep. Cold air would keep him awake. Even with the blankets around him, he could feel a bracing chill.

The Ablatt house was diagonally opposite. When he sat beside the window on an upright chair, he could look through a chink in the curtains. It would be impossible to miss anyone who came to add something to the already well-decorated wall. Keedy settled down for what might be a long and fruitless wait. He staved off boredom by going through all the evidence so far gathered. He thought of the conversations he’d had with Hambridge and Price, young men of fundamentally different character who’d been united by a single purpose. He’d liked the carpenter and distrusted the cook on sight. When they came before a tribunal, he suspected, the quiet certainty of the Quaker would be more effective than the Welshman’s truculence. The person who really interested him was Horrie Waldron. How on earth had such a reprobate aroused affection in Maud Crowther? Given the size and muscularity of Stan Crowther, both of them were tempting fate. The discovery that Waldron was making secret visits to his mother would enrage the landlord. If he dared to put his head into the pub after that, the gravedigger would need his spade to defend himself.