Marmion found time that afternoon to call on the commissioner in order to bring him up to date on the progress of the investigation. Sir Edward Henry was wearing one of Jacob Stein’s suits over a white shirt with a wing collar. His black shoes were gleaming. Marmion wished that he could look as elegant but his build seemed to vitiate any attempt at being stylish. He told the commissioner about the interviews with the two former employees of the firm. Sir Edward was startled to hear that one of them had pointed the finger of suspicion at Herbert Stone.

‘That’s a preposterous suggestion,’ he said.

‘It may seem so on face value, Sir Edward, but I still think we should pay some heed to it. Mr Stone was clearly more involved with his brother’s business than we imagined.’

‘What could he possibly gain by his brother’s death?’

‘That’s what we need to find out,’ said Marmion.

‘Then you’re going on a wild goose chase, Inspector,’ said the commissioner with clear disapproval. ‘My advice would be to look elsewhere for suspects. I’d exonerate Mr Stone from any connection with the destruction of the shop in Jermyn Street.’

‘Then why did Mr Burridge direct our attention at him?’

‘It must have been done out of spite.’

‘He didn’t strike me as a spiteful man.’

‘You said that he was singularly unhelpful.’

‘Exactly, Sir Edward — that’s why we should take seriously the one piece of information that he gave voluntarily.’

The older man snapped his fingers. ‘I’d dismiss it like that.’

‘Mr Stone’s role in the business will bear investigation,’ said Marmion, doggedly. ‘The more we know about the politics inside that shop, the better we’ll be able to understand what was going on.’

‘This case is nothing to do with what was inside the shop,’ said the other. ‘It was provoked by the German name on the outside. Yes, I know that you think that the murder was orchestrated but I’m coming around to the view that it was a random act by an opportunist who went upstairs to rob the safe.’

‘How would an opportunist know where the safe was kept?’

The commissioner pondered. ‘I can’t answer that, Inspector.’

‘And why stab Mr Stein to death? From what we’ve learnt about him, he was not a strong man. Someone who wanted to grab the contents of the safe could easily have brushed him aside.’

‘It took years to build up that business, remember. However unequal the odds, I don’t think Mr Stein would have given up without a fight. That was probably his undoing,’ said Sir Edward. ‘If he’d let the man take what he wanted and concentrated on escaping a burning building, he’d still be alive today.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ insisted Marmion.

Rather than start an argument with him, the commissioner decided that they should agree to differ. He told Marmion about Stone’s visit and his threat to hire private detectives to handle the case. The inspector found the news interesting but unsurprising.

‘I told him that no private detective had our resources,’ said Sir Edward, ‘and would certainly not have your abilities.’

‘Mr Stone is not entirely persuaded of my abilities, I fear.’

‘Then he should be. You identified, chased and arrested the two villains implicated in the rape of his niece. There’s not a private detective alive who could have got the authorisation that we obtained.’ Sir Edward plucked at his moustache. ‘I should have made that point to Mr Stone. It beats me why he should even entertain the notion of hiring private help. It would have no positive value to him.’

‘Yes, it would, Sir Edward,’ said Marmion. ‘Mr Stone can control a private detective. He can’t control us.’

‘You’re imputing a very dark motive to him.’

‘We have to look at this case from every conceivable angle.’

‘Are you saying that he’d deliberately muddy the waters?’

Marmion was firm. ‘I’m ruling nothing out.’

‘Well,’ said the commissioner, ‘it’s not for me to interfere. You’re in charge. All that I can do is to offer advice. With regard to Mr Stone, I believe that you’re barking up the wrong tree but … only time will tell which of us is right.’ He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘What does Sergeant Keedy feel?’

‘He’s sticking to his theory that there’s an anti-Semitic element.’

‘Is he following up that line of inquiry?’

‘He is, Sir Edward,’ said Marmion. ‘His first port of call is a man I could not recommend more highly.’

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘He’s my brother, sir — Major Marmion of the Salvation Army.’

Raymond Marmion had been a committed Salvationist for a long time and had been promoted to the rank of major after fifteen years as an officer in the organisation. The silver crest on his uniform denoted his status. Younger than his brother, he had the same solid frame and an open face with the sheen of religiosity. His receding hair threw the high-domed forehead into prominence. Though he had heard a great deal about Marmion’s brother, Keedy had never met him before and he was struck both by the similarities between the two men and by their glaring differences. They met in Raymond’s tiny office in a ramshackle building. Keedy immediately noticed the graze on the other man’s temple.

‘No,’ said Raymond, touching the wound gingerly, ‘my wife has not been attacking me with a beer bottle. Lily would never do that. I was hit by a stone while trying to help someone up from the pavement. It’s not the first time that’s happened, unfortunately.’

‘You’re a brave man to work here,’ complimented Keedy. ‘The East End is a jungle at times. If the kids are not hurling missiles at you, they’re trying to knock helmets off policemen on the beat. They have no respect for authority.’

‘And still less for the word of God, alas. But,’ Raymond went on, ‘you didn’t come here to discuss our mission. I take it that my brother sent you here. How can I help?’

Keedy did not need to give full details of the case in hand. Since he always kept an eye on his brother’s work, Raymond had been following its progress in the newspapers. He gave a sympathetic hearing to Keedy’s theory then opened a drawer in the table to take out a sheaf of papers. He found the relevant page.

‘This is what you need, Sergeant,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a list of organisations — tiny groups in some cases — that try to blame the woes of the world entirely on the Jews. We don’t have pogroms here, thankfully, but we have people who conduct their own forms of persecution. If you’ve been in the police force for any length of time,’ continued Raymond, ‘then I don’t need to tell you how much immigrants have suffered in the East End.’

‘I remember the riots from years ago,’ said Keedy.

‘Russians seemed to get the worst of it because of their large numbers. Many of them had been hounded out of their own country for committing the crime of being Jews. Eastern Europe in general drove them west.’ Raymond gritted his teeth. ‘They came with nothing, Sergeant — except hope, that is. It was soon extinguished.’ He handed the list over. ‘I’ll need to keep that but you’re welcome to jot down those names.’

Keedy studied the paper. ‘Very few seem to have addresses.’

‘That’s deliberate. They move around all the time, holding meetings in different places so that they can’t be tracked.’

‘How many of these groups are still active?’

‘It’s difficult to say,’ replied Raymond. ‘Some disappear for long periods then suddenly spring back to life. And, of course, the real militants may belong to a number of groups, shifting to the one that’s planning some action at any particular time.’

‘Beatings, destruction of property, poison pen letters?’

‘All that and much more — they had a field day when the Lusitania went down. That was a signal to go really wild. German homes and businesses were the principal targets but Jewish immigrants from other countries were caught up in the wave of violence. I speak from personal experience,’ said Raymond. ‘We sheltered some of them in this very building.’