Dorothy emitted an almost girlish giggle.

Joe Keedy could not go in one of the suits he usually wore. The address on the leaflet was in a rough area of the city and he didn’t wish to look out of place. Returning to his flat, he changed into the tatty old clothing he kept by way of a disguise. With his flat cap on, he looked at himself in the mirror and decided that he could easily pass as a manual worker of some kind. When he set off, he had the leaflet from the True British League stuffed in his coat pocket.

It took him over half an hour to reach the Lord Nelson, a shabby pub with a fading image of the great naval hero on the sign that dangled outside. Keedy went in and showed the leaflet to the barman. After sizing him up, the man directed him to a door at the rear. Keedy knocked, opened the door and went into a rectangular room with beer crates stacked against one wall. Seated behind a bare table was a big brawny man in his forties with a gleaming bald head and a broken nose. Another man — younger, slimmer and whose wavy brown hair was parted in the centre — was reading a newspaper in the corner. He glanced up at Keedy then went back to his paper.

‘What d’you want?’ demanded the first man.

Keedy held up the leaflet. ‘I came about this.’

‘What about it?’

‘I liked what it said.’

The man was cautious. ‘Oh, yeah — why was that?’

‘I hate Yids,’ said Keedy with a snarl. ‘I used to work in a factory that was taken over by one. First thing the long-nosed bastard did was to lower our wages. When I tried to organise a protest, he booted me out.’

‘Where was this?’

‘It was in Ashford, down in Kent.’

‘What sort of factory?’

‘We made furniture. I was a storeman.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘What’s yours?’ asked Keedy, meeting his unfriendly gaze.

The man stopped to appraise him. His tone was hostile.

‘We get lots of people who say they support our aims,’ he said, ‘but they turn out to be shit-scared of doing anything about it. You look as if you might be one of those.’

‘Then you’d better ask Mr Liebermann.’

‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’

‘The rotten Jew who kicked me out of the factory,’ said Keedy. ‘He won’t forget me in a hurry. His wife used to have this little dog she was mad about. She was always cosseting it. Well, she won’t be doing that anymore,’ he added with a cackle, ‘because I killed the bleeding thing. It’s the reason I had to get out of Ashford and come to London.’

Keedy heard the newspaper rustle slightly and realised that the man he was talking to was not in charge. It was the other one who was assessing him, listening carefully for any signs that he might be an impostor. Keedy walked over to him and pushed the paper aside.

‘Since you don’t want me,’ he said, ‘I’ll find someone who does. I heard you were people who meant business but I can see I was wrong about that.’ He turned on his heel and walked away. ‘Thanks for wasting my time.’

‘Wait!’ said the man with the newspaper. Keedy halted. ‘Why didn’t you give a name?’

‘It’s because I’m as careful as you two are. The police are after me. How do I know you won’t pass my name on to them?’ The big man guffawed. ‘What’s he laughing at?’

‘Brad hates coppers,’ said the other. ‘He’d never help them.’

‘Neither would I — unless they did what they ought to do and arrested every Jew in the country and deported them.’

‘What do we call you, then?’

Keedy shrugged. ‘Call me what the hell you like.’

‘How long have you been in London?’

‘I came here three weeks ago.’

‘And is this the first time you’ve got interested in a group like ours and given serious thought to the Jewish conspiracy bent on taking over Britain?’

Unlike the first man, he had an educated voice and a shrewd gaze. If Keedy was to get accepted, he had to impress him somehow. He therefore claimed to have been part of a mob that stormed through the East End after news of the Lusitania tragedy broke. Having seen the police reports of the incidents, he was able to give accurate details of a particular attack. Drawing on information gathered by detectives, he talked about two other groups with similar objectives, saying that he tried to join them but found their activities were largely confined to holding public meetings and pamphleteering.

‘If you believe in something,’ he asserted, ‘you should be ready to stand up for it. I’ve got no time for theories that never get put into practice. So unless you’re the type of people who’re ready to defy the law and use force, I’m off.’

‘He sounds angry,’ said Brad with approval.

‘We’ve had angry people in here before,’ recalled his companion. ‘When we put them to the test, however, they turn out to be useless.’

‘I’m not useless,’ insisted Keedy. ‘Just try me out.’

‘There’s more to it than poisoning a dog,’ warned Brad.

‘I didn’t poison it. I strangled it to death with its lead. And if Mrs Liebermann had been there, I’d have strangled the old bitch as well.’

The younger man studied Keedy then turned to his friend.

‘What do you think, Brad?’

‘No harm in trying him out,’ said the other.

‘I fancy that he sounds too good to be true.’

‘Then I’ll be off,’ snapped Keedy, looking round. ‘If this dump is your headquarters, you’re obviously short of cash. I want to join an organisation with the money to do something serious.’

‘Oh, we’ve got money,’ said the younger man. ‘Thanks to an anonymous donation, we were able to buy a lorry. That makes it a lot easier to get around. And we’ve built up a healthy fighting fund.’ He subjected Keedy to a long stare. ‘Very well,’ he said at length, ‘let’s put you on trial. Be here this time on Friday.’

‘Where am I going?’ asked Keedy.

‘You’ll find out.’

‘Right — I’ll be here.’

‘We’ll be waiting,’ said Brad.

Keedy walked to the door and opened it. He turned back and addressed the younger man who was reading his newspaper again.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ said Keedy.

‘That’s right,’ replied the other, ‘I didn’t, did I?’

After a full day, Herbert Stone finally found time to call on his sister-in-law. He moaned about the destruction of his car and complained bitterly about the uselessness of the police. It was only after he’d ventilated his many grievances that he remembered his niece.

‘How is Ruth?’

‘She’s still in a world of her own,’ said Miriam.

‘It’s not healthy to be like that.’

‘We’ve tried everything to bring her out of it, Herman.’

‘Let me have another talk with her,’ said Stone. ‘I can usually get through to her. Where is she, Mimi?’

‘Up in her bedroom — I’ll go and fetch her.’

Leaving him in the living room, she tripped up the stairs. Her brother-in-law, meanwhile, took out a box of small cigars. Selecting one of them, he bit off the end and spat it into the fireplace. Then he lit the cigar and inhaled until it began to glow. A distant cry made him hurry into the hall. Miriam came running down the stairs.

‘Ruth is not here,’ she said in alarm. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. She’s just disappeared.’

Having started work early, Harvey Marmion habitually finished late, so it was a pleasant surprise to his family that he managed to get home by mid-evening. He had a welcoming kiss from his wife, then waved a greeting to Alice who was perusing a seed catalogue in the living room. Marmion followed his wife into the kitchen, which had a pervading aroma of cooked vegetables.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

‘Nothing much,’ she replied.

‘I can smell tension in the air.’

‘It must be the cabbage or the onions.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Have you and Alice had a row?’

‘No, we haven’t. In fact, I apologised to her for stepping on her toes a little yesterday. We’re friends again.’

‘So domestic harmony has been restored?’