When Irene let herself into the house, Dorothy was waiting.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked. ‘I expected you here when I got back. It’s getting dark outside.’

‘I had to go out, Dot.’

‘Have you been shopping again?’

‘No,’ said Irene. ‘I went to see Ernie.’

‘I thought he lived miles away.’

‘He does.’

Dorothy laughed. ‘I think that you’re closer to him than you like to admit, Irene. When will I get to meet this admirer of yours?’

‘How many times must I tell you? Ernie is just a friend.’

‘I wouldn’t go all that way if someone was … just a friend.’

‘It won’t happen again, Dot.’

‘We could have him here for tea one Sunday.’

‘No,’ said Irene. ‘I told you before. He’s not coming here.’

‘But I’d like to meet him. Miss James said that he had a nice voice and was obviously fond of you. Why hide him away?’

‘I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Dorothy with a sigh. ‘I’d settle for a man getting any sort of idea about me but I don’t seem to interest them. I don’t know why.’

Irene was sympathetic. ‘It may happen one day.’

‘Who’d look at a woman of my age?’

‘They still look at me.’

‘I’m going to die an old maid — just like Miss James.’

‘You’re not at all like Miss James,’ said Irene, hugging her. ‘You hold down a good job and you do just about everything for the church. Don’t keep putting yourself down, Dot. In your own way, you’ve been really successful.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’

‘People rely on you. You’re important in their lives.’

‘There is that, I suppose.’

‘I know a way to cheer you up,’ said Irene, heading for the cabinet. ‘Let’s have a glass of sherry, shall we?’

‘The bottle’s almost empty.’

‘That’s why I bought another one when I went shopping.’

Irene took two sherry glasses from the cabinet, then filled one of them from a bottle. There was just enough left in it for the other glass. She handed one to Dorothy and picked up the other.

‘Good health!’ she said.

‘Health, wealth and happiness,’ said Dorothy, taking a sip. ‘I needed that. I feel better already.’

‘Let’s go and sit down.’

‘What about the cooking?’

‘That can wait.’

Irene went into the living room and sat on the sofa. Dorothy chose the armchair opposite her. She saw her sister glancing round.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘This place is dowdy. It badly needs decorating. I just never got round to it. By the time I’ve got home from work, I’ve run out of steam.’

‘I’m here now, Dot. We’ll do it together.’

‘Unless you get a better offer, that is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’m not persuaded that you’re here for good, Irene. You’re too good a catch. Ernie Gill may not be your choice but I don’t think you’ll be short of offers.’ After another sip of sherry, Dorothy was emboldened. ‘Pass one of them on to me, will you?’

Before he returned to Scotland Yard, Joe Keedy went back to his flat and changed into a different suit and a pair of shoes that fitted. He now felt confident enough to face his colleagues again. Since they teased him about the care he took with his appearance, they would have ribbed him unmercifully if they’d seen him in the clothing borrowed from Harvey Marmion. That had all been given back to the inspector. Keedy was himself again, able to look in a mirror without wincing. Detectives had gathered more information about the raid on Jacob Stein’s shop and Keedy had been given the task of going through all the statements and picking out the most salient. He was poring over his desk when the commissioner came in.

‘I thought you’d have gone home by now, Sergeant,’ said Sir Edward. ‘After your heroic endeavours, you deserve a rest.’

‘I’ve almost finished.’

‘Is there any fresh evidence about the fire at the synagogue?’

‘I’m afraid not, Sir Edward.’

‘There’s another outrage to add to the list, I fear.’

‘Oh — what’s that?’

‘It’s not on the same scale as the others but it’s annoying enough. When he telephoned me, Mr Stone was extremely annoyed.’

‘I would have thought he spent most of his time in a state of annoyance,’ said Keedy, dryly. ‘What’s his complaint this time?’

‘Somebody attacked his car.’

‘When was this?’

‘Earlier this evening,’ said the commissioner. ‘In the time that it was parked outside his brother’s house, two wheels were stolen and the windscreen was smashed. The drive is screened by a thick hedge, apparently, so somebody could slip in there unseen.’

‘Does he have any idea who was behind it?’

‘None at all — he wants you to solve that little mystery.’

Keedy laughed mirthlessly. ‘With respect to Mr Stone,’ he said, ‘we do have other crimes to address. I don’t think you can compare two missing tyres with murder and arson.’

‘He believes the latest incident may be connected to the others.’

Keedy pondered. ‘It’s possible, I daresay, but it was his brother who was the designated victim, not Mr Stone. This could just as easily be the random act of someone who just doesn’t like him. From what I’ve seen of him, I’d say that he has a gift for making enemies.’

‘He does, alas. I fancy that he lists us among them.’

‘Did you tell him about Cochran’s escape from prison, Sir Edward?’

‘I told him how promptly you and Inspector Marmion retrieved the situation. He had the grace to offer a word of praise for you.’

‘Is he going to pass on the news to his niece?’

‘No, Sergeant,’ said the commissioner. ‘He was adamant about that. Miss Stein will not be told. She’d be unnecessarily alarmed. It’s better that she’s kept in ignorance.’

‘I’ll wager she’s been told about her uncle’s motor car.’

‘That’s different. Well,’ said the other, stifling a yawn, ‘I must be on my way and I’d advise you to do the same. I see that the inspector has already gone home.’

‘But he hasn’t, Sir Edward.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘He’s still very much at work.’

‘His office was empty when I walked past.’

‘Inspector Marmion has gone back to Jermyn Street.’

He knew that it was him. Though the man was standing in shadow on the opposite pavement, Marmion was certain that it was none other than Cyril Burridge. He strolled across to him.

‘Good evening, Mr Burridge,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here, Inspector?’

‘I was about to ask the same of you, sir. As for me, I came to take a look inside the shop, now that it’s safe to do so. When the light started to fade, I gave up.’ He nodded towards the shop. ‘It’s much bigger than it seems from the outside.’

‘We needed plenty of storage space.’

‘Is this a nostalgic visit, Mr Burridge?’

The tailor was brusque. ‘I don’t believe in nostalgia.’

‘You must have some happy memories of working here.’

‘I choose to forget them, Inspector.’

As he looked at him, Marmion wondered how he’d managed to work alongside David Cohen for so many years without any major disagreements. The big, gruff, barely civil Yorkshireman would have been a difficult colleague for anyone, especially so for someone as refined as the manager. With customers, Marmion assumed, Burridge was able to shed his curt manner. The inspector recalled what he’d learnt about the financial affairs of the firm.

‘I can see why you resented Mr Stone.’

‘We all did.’

‘Does that include Mr Cohen?’

‘Ask him.’

‘In effect, I did. He was non-committal.’

Burridge snorted. ‘That’s David Cohen for you!’

‘He praised your work as a tailor.’

‘I’ve never had complaints.’

‘But you were prone to make them, I gather.’

‘Happen.’

Marmion waited for a longer response but he got none. Burridge was prickly and unhelpful. Something must have drawn him back to the site of the tragedy and Marmion refused to believe that the man was entirely without sympathy. Burridge had to be mourning the employer whom he’d claimed to respect when first interviewed. Most of his working life had been spent in Jermyn Street. In spite of what Burridge said, it was bound to weigh with him. He might be free from any hint of sentimentality but he was not heartless. Beneath the bluff exterior, Marmion guessed, the tailor was deeply moved by what had happened to Jacob Stein.