‘We’re making the bastard sweat,’ said Burridge, gleefully. ‘I’ll enjoy reading newspaper reports of the destruction of his warehouse.’

‘Aye,’ agreed his son, ‘so will I.’

Arnold Burridge was a younger version of his father with the same build, facial features and mannerisms. They wore suits that they’d actually made for each other and seemed quite at ease in the plush ambience of the restaurant.

‘Best meal I’ve had in ages,’ said Burridge, ‘though I still prefer a sandwich in Green Park.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Less fattening.’

‘What do we do next, Dad?’

‘Nothing at all, son.’

‘But you talked about going for his house.’

‘That can wait, Arnold. He’ll be on the alert now. Let a few weeks pass before we strike again. Stone will start to think he’s safe. That’s the time to hit him.’

‘I still think we should get rid of him altogether,’ said Arnold.

‘Oh, no — that would be letting him off the hook. I’m going to keep the swine alive so that we can make him suffer.’

He called for the bill, paid it and left a generous tip. Then the two of them got up and headed for the door. As they came down the steps into Regent Street, they saw a car draw up at the kerb. Burridge took no notice of it until Marmion and Keedy got out and intercepted them on the pavement. Marmion raised his hat.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, glancing at the Cafe Royal. ‘This is a step up from a park bench, isn’t it?’ He turned to Arnold. ‘This is your son, I gather. When we called at the house, we were told that you’d be here.’ Burridge was silent. ‘Well, since your father won’t introduce us, Arnold, we’ll have to do it ourselves. I’m Inspector Marmion and this,’ he went on, indicating his companion, ‘is Sergeant Keedy.’

‘We’d like you to accompany us to Scotland Yard,’ said Keedy.

‘Why?’ demanded Burridge.

‘There are lots of reasons, sir. We could start off by discussing a fire at Mr Stone’s warehouse that never took place because we were able to arrest the people you paid to start it.’

Arnold was startled but Burridge remained cool.

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Sergeant,’ he said.

‘Then let’s try something else,’ suggested Marmion. ‘We can talk about the murder of Jacob Stein by someone who remained concealed on the premises until the mob arrived.’ His eyes flicked to Arnold. ‘We’ve every reason to believe that you were the killer.’

Burridge turned white and Arnold immediately looked for an escape. Pushing Marmion away with both hands, he darted off along the pavement, dodging people as he did so. Keedy was quickly in pursuit. Arnold was young and relatively fit but he’d just eaten a large meal and drunk a lot of champagne. He soon felt the effects of his indulgence. Keedy was gaining on him with every stride. In desperation, the tailor dashed across the road and almost collided with a van. Keedy went after him. By the time Arnold turned into Piccadilly, the sergeant was close enough to hurl himself forward onto the tailor’s back, causing him to stagger then fall forwards to the ground. His forehead hit the pavement with a thud and he was completely dazed. Before he knew what was happening, Arnold was handcuffed and lifted to his feet. Keedy marched him back to the car in which an ashen Burridge was already sitting. A night of celebration had turned into a day of reckoning.

Eating out was a rare treat for Ellen Marmion. The restaurant could not compete with the Cafe Royal but the meal was delicious and, more importantly, she didn’t have to cook it. The wine was exceptional. Also at the table were her husband, her daughter and Joe Keedy. It was the evening after the investigation had finally been concluded and all the loose ends had at last been tied up.

‘The commissioner was thrilled with our success,’ said Marmion, ‘and couldn’t stop congratulating us.’

‘Who actually committed the murder?’ asked Alice.

‘It was Arnold Burridge, whose father used to work at the shop. It turns out that Arnold was due to join him there but was turned down at the last moment. That really rankled with Cyril Burridge. It was the latest in a long line of broken promises.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy, taking over. ‘Burridge was without question the finest tailor there and Mr Stein knew it. He offered to take him into partnership and bring Arnold into the firm as well. Neither of those things happened.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ellen.

‘They believed it was because Jacob Stein had betrayed them. Wanting their revenge, they tailored what they thought was a perfect murder. Aware of the riots caused by the Lusitania tragedy, Burridge hired some extremists called the True British League to loot and burn down the premises. His son, meanwhile, was hidden in the attic, waiting for his chance to come down and stab Mr Stein to death.

‘If he’d used a gun,’ explained Marmion, ‘the shot would have been heard, so he chose a knife instead. He’d got into the premises at night with duplicate keys made from David Cohen’s set. Cyril Burridge had “borrowed” them when the manager wasn’t looking.’

‘They planned ahead very carefully,’ said Keedy. ‘Arnold waited until Ruth Stein had run out of the office before he went into it and murdered her father. And he had a piece of extraordinary luck.’

‘The safe was open,’ continued Marmion, ‘so he helped himself to the contents. He not only got away with a lot of money, he also took documents that proved Mr Stein was no longer the sole proprietor of the firm. He’d been bought out by his brother, who made all decisions affecting the business from the shadows.’

‘I see,’ said Alice. ‘It was Mr Stone who prevented Mr Burridge from becoming a partner. He refused to promote him because he wasn’t a Jew. ’

‘He also refused to give him a large pay rise that had been promised as a reward for long service.’

‘What a dreadful man!’

‘The Burridges didn’t realise how dreadful he was until they read through the documents in the safe. Stone was the real villain, not his brother. From that point on,’ said Marmion, ‘they turned their attention to Herbert Stone. With the money from the safe, they were able to employ the True British League again. Its members would stop at nothing, as Joe can tell you.’

‘I joined them myself for a few days,’ recalled Keedy, ‘and I can’t say I liked it. They were vile people, led by a disgraced lawyer, Simon Higlett, who’d fallen foul of his Jewish colleagues and blamed them for all the things he did wrong. He and his cronies got their pleasure from attacking Jewish families indiscriminately. Some of the leaflets they put out were disgusting. They made me feel sick. Thank God we’ve stopped them in their tracks.’

‘What will happen to them, Joe?’ wondered Alice.

‘Four of them will serve long prison sentences for arson,’ he replied, ‘and Ernie Gill will go back to Liverpool to stand trial for murder.’

‘Cyril and Arnold Burridge will be hanged,’ said Marmion.

‘When did you suspect them, Daddy?’

‘There were two things, Alice. I caught Burridge looking at the burnt-out building with an air of satisfaction when he had no reason to be there. The second thing was his smugness. I met him in Green Park today and he had the complacency of a man so certain he can’t be linked to the crimes that he can afford to be rude to the detective in charge of the investigation. I felt taunted,’ said Marmion, ‘and that confirmed my suspicions.’

‘Think of the wife,’ said Ellen with a rush of sympathy. ‘I can’t believe that Mrs Burridge was involved, yet she has to watch her husband and her son being sent to the gallows. How could any woman cope with two horrible blows like that?’

‘You could do it,’ teased Marmion. ‘After all, it’s no worse than having a daughter who joins the Women’s Emergency Corps and leaves home. Those were two horrible blows for you.’