‘Aren’t you pleased?’ asked Stone.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But they’ll be punished for what they did to you.’

‘Will they?’

‘When they’re convicted, that is. One of the men has already confessed, I gather, but the other is maintaining his innocence. You’ll be asked to identify him in court.’

Ruth’s brain was suddenly ablaze. The notion that she had to confront the man who raped her threw her into confusion. She never wanted to get anywhere near him again. He’d robbed her of something she could never get back and, in doing so, had shattered her confidence. She’d tried with all her might to put the whole incident out of her mind but it was back there with vivid immediacy. There was a choking sensation in her throat and her eyes began to mist over. It was too much to bear.

Her uncle was very disappointed in her response. Expecting a sign of pleasure at his news, he shook her arm hard as if to force it out of her. It produced a very different result. Putting her head back and opening her mouth wide, Ruth emitted a long, hysterical, high-pitched cry and began to shake convulsively.

After listening to his report, Sir Edward Henry congratulated Marmion on his success. As soon as they’d reached Dover, the inspector had telephoned him to say that the two suspects had been arrested, thus enabling the commissioner to pass on the tidings to Herbert Stone. Marmion had now given a much fuller account of what had occurred in the farmhouse near Ypres.

‘It’s a pity we can’t trumpet this in the press,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but the family has begged us not to give it publicity for the sake of Miss Stein. I suggested to Mr Stone that we could release details of the arrest while keeping the name of the victim anonymous but he was not happy with that idea.’

‘Her name will have to be mentioned when the case comes to court,’ said Marmion, ‘unless we can persuade Cochran to plead guilty and save everyone a lot of trouble.’

‘What are the chances of that?’

‘They’re rather slim, Sir Edward. He’s a bloody-minded fellow.’

‘We see far too many of those in our line of work,’ said the commissioner, dryly. ‘All the more reason to ensure that he’s exposed in court in his true light.’

‘Gatliffe’s confession makes his friend’s position untenable but there are some people who, even if caught red-handed, will never admit guilt. It’s an article of faith with them. Oliver Cochran falls into that category,’ said Marmion.

‘What — even after his assault on Sergeant Keedy?’

‘That never took place, apparently. Cochran is now claiming that he was the victim of an unprovoked attack.’

‘That’s palpably absurd!’

‘But I take your point about publicity, Sir Edward,’ continued Marmion. ‘Rape convictions are so rare that it would be good to send the message that we take the crime seriously. With so many soldiers on leave in London, looking for a good night out, it’s more than likely that there’ll be other young women like Ruth Stein who are in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Sadly, I must endorse that prediction.’

When Marmion went on to ask what had been happening in their absence, the commissioner was glad to report that there had been no more incidents of mob violence in the West End and that the many roaming gangs in the East End seemed to have died away. It was a pattern repeated in other cities. In the immediate aftermath of the sinking of the Lusitania, summary justice had been sought by people with an anti-German bloodlust. It had peaked in ports like Liverpool, then slowly subsided. Police and other authorities were still involved in cleaning up the gigantic mess left behind. What they could not tidy away was the aggressive impulse latent in so many British people and liable to be aroused by the next enemy outrage.

‘Needless to say,’ explained Sir Edward, ‘there’s been universal condemnation of the sinking. America is especially critical, of course, because so many of the victims were American citizens.’

‘What have the Germans said in response?’

‘Their argument is that the ship was carrying armaments and that it was therefore an acceptable target for their submarine fleet.’

‘Were there armaments aboard?’ asked Marmion. ‘It seems highly unlikely.’

‘The Germans are basing their claim on the fact that only one torpedo was fired, yet there were two explosions. According to their propaganda, the second blast could only have been caused by the presence of explosive materials in the hold.’

‘What response has there been from Cunard?’

‘A firm denial,’ said the commissioner.

‘Then the German excuse can be dismissed out of hand.’

‘That’s my feeling, Inspector.’

‘Had there been intelligence in advance to the effect that the vessel was carrying material destined for the war front, then every U-boat in the blockade would have been ready to ambush the Lusitania. Yet that isn’t what happened,’ argued Marmion. ‘She was hit by a solitary torpedo when she was assumed to be a passenger ship with no armaments aboard. That’s a violation of maritime neutrality.’

‘There’ll be more repercussions to come, I suspect.’

‘More disorder in our streets, you mean?’

‘I was thinking about international responses,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but there’ll be further work for the Metropolitan Police, I’ve no doubt.’

‘You told me that everything had quietened down.’

‘That could be a temporary respite, Inspector. There’s still so much danger in the air,’ said the commissioner, sucking his teeth. ‘We’ve not done with this business yet.’

St Saviour’s church gave Irene Bayard a warm welcome when she attended morning service there on Sunday. She was introduced to the vicar, the churchwardens and to a number of her sister’s friends. When they discovered she was a survivor of the Lusitania disaster, people crowded round to offer their sympathy and to ask for details of the event. It served to give Irene an eminence she neither sought nor relished. After the service, Dorothy, as its secretary, needed to discuss the next meeting of the Parochial Church Council. Leaving her sister behind, Irene slipped out and made her way back to the house alone. In spite of the attention she was given, she was glad that she had gone to church. It was as if she had touched a spiritual base that had been lacking in her life for some time. She felt restored.

Her sense of well-being only lasted until she turned the corner into her street. Coming towards her was the unmistakable figure of Ernie Gill, wearing his best suit and strutting jauntily along. When he spotted her, he whisked off his hat to wave at her. Irene stopped in her tracks. He was the last person she wanted to meet but, for old times’ sake, she steeled herself to be pleasant to him.

‘There you are,’ he said, rushing towards her and kissing her on the cheek before replacing his hat. ‘Miss James said that you went to church with your sister.’

‘That’s right, Ernie.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Oh, Dorothy had something to sort out with the churchwarden.’

‘I was looking forward to meeting her.’

‘That … won’t be possible,’ she said, guardedly.

‘I bet you’re wondering how I found you,’ he said, grinning at his cleverness. ‘When we parted in Liverpool, I knew I’d want to see you again and so I followed you back to your digs. I saw you go in and thought I’d let you recover for a day or two before I turned up again.’

‘Mrs Hoskins gave you this address, didn’t she?’ guessed Irene.

‘Yes — your landlady took a bit of persuading, mind you, but she told me you’d come to London. She was used to forwarding letters and things when you were staying with your sister.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s a nice little house.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

‘No, Ernie, it’s … not convenient.’

‘But I was hoping to meet your sister.’