Alice made an effort to dismiss him from her thoughts. On the following day, she was due to go to tea at Hannah’s house. That would be a treat, not merely because she liked the woman. She was curious to see where and how someone from a very different class lived. Vera had been shocked to hear that Hannah had released two of her servants to join the army, retaining only a cook-housekeeper. The idea that anyone could have domestic staff was beyond Vera’s comprehension. Until she’d joined the WEC, she’d never met a woman in a position to employ them. Now that she had, she was tongue-tied in her presence, whereas Alice found Hannah very engaging. She snatched at the opportunity to get an insight into the older woman’s private life. Alice smiled with anticipatory pleasure.

Her reverie was cut short by a sound she could not at first identify. It was a gentle tap but she couldn’t work out from where it came. When it happened again, however, she heard it more clearly and realised that something had just tapped on the window of her room. Jumping out of bed, she ran to pull back a curtain. Down below in the garden, Alice could just make out the figure of a man. Her heart began to pound. The only person who would try to contact her at that late hour was Joe Keedy. Leaving the curtain half-drawn to indicate that she knew he was there, she dressed as fast as she could then crept out onto the landing. Alice moved with great stealth. If her landlady realised what one of her tenants was doing, she’d accuse her of breaking one of the cardinal rules of the house. Alice would be lucky to retain the accommodation. She therefore needed to move with an absolute minimum of noise.

When she got to the front door, she paused to make sure that nobody had been roused. Alice then let herself out and walked furtively around to the garden. But Keedy was not there. Had it been a mirage? Or was he teasing her? Either way, she was overwhelmed with disappointment. She was just about to creep back to the front door when a hand shot out to pull her behind some bushes. Before she could speak, a palm was placed over her mouth. When she recognised Keedy in the gloom, her whole body ignited with joy. He moved his hand so that she could speak.

‘I didn’t dare to hope that you’d be here again,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘I just happened to be passing.’

Then he took her in his arms and kissed her.

For a man with crimes to solve and administrative problems to tax him, Claude Chatfield had a strangely contented air that morning. Harvey Marmion soon learnt why. Spread out on the superintendent’s desk was an array of national newspapers. Priority on the front pages had been given to the latest developments in the war but there was extensive coverage elsewhere of the murderous attack on the Reverend James Howells. To a man, reporters painted a more favourable picture of the activities of Scotland Yard with regard to the two investigations. Marmion was given credit for the tireless dedication he’d so far shown and the superintendent was also praised. As soon as the inspector walked into his office, Chatfield thrust the newspapers at him. Marmion was pleased to see that, after the censure in the Evening News on the previous day, he’d been largely exonerated. He was also amused that the superintendent was commended for putting him in charge of the investigation when Chatfield had, in reality, opposed the appointment.

‘What do you think of that?’ asked Chatfield, complacently.

‘Praise is better than condemnation, sir,’ replied Marmion, ‘but the fact remains that we haven’t actually solved either of the crimes. Only when that’s done should we receive any plaudits.’

‘It’s a question of appearance. This makes us look good.’

‘Looking good is not necessarily the same as being good.’

‘Don’t quibble, man.’

‘I don’t feel that we deserve these plaudits yet, sir.’

‘We’re in the public eye, Inspector. This kind of window dressing is always to our advantage. With a depleted force having to police a city the size of London, we need all the help we can get from the press.’ He took the papers back and put them on his desk. ‘When and if you ever rise to the level of superintendent,’ he went on, loftily, ‘you’ll come to appreciate that.’

Marmion ignored the jibe. ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir.’

‘What are your plans for today?’

‘I want to start with another visit to the hospital,’ said Marmion. ‘Father Howells’s parents were in too fragile a state to be interviewed yesterday. I’d like to ask them how much they knew about their son’s private life. It might yield some clues for us to pursue. After that, I hope, you’ll have secured that search warrant for us.’

‘It will be ready and waiting, Inspector.’

‘Then Sergeant Keedy and I will visit Waldron’s house.’

‘Let me know if you discover anything of significance.’

After explaining how he intended to spend the rest of the day, Marmion went off to his own office where he found Joe Keedy waiting. The sergeant was studying the map of London that lay on the desk.

‘One thing about this job,’ he said. ‘It certainly gives you plenty of geography lessons. I think I could find my way around Shoreditch blindfold.’

‘I’m waiting for the moment when we take the blindfolds off, Joe, because I feel that there’s something we’re simply not seeing as yet.’

‘Have you talked to Chat yet?’

‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘I left him basking in the praise he’s received in the morning papers. He got a pat on the back for assigning us to the case.’

‘But we were never his first choice.’

‘That doesn’t matter. He’s probably busy with the scissors right now, cutting out the articles for his scrapbook. He’s a walking paradox — a man who hates the press yet who hangs on every kind word they say about him.’

‘Well, he won’t get any kind words from me,’ said Keedy, forcefully. ‘I’ll never forgive him for getting promotion ahead of you. You’re twice the detective he is.’

‘That’s water under the bridge.’

‘I’m not as forgiving as you, Harv.’

As Keedy folded up the map again, he noticed a slip of paper that had been hidden beneath it. He reached out to pick it up.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I forgot there was a message for you.’

Marmion took it from him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, reading the two short lines. ‘This could be important.’

‘Is it from the hospital?’

‘No, Joe, it’s from Mrs Skene. She rang from Lambeth police station half an hour ago. If she’s that keen to speak to me, it must be urgent.’

‘Do you want to go straight there?’

‘The hospital and the search come first,’ decided Marmion. ‘Mrs Skene will have to wait her turn in the queue. Let’s go.’

They left the office and walked side by side down the corridor.

‘I bet Ellen was pleased to see you home a bit earlier last night,’ said Keedy.

‘Yes, I got a warm welcome.’

‘How is she?’

‘I suppose that “long-suffering” is the best way to describe her. But that’s true of all police wives. She had one piece of good news for me — a letter from Paul. We hadn’t heard from him in ages and Ellen was starting to worry.’

He told Keedy about the contents of the letter and how it could be read in different ways. While his wife had been heartened by its apparently positive tone, Marmion had noticed the hints of despair between the lines. In his judgement, their son was bored, depressed and angered by the futility of war. Of the friends with whom he’d joined up so enthusiastically at the outbreak of hostilities, over half were either dead or wounded. It was a sobering statistic.

‘Luckily,’ said Marmion, ‘Ellen was simply happy that he’s alive and well. She was thrilled to hear that Paul was in line for a promotion. Like any other mother, she clings to good news like a limpet.’