‘What brought you to London?’ she asked.

‘You did, Irene,’ he replied with a chortle.

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘It’s partly true. I’ve got men friends here — I’m staying with one at the moment, as it happens — but, knowing that you’d moved to London helped me to make my decision. I’d be able to see you again. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pester you,’ he added, raising his palms in a placatory gesture. ‘You’re entitled to your privacy. I know that. I just hoped that we could … well, meet up now and then to talk about old times.’

‘As long as that’s all it is, Ernie,’ she said, levelly.

He put a hand to his heart. ‘On my word of honour.’

Not wishing to start an argument, Irene forbore to point out that she’d heard him make and break such solemn vows before. She let it pass, feeling that she had made her position clear and resolving that any future meetings with him would be few in number. Gill would not be allowed to upset the equilibrium of her new existence.

‘No thought of going back to sea, then?’ she asked.

‘Not a hope,’ he said. ‘My sailing days are over. There’s always work for a barber ashore. In fact, I’m going to see someone about a job this afternoon.’

‘Why didn’t you stay in Liverpool?’

‘It was time for a change, Irene.’

‘But you had family there.’

‘A brother and two sisters,’ he confirmed. ‘I never got on with any of them, to be honest. So I thought I’d give the Big Smoke a chance and see what it had to offer — apart from you, that is.’

‘Now, now, Ernie,’ she scolded. ‘Control yourself.’

‘It was meant as a compliment.’

‘You’re a bit too ready with your compliments — and I’m not the only woman who’s aware of that. You scattered them about like confetti on the Lusitania.’

He smirked. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for a pretty face.’

‘Let’s go back to Liverpool,’ she said. ‘You once told me it was the best city in the world and that you’d never leave it. What changed your mind?’

‘Oh, it was lots of things.’

‘What did you do after we parted company at the docks?’

‘First of all, I followed you,’ he recalled, ‘then I went back to my digs and dumped all my stuff there. After that I walked to the pub where my friends go and spent the evening having pints bought for me. They all wanted to know what happened when the ship went down. I was treated like a hero.’

‘That’s what you are, Ernie.’

‘I don’t feel it. I was lucky, that’s all.’

‘We both were,’ she said, soulfully.

‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘when I had enough beer inside me, I was raring to go. They told me that most of the Germans had been either burnt out or chased out but I knew of a family that’d sort of slipped through the net. They’d been there for donkey’s years, you see, and changed their name so long ago that people forgot they were still foreigners. I knew the truth,’ he said, tapping his chest, ‘and I wasn’t going to let them get away.’

‘What did you do?’

‘We paid them a visit, Irene.’

‘I hope there was no violence.’

‘Let’s say that we did what needed to be done,’ he told her. ‘They won’t be able to hide behind the Union Jack anymore. Britain belongs to the British. Huns are not wanted.’

‘There’s been far too much senseless brutality.’

‘What about that blinking torpedo?’ he retorted, banging the table. ‘That’s what I call senseless brutality. Think of all those dead bodies floating in the sea — men, women and children murdered on the orders of some cruel German admiral. So don’t you criticise me, Irene. At least we gave people a chance to defend themselves.’

She was uneasy. ‘What exactly happened?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Go on — tell me. When I left you in Liverpool, you were spoiling for a fight. Where did you find these people?’

‘Forget them,’ he said, evasively. ‘They’re not even worth talking about. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Talking of which,’ he continued as he speared a chip with his fork, ‘I don’t think much of this cod. We had far better grub on the ship.’ He nudged her arm. ‘In fact, we had far better everything.’

‘Those days are over, Ernie.’

‘A man can have his memories.’

‘Provided he knows that they are only memories,’ she said.

He cackled. ‘I’ll win you over one day, Irene.’

‘Don’t you even dare to try.’

‘Oh, come on — is this the kind of life you really want?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she affirmed, chin out.

‘What — sharing a house with your spinster sister and a blind woman with one foot in the grave? You were born for better things than that. My guess is that you’ll be bored stiff within a week.’

‘Then your guess will be wrong.’

‘What the hell are you going to do all day?’

‘Have no qualms on that score. I’ll soon be working in a toy factory. That will keep me out of mischief.’

‘I love mischief,’ he said, laughing. ‘Whenever I get the chance, I enjoy causing trouble. I went to a meeting last night of people who think like me — good, honest, British citizens who are fed up with being told what to do by the government and are ready to stir things up on their own. We hit and run — just like I did in Liverpool.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It wouldn’t interest you, Irene. You’re too law-abiding.’

Her face puckered with concern. ‘Have you committed a crime?’

‘I done my country a service,’ he boasted, ‘and I had a good laugh while I was doing it. That’s all I’m ready to admit.’

Slicing off a piece of fish, he thrust it into his mouth and munched away. Irene was disturbed. A meal that had been quite pleasant had turned into a cause for alarm. Ernie Gill was a diehard Liverpudlian who’d sworn time and again that he would never leave his native city. Yet here he was, strutting around London in his best suit and revelling in the idea of making mischief. What was his real reason for leaving Liverpool and what sort of trouble had he created since he’d arrived in the capital? On balance, Irene decided, she did not want an answer to either question. It was best not to know.

Harvey Marmion was collating all the information gathered by his team of detectives. He was so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear the knock on the door and was only aware of his visitor when Joe Keedy’s shadow fell across the desk.

‘Good morning, Joe,’ he said, looking up.

‘I hear that we’ve found one of our mystery men.’

‘That’s right. His name is Howard Fine and he’s the young tailor who worked briefly at Mr Stein’s shop. He’s definitely not our killer. When his former boss was being stabbed, Fine was in Brighton with his family.’ He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him. ‘According to this, he has a perfect alibi.’

‘He needs interviewing nevertheless.’

‘Yes, I’m having him brought in today.’

‘What about the other former employee?’ asked Keedy. ‘You know — the man who left after a big row?’

‘We’re still looking for him.’

‘He was called Porridge or something like that.’

‘Cyril Burridge,’ corrected Marmion with a laugh. ‘People who knew him say that he was a first-rate tailor with many productive years in the trade.’

‘Then why did he suddenly disappear?’

‘We’ll ask him when we find him, Joe. We’ll also ask him why he and Stein fell out after such a long time together. David Cohen, who managed the shop, said that Burridge seemed set to spend the rest of his life working in Jermyn Street.’

‘So what went wrong, Inspector?’

‘The only person who can tell us that is the man himself.’

‘If he’s that experienced,’ said Keedy, ‘he must have found a job elsewhere by now.’

‘Oh, he has. Burridge was snapped up by one of Stein’s bitter rivals in Savile Row. It was the first place our lads looked but it seems that Burridge is on leave at the moment.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘Nobody seems to know,’ replied Marmion. ‘When they called at his house, there was nobody there.’