‘Yes,’ admitted the other, ‘there were a few people whom he regarded with …’ He searched for the right word. ‘Well, let’s call it suspicion rather than contempt.’

‘I’d appreciate their names, Mr Cohen.’

‘Very well — but you’re looking in the wrong direction.’

‘I’d also like the names of any employees who might have left under a cloud. Have any been dismissed in the last year?’

‘There was one,’ said Cohen, uneasily, ‘and another left of his own accord shortly afterwards. Not because of any bad treatment from Mr Stein, I hasten to add. They were simply … not suitable employees.’

‘Yet he must have thought so when he took them on.’

‘We all make errors of judgement, Inspector.’

‘So Mr Stein was not the paragon you portray him as,’ observed Marmion, taking out a pad and pencil. ‘Before I have those names from you, answer me this, if you will. I take it that you know Mr Stein’s brother quite well.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said the other, guardedly.

‘How did the two of them get on?’

David Cohen was too honest a man to tell a direct lie. At the same time, he did not wish to divulge confidential information and so he retreated into silence and gave an expressive shrug.

Marmion read the message in his eyes.

‘Very well,’ he said, ‘let’s have those names, shall we?’

Detective Sergeant Joe Keedy had conducted countless interviews during his time as a policeman but none had resembled the one in which he took part that evening. Visiting the pub where members of the destructive mob had reportedly been drinking before they made for Jermyn Street, Keedy sought out Douglas Emmott, who worked there behind the bar. Emmott was a short, slender, ebullient man in his thirties with a swarthy complexion and shiny dark hair that gave him an almost Mediterranean look. When Keedy explained who he was and why he was there, Emmott took a combative stance.

‘Yes, I was there,’ he confessed, freely, ‘and, if you want the truth, I’m damned glad that I was.’

Anticipating lies and evasion, Keedy was taken aback by the man’s defiant honesty. Emmott put his hands on his hips.

‘Given the chance,’ he said, ‘I’d do the same thing again.’

‘Oh — so you feel proud that you broke the law?’

‘I feel proud that I struck a blow for the downtrodden masses. I belong to them, see?’ He pointed an accusatory finger. ‘Have you ever seen the prices of the suits in that shop?’

‘I have, as a matter of fact,’ said Keedy.

‘They cost more than I earn in a whole year. That’s indecent, Sergeant. Why should anyone pay all that money for a suit when there are people starving in this city?’

‘That’s not the point at issue, sir.’

‘It is for me. I believe that society should have a moral basis. Let me explain what I mean,’ said Emmott, warming to his theme. ‘I started work in this pub last January and I got here very early in the morning on my first day. Do you know what I found?’

‘No,’ said Keedy, ‘what was it?’

‘I found an old man, curled up in the doorway, frozen to death. Imagine it, Sergeant. He’d crawled in there like an unwanted dog and spent his last hours on earth shivering throughout a cold winter’s night. How could that be allowed to happen in a civilised society?’

‘I don’t have the answer to that, sir. What I can tell you is that, unfortunately, the incident is not an isolated case.’

‘He was dressed in rags and wrapped in newspaper,’ said Emmott with vehemence. ‘Compare that poor devil to the overpaid toffs who buy their expensive suits and thick overcoats from people like Jacob Stein. It’s wrong, Sergeant. Why should some prosper while others live and die in absolute penury? It’s all wrong.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with you there.’

‘Then why aren’t you doing something about it?’

‘I don’t accept that looting and destroying someone’s shop is a legitimate way of righting social inequalities,’ said Keedy, forcefully. ‘It’s sheer vandalism and it’s a crime.’

‘Jacob Stein was a symbol of class dominance.’

‘He was a man who made the most of his exceptional abilities. As such, he’s entitled to the respect of the general public and the protection of the law.’

‘Don’t talk to me about the law,’ said Emmott, frothing. ‘It’s been devised by the rich for the benefit of the rich. Our police are nothing but the lackeys of the ruling class. You should be ashamed to be part of them, Sergeant.’

‘We serve people from all ranks of society, Mr Emmott.’

‘That’s rubbish!’

‘We do, sir.’

‘Where were you when that old man froze to death?’

‘Where were you when Jacob Stein was murdered?’ asked Keedy, tiring of the barman’s rant. Emmott was stunned. ‘You didn’t know about that, did you? While you were striking your blow for the downtrodden masses, somebody was stabbing Mr Stein to death.’

The barman paled. ‘Is that true?’

‘That murder was probably hatched in this very pub.’

‘There was no talk of murder when we set out,’ pleaded Emmott. ‘Most people just wanted to show what they thought of Germans, whereas me and Archie were there on behalf of the deserving poor. We got principles, see? We fight against oppression.’

‘I’m sure that you think your motives are laudable,’ said Keedy with an edge, ‘but they won’t stop you being arrested. The same goes for this other person, Archie whatever-his-name-is. We were told that he sells newspapers in Piccadilly Circus. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, he’s my best friend.’

‘And he holds the same political views, by the sound of it.’

‘It’s the only reason we joined that march,’ said Emmott. ‘Me and Archie were not like the others. They wanted to avenge the sinking of the Lusitania, yet only a thousand or so people died as a result of that.’ Drawing himself up to his full height, he struck a pose. ‘We were there on behalf of the millions — yes, millions — of British subjects who are drowning in a sea of destitution.’

‘Who else was part of that mob?’ asked Keedy. ‘Apart from you, Archie and your high moral principles, who else set out to destroy Mr Stein’s shop once they’d come in here for some Dutch courage?’

But there was no reply. Questioned about his own involvement, Emmott was frankness itself but he refused to incriminate anyone else. The information that a murder had taken place in Jermyn Street altered his whole view of the enterprise. He would happily admit that he and his friend stormed the premises of Jacob Stein but he would not identify his companions. Keedy knew instinctively that he would get nothing further out of Douglas Emmott. The barman had clammed up completely. Keedy suspected that the newspaper vendor would react in the same way. Convinced that they were political martyrs, the two friends would endure their own punishment while saying nothing about others who’d been part of the mob.

Keedy arrested the barman and took him off. On their way to Vine Street police station, they picked up a newspaper vendor from Piccadilly Circus. Two more members of the mob would face charges.

When her husband broke the news to her that evening, Ellen Marmion was astounded. It was a possibility that had never crossed her mind.

‘You’re going to France?’ she gasped, staring in disbelief.

‘If it can be arranged, love,’ said Marmion. ‘Then we’ll cross the border into Belgium. It’s where their regiment is heading.’

‘You won’t go near the front, surely.’

‘We’ll go wherever necessary to arrest the two men.’

Hand to her chest, she sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘You’ve taken my breath away, Harvey. I mean, it’s such a long way to go.’

‘Scotland would be much further.’

‘It would be a lot safer as well. So many of our soldiers are being killed in Belgium, I find it hard to read the papers anymore. Well, you saw Paul’s last letter. He’s stationed further south, thank heaven, but he’d heard awful things about the battle raging around Ypres.’