‘That was years ago,’ said Alice, ‘and it never lasted, anyway. I soon lost interest in him. As for boyfriends, the only young men I get to see are terrified refugees from Belgium. I just don’t have time for a social life.’ Picking up her bag, she went to the front door. ‘Give my love to Daddy.’

Ellen went to wave her off. ‘Take care, darling. Bye.’

She stood and watched as Alice got into the lorry and drove off. Ellen was both hurt and curious. She wondered why her daughter had just lied to her.

The first person Marmion spoke to at the hospital was the doctor in charge of the case. James Howells had had an emergency operation but was still in a coma. All that the medical staff could do was to wait and watch. The doctor promised that he would get in touch with Scotland Yard the moment that the patient was conscious again, though he warned that Howells might not be able to remember what had happened. In cases of brain damage, it was impossible to predict the outcome. Marmion thanked him and went into the waiting room where the Reverend Simon Ellway was sitting with his eyes closed as if in prayer. The old man’s shoulders sagged wearily. Marmion waited until the vicar’s eyes opened before introducing himself. Ellway was distraught.

‘Where will it end, Inspector?’ he asked in despair. ‘Only yesterday, I had to comfort the family of a parishioner of mine, Cyril Ablatt, who was murdered. Last night, someone tried to kill my curate.’

‘It’s not impossible that the two cases are related,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m here because I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder as well. Cyril Ablatt worshipped at St Leonard’s, then?’

‘Oh, yes. He and his father attended services regularly.’

‘Tell me a little about your curate.’

The vicar spoke warmly. ‘James is a delightful young man. The moment he arrived, he seemed to fit in perfectly. He is indefatigable. Nothing is too much trouble for him. He took a huge load off my back. We had our differences, naturally,’ admitted Ellway. ‘He didn’t entirely share my passion for the Old Testament and, by the same token, I was rather resistant to some of the modern ideas he tried to press upon me. In truth, I suppose, I’m a hopeless traditionalist. But none of our differences get in the way of our friendship. James is like a son to us.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘We offered him a room at the vicarage but he preferred to be out in the community he served. He has digs within walking distance of the church.’ He smiled fondly. ‘James is single but I don’t think he’ll remain a bachelor for long. He’s very handsome and sets many a female heart aflutter. My wife used to tease me about it. When James took a service, she said, there are always more young ladies in the congregation than when I’m on duty.’

‘Given his popularity, why should anyone wish to attack him?’

‘It was more than just an attack, Inspector. It was a case of attempted murder. If someone hadn’t, mercifully, come along when he did, James would be dead.’

‘Did he ever talk about enemies that he had?’

‘No,’ replied Ellway, ‘because there weren’t any. Everyone liked him.’

‘People said the same thing about Cyril Ablatt, yet he was murdered.’

‘I know. It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘There is one possible motive.’

‘You’re talking about him being a conscientious objector, aren’t you?’

‘Yes — that makes him an object of disgust to some people.’

‘You could never be disgusted by Cyril. He was a splendid young fellow.’

‘What about your curate?’ asked Marmion.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Did he agree with the stand that Cyril was taking?’

‘He did and he didn’t,’ said the old man. ‘He agreed that everyone had the right to take a stand on an issue of moral principle and he admired him for doing so. At the same time, however, James couldn’t support him. He felt that the needs of a national emergency should come first. On the subject of war, the Bible is rather ambiguous. They had long theological arguments, quoting bits of the Old and New Testaments at each other.’

‘Who won the argument?’

‘The issue was unresolved. Cyril tried to persuade James to go to a meeting of something called the No-Conscription Fellowship. My curate showed me the leaflet he’d been given.’

‘Did he attend the meeting?’

‘No, Inspector. He felt that he’d be there under false pretences.’

Marmion was interested to hear how the leaflet had come into the curate’s possession and would take pleasure in passing on the information to Chatfield. It would puncture the superintendent’s theory about the second attack being an exact copy of the first. Howells and Ablatt were not interchangeable victims. They were on opposite sides of the argument. The vicar provided a link between the two men.

‘You mentioned that you visited Mr Ablatt,’ recalled Marmion.

‘That’s right,’ said Ellway with a sigh. ‘As you can imagine, I’ve had rather too much experience of visiting a house of mourning but it’s usually because someone has died a natural death. There have also been families here whose sons have been killed during the war, of course, and there have been rather too many of them. What I’ve never had to do before is to offer consolation to the father of a murder victim.’

‘How did Mr Ablatt seem?’

‘He seemed totally baffled. He just couldn’t understand what was going on. His sister, however, was beyond my reach. She was so consumed by anguish that I don’t think she heard a word of what I said. There was another member of the family there,’ he went on, ‘a Mrs Skene, a cousin of Gerald Ablatt. She struck me as one of those practical women who subdue their own grief in order to help those unable to do so. Yes, Mrs Skene was very capable.’

Marmion did not disclose her ulterior motive in visiting the house. He didn’t wish to betray a confidence or to shatter the fond image of Cyril Ablatt that the vicar had. Unlike his young parishioner, Simon Ellway would never have been able to reconcile religious conviction and an intimate relationship with a married woman. After thanking him for his help, Marmion took his leave and headed for the exit. Before he reached it, he saw Keedy coming down the corridor towards him.

‘Good morning, Joe.’

‘Good morning. The superintendent told me I’d find you here.’

‘Did he tell you why?’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘The killer went after a second victim.’

Marmion took a deep breath. ‘That’s not quite what happened …’

Against all advice, Gerald Ablatt opened his shop that morning. He felt that he’d been writhing in pain for long enough and he sought the anaesthetic of work. It gave him a sense of purpose and showed him that not everyone in Shoreditch disapproved of the fact that someone hadn’t volunteered for military service. Customers were uniformly sympathetic. They made the cobbler feel both proud of his son and comforted in his loss. As a result of his decision to resume work, his sister was forced to stay at home. Promising to come back early, Dalley went off to work. He met the postman on the way and stopped for a chat. When the blacksmith reached the forge, his assistant was dealing with a customer whose horse he’d just shoed. After the bill had been paid, Percy Fry came over to his boss.

‘I didn’t expect you so soon, Jack.’

‘There was a change of plan today. I’ve had to leave Nancy at home. Her brother went off to open his shop so she couldn’t go to the house.’

‘Gone back to work, you say? Is that wise?’

‘It’s my brother-in-law’s way of getting through this ordeal.’

‘Is anyone sitting with Nancy?’

‘No,’ said Dalley, ‘she’s on her own and, to be honest, I’m rather worried about her. Do you think you could ask Elaine to pop over there at some point?’

‘Yes, of course — she’s been waiting for the call.’

‘Thanks, Perce.’

Customers arrived and they were both kept busy for a while, filling the place with the clang of steel and the roar of the fire. It was not until an hour later that the blacksmith had time to pass on a rumour he’d picked up.