‘It’s high time you had a chap of your own, you know.’

‘I don’t want one, Mummy.’

‘You have such a limited social life.’

‘That’s not true. I go to dances occasionally and I sing in a choir. I just haven’t met the right man yet.’

‘I’m not sure that you’ve been looking, Alice.’

‘I’ve had more important things to do.’

‘Nothing is more important than marrying and having a family.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. At the moment, I’m enjoying my freedom while I can. There’ll be little chance of doing that if and when I do eventually have a husband.’

‘Haven’t you met any young man you really liked?’

‘I’ve met several,’ said Alice, ‘but they already have girlfriends. Either that, or they’ve gone off to join the army. I don’t want my choice to be limited to a small number of chaps, Mummy.’

‘What sort of person would attract you?’

‘I want one who is fabulously rich and who’ll indulge my every whim.’ They both laughed. ‘Failing that, I’m looking for someone who is … very special.’

‘Does he have to be handsome?’

‘He has to have pleasant features, certainly.’

‘Will he be older than you or a similar age?’

‘Oh, he must be older, that’s definite.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Men take much longer to grow up,’ said Alice, mischievously. ‘That’s been my experience, anyway. Every chap I went out with was very nice until he had a drink inside him. All of a sudden, they became giggling schoolboys and I have enough of those at work.’

‘So you want somebody more adult? What about character?’

‘He must be honest, reliable and have a sense of adventure.’

‘Is there anything else?’

Alice was pensive. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Except that I’d want him to treat me as his equal, of course.’ Ellen grinned. ‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No,’ replied her mother. ‘It’s just an odd coincidence, that’s all.’

Alice was befuddled. ‘Coincidence?’

‘Your ideal man has to be very special, handsome, older than you, honest, reliable and with a sense of adventure. Oh, and he must treat you as an equal. Is that a fair summary?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Then you’ve given me a perfect description of Joe Keedy.’

Alice came extremely close to blushing.

Divide and rule. The detectives adopted their usual policy. While Marmion interviewed John Gatliffe, Keedy was given the task of confronting Oliver Cochran. They made sure that the two men were summoned separately so that they had no time to concoct an alibi together. Keedy had the use of a room so small that its only furniture was a table and two chairs. He made sure that he sat down between Cochran and the door. Taking out his pad and pencil, he looked the suspect up and down. He could see instantly that he would meet with resistance. When he was told who Keedy was and why he had come into a theatre of war, Cochran was at first flabbergasted. He quickly recovered and stoutly denied the allegation of rape.

According to the soldier, he’d been drinking in a Soho pub on the evening in question and could call on several friends to vouch for him. He had no idea where Jermyn Street was, he insisted, and would have had no reason to be there.

‘How do you explain the fact that the young lady knew your names?’ asked Keedy.

Cochran looked blank. ‘What young lady?’

‘The one who remembers you well enough to identify you.’

‘She’s making it all up.’

‘Why on earth should she do that, Private Cochran? What woman in her position wants to admit that she was sexually assaulted by two men in the alley at the rear of her father’s shop? It’s highly embarrassing for her. Why would she do it?’

‘Ask her.’

Keedy aimed several more questions at him but Cochran had erected a brick wall that the detective could not penetrate. Now that he was in the army, the soldier felt safe. A touch of arrogance crept in. Keedy changed the angle of attack and asked him something that caught him off guard.

‘Did you murder Jacob Stein?’ he demanded.

Cochran blenched. ‘What are you on about?’

‘During the time that you and John Gatliffe were close to the scene of the crime, the owner of that shop was stabbed to death. Was that your doing, by any chance?’

‘We weren’t even there.’

‘Think carefully before you give another glib answer,’ warned Keedy. ‘Rape is a serious offence but murder carries the death penalty. If you fight in the trenches, you stand a chance of being killed by a bullet or a shell. It will probably be a quick death. That’s not the case on the gallows. When you and Gatliffe are found guilty of murder, it will be a slow and deliberate end to your useless lives.’

Though he was certain that Cochran was not involved in the death of Jacob Stein, Keedy saw no harm in using the accusation as a prod. It quietened the suspect completely. Instead of trying to brazen it out, Cochran lapsed into silence. He realised that he was in serious trouble. He also knew that there was a strong possibility that Gatliffe would crack under pressure and give them both away. Cochran was determined to avoid a prison sentence. Somehow he had to escape. His head fell to his chest and his arms were slack. He pretended to have given up. Gathering his strength for attack, he suddenly made his bid for freedom.

He stood up, turned the table on its side and used it to knock Keedy from his chair and ram him against the door. When he tried to scramble over the detective’s body, however, Cochran felt a hand taking a firm grip on his ankle before yanking him off his feet. With both of them on the floor, there was a frantic fight and Keedy was always going to be the victor. He was quicker, stronger and more agile. His first punch caught Cochran on the nose, splitting it open and sending blood dribbling down his chin. A relay of heavy punches to the body stunned the soldier. Before he could counter, Cochran found himself expertly turned over so that the handcuffs could be snapped onto his wrists. Keedy stood up, righted the chair and table then lifted his assailant from the floor by the scruff of his neck.

‘I fancy that that amounts to a confession, Private Cochran,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘You will also face the additional charges of resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duties.’ He took out a handkerchief and held it beneath Cochran’s nose to stem the bleeding. ‘It’s easy to overpower a frightened young woman like Miss Stein, isn’t it? When you take on someone your own size, it’s a different matter.’

Cochran glared malevolently at him.

Harvey Marmion sized the man up before inviting him to take a seat. John Gatliffe was on the defensive at once. They were in the room that Major Birchfield used as his office. Remaining on his feet, Marmion explained why he was there and asked for Gatliffe’s response to the charge of rape.

‘I didn’t do it, Inspector,’ said the soldier, urgently.

‘We know that. The man who raped her was your friend, Oliver Cochran, but you assisted him by holding the girl down, didn’t you?’

‘No — I wasn’t even there. Nor was Olly — we’re innocent.’

‘I very much doubt that, Private Gatliffe.’

‘I’ve never heard of this Ruth Stein.’

‘That’s only because you never took the trouble to have any formal introductions,’ said Marmion with light sarcasm. ‘You were both drunk, a young woman comes out of the shop, so you felt that she was fair game.’

‘It’s a lie,’ wailed Gatliffe. ‘It wasn’t us, Inspector, I swear it.’

Marmion sat opposite him and looked deep into his eyes. What he saw was fear and desperation. There was also a hint of remorse. He surmised that it had not been Gatliffe’s idea to set upon Ruth Stein. He had simply done what he was told by a friend who was a stronger character. That did not, however, entitle him to Marmion’s sympathy. Gatliffe was an accessory. Even though it might have been against his will, he had committed a crime and merited severe punishment.