The woman walked away. Reading the message, Marmion grinned broadly.

Keedy was curious. ‘Well?’

‘I told you that something might turn up,’ said Marmion. ‘This could be it.’

Caroline Skene had never been inside a police station before and she didn’t relish the experience. It was so bare and comfortless. When she showed the business card to the duty sergeant, he rang Scotland Yard and asked for Inspector Marmion. He was told to wait while the inspector was found. Caroline, meanwhile, was kept sitting on a high-backed wooden bench. The fact that desperate criminals must have sat on it over the years only deepened her sense of guilt. She had the urge to leave but, since the phone call had been made, she had to stay there. It seemed an age before someone came on at the end of the line. The sergeant spoke to him then offered the receiver to Caroline. She crossed to the desk on unsteady legs and looked at the instrument warily. Unfamiliar with a telephone, she took it gingerly from him.

‘Hello,’ she said, meekly.

‘Is that you, Mrs Skene?’ asked Marmion.

She was reassured. ‘Yes, Inspector — you told me to contact you.’

‘Do you have some information for me?’

‘Yes, I do, but I don’t want to talk on the telephone.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ he said. ‘I was told that you’re ringing from Shoreditch police station. Is that correct?’

‘It is.’

‘Then I’ll meet you there. You stay put.’

She looked around. ‘I’d rather not talk here, Inspector.’

‘I understand. A place like that can be rather intimidating for someone as law-abiding as you. Not to worry,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ll come as soon as I can. Then we’ll find somewhere else to have a chat. Is that all right?’

‘Yes, Inspector — thank you.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Skene.’

Before she could bid him farewell, the line went dead. Handing the receiver to the sergeant, she went back to the bench and perched on the edge of it. She was not at all sure that she was doing the right thing but the decision had been made now. Still stunned by the death of her young friend, Caroline’s grief would only be softened by the arrest of the killer. It was time to be more honest with Marmion.

After finishing work, Mansel Price left the hullabaloo of the railway station and made his way to Fred Hambridge’s workshop. The carpenter was stacking a door against a wall when the Welshman arrived. Price was glad to see that his friend was alone.

‘Where’s the boss?’ he asked.

‘Charlie went off to price a job,’ said Hambridge. ‘He won’t be back for ages.’

‘Good — it means we can talk. I’ve got news for you, Fred.’ ‘What’s happened?’

‘I almost caught the man who painted things on Cyril’s wall.’

He described the incident during the night and was enraged that he’d been robbed of the chance to overpower the man. Having lurked in the dark for so long, Price felt that he deserved the kudos of catching him.

‘I blame Sergeant Keedy,’ he said.

‘What was he doing there?’

‘The same as me — only he had the sense to stay indoors. He was in the front room of a house nearby. He had a feeling that the man might come back again with his paintbrush. I was mad at him for interfering but the truth is that it was probably just as well. If he hadn’t come along, I’d have torn that man to pieces.’

‘Then you’d have been in trouble with the police as well.’

‘The sergeant said that they’d soon find him at daybreak. He left his ladder and his paint. Both could be traced back to him.’

‘You did well, Mansel.’

‘I got in a couple of good punches, I know that.’

‘You should have let me know you were going to stay up all night. I could have waited with you. The two of us could have nabbed him. Anyway,’ said Hambridge, crossing to the wall where his coat was hanging, ‘I’m glad you called in. I’ve got something to show you.’

Price grinned wickedly. ‘It’s not a dirty postcard, is it?’

‘No — it’s something a bit more serious than that.’

He handed the Welshman the letter. Price took it out of the envelope and read it through, his anger slowly mounting.

‘Don’t go, Fred,’ he urged.

‘I have to go. I’d be breaking the law.’

‘Burn the letter. Tell them it never arrived.’

‘They’d only send another one. You’ll be getting one yourself.’

Price was aggressive. ‘I don’t take orders from on high. If they want me to go before a tribunal, they’ll bloody well have to come and fetch me.’

‘There’s no point in upsetting them, Mansel. It could work against you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I’ll be seeking exemption on the grounds that I’m a Quaker,’ said Hambridge. ‘My parents will come to the tribunal and so will Charlie. Having people speak up for you is bound to help. You must have someone on your side.’

‘My parents are back home in the Rhondda. They’d never come here.’

‘What about your boss?’

‘I think he’d be glad to see the back of me. I’ll get no help there. Besides,’ he went on, grandiloquently, ‘I’m ready for a tussle with the tribunal. It’ll be a case of no holds barred. I’ll tell them just what I think about this stupid idea of enforced military service. It’s a form of bloody slavery.’

Hambridge was worried about him. Because of his religion, the carpenter felt that he had a chance of exemption, even though two Quaker friends of his had been conscripted after their appearance before a tribunal. If Price went there with the express purpose of provoking those who sat in judgement on him, he’d be more or less inviting them to deal harshly with him.

‘There’s no point in deliberately upsetting them,’ he argued. ‘That’s what Cyril taught us. We have to present a reasoned argument.’

‘I’ll do it my way, Fred — you do it yours.’

Hambridge took the letter back from him and stowed it away in his coat.

‘What about Gordon?’ he asked.

‘He’s my big worry,’ said Price, bitterly. ‘If he gets married in order to dodge conscription, I’ll never speak to the bastard again.’

‘I think we talked him out of it, Mansel.’

‘I hope so. When I think of all those meetings the three of us had with Cyril, I just can’t believe that Gordon would desert us. He was always boasting about the way he’d defy the tribunal. He said he didn’t care what they did to him. Then,’ he added with utter contempt, ‘he tried using Ruby Cosgrove to save him from the army. Thank goodness we changed his mind for him.’

Since he’d last seen his fiancee, Leach had done a lot of thinking. He regretted his suggestion of an early marriage and was still smarting from the comments made by Price and Hambridge. The Welshman, in particular, had been quite vicious with him. They were good friends and he didn’t want to lose their respect. Under the guidance of Ablatt, they’d bonded together. If anything, the murder should have tightened that bond and helped them to present a united front against the possibility of conscription. Yet he had threatened to break it apart and couldn’t quite understand what had impelled him to do so. Leach was not afraid to go to prison, if necessary. In that eventuality, Ruby had promised to stand by him. Sharing his pacifism, she’d always supported him in his determination to resist fighting.

What did she think of him now? Did she feel the same unquestioning love for him? Leach doubted it. When they’d parted, Ruby had looked at him in an odd and rather unsettling way. It was as if she was discovering an aspect of his character for the first time and was not sure if she liked it. The prospect of an early marriage would have been discussed with her parents. Leach was certain they’d have found the idea unappealing. His own parents had been more amenable. His father was keen to retain his help in the bakery and his mother wanted him saved from the unspeakable horrors at the front. Wounded soldiers were a common sight in the streets, a stark warning to what lay in wait for those sent to the trenches.