Текст книги "A Bespoke Murder"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

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‘Is there still a place for a cavalry regiment?’ he wondered.

‘Somebody clearly thinks so, Joe,’ said Marmion.

‘I wouldn’t fancy charging at the German lines with nothing but a lance or a sabre. The enemy have got machine guns and rifles. What use are horses when bullets are flying about?’

‘They get our soldiers to the point of attack much quicker. It’s one of the things Paul is always complaining about – how painfully slow you are, trying to run across a field with mud up to your ankles.’

‘I keep remembering that poem we learnt at school.’

Marmion grinned. ‘I never took you for the poetic type.’

‘I’m not, Harv,’ said Keedy, speaking more familiarly now that they were off duty. ‘I used to hate having to learn all those verses. But this one stuck in my mind somehow. It was about the Crimean War.’

‘I know it,’ said Marmion. ‘ The Charge of the Light Brigade– it’s about the battle of Balaclava.’

‘They didn’t stand a chance against the Russian cannon. No wonder it was called the “Valley of Death”. I would have thought the days of a cavalry charge were over after that.’

‘Apparently, they’re not.’

‘You wouldn’t get me galloping at the enemy on a horse. I could be blown to pieces by a shell before I got anywhere near them.’

‘The same goes for the infantry,’ observed Marmion. ‘That’s why there’s so little movement in the war zone now. Soldiers on both sides are hiding in trenches for protection. Paul hates it.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘He joined up to see some action, not to be stuck in a hole in the ground with rats for company. Paul enlisted after the retreat from Mons. I was glad he missed that bloodbath.’

‘What about the rest of his soccer team? They all joined up together, didn’t they? How many of them are still alive?’

‘Seven,’ said Marmion, grimly, ‘though two had to be invalided home when they were badly injured in a mortar attack. According to Paul, neither of them will be able to kick a football again.’

War had suddenly become more of a reality for Harvey Marmion. Momentous events were taking place on the Continent but – while he was in London – they seemed to be a long way away. He’d had to rely on letters from his son and newspaper reports to give him some idea of what was actually going on. He was now travelling on a troopship with men who would be flung into action against a German army that had already made territorial advances on a number of fronts. Because of its strategic value, Ypres was being staunchly defended against German attack. If it fell, the enemy could move on to capture the vital Channel ports of Calais and Boulogne. Marmion realised what a catastrophe that would be. Latest reports indicated that British and French soldiers were putting up strong resistance in the second battle of Ypres. They were holding their own. Marmion was interested to see exactly how they were getting on.

It was left to Keedy to point out one possibility.

‘What if we get there too late, Harv?’ he asked.

‘Too late?’

‘Cochran and Gatliffe are soldiers. By the time we reach them, they could be fighting in the front line. What if they’re already dead?’

‘Then I’ll feel terribly cheated,’ said Marmion, bristling with anger. ‘They committed a heinous crime and must be punished for it. Getting themselves killed in action would help them to escape justice and I’d hate that to happen. I wantthese men, Joe,’ he emphasised. ‘I want the pair of them behind bars where the bastards belong.’

CHAPTER TEN

War had profound social effects in Britain. When it first broke out in August 1914, the general assumption was that it would all be over by Christmas. The carnage of Mons shattered that illusion and the prime minister was soon calling for 500,000 soldiers. Women had at first confined themselves to urging men to enlist or – in some cases – sending them white feathers if they failed to do so. As more and more men joined up and went overseas, there was a crisis in the labour market. It was met by enterprising women who took over work that had hitherto been essentially a male preserve. For many of them, it was a liberating experience, allowing them to travel to places they would not otherwise have visited and to take up occupations that gave them both an income and the satisfaction of helping in the war effort.

In the course of a day, Irene Bayard found an endless sequence of jobs on offer. The problem lay in choosing the one that most attracted her. Calm and methodical, she made no instant decisions. Going from place to place, she made a mental note of over a dozen potential jobs that covered everything from nursing to operating a lathe in a factory. It was all a far cry from being a stewardess on the Lusitaniaand that was its appeal.

She took the opportunity to call at the shop managed by her sister and was given a cup of tea in a small room stacked high with shoeboxes. Irene had lunch alone in a cafe. Sitting in the window, she watched a number of women going past, many of them in uniforms of one kind or another. London streets had changed visibly. With recruitment at its height, there was a comparative dearth of young men counterbalanced by an increase in the number of working women. Things were different now.

It was late afternoon when she returned to the house and she planned to put her feet up for an hour. After so much walking, she was quite fatigued. The moment she let herself in, however, she heard the tinkle of Miss James’s bell. Tapping on the lodger’s door, she opened it tentatively.

‘Good afternoon, Miss James.’

‘Good afternoon,’ said the old lady from the comfort of her armchair. ‘This is the first chance I’ve had of speaking to you, Mrs Bayard.’

‘Oh, you’ll have plenty of chance from now on,’ Irene told her. ‘I’ll be living under the same roof.’

‘So I understand, dear, and I’m very happy to hear it. Your sister gets very lonely at times. Having you here will be a tonic.’

Miss James seemed smaller and frailer than when Irene had last seen her. Her face still had a faded prettiness and her white hair was as well groomed as ever, but she’d lost weight and colour. She was not idle. As she talked, the knitting needles in her hand clicked away.

‘What are you knitting?’ asked Irene.

‘That depends on whether or not you can keep a secret.’

Irene understood. ‘Oh, it’s something for Dorothy, is it?’

‘Yes, it’s a new scarf – but please don’t tell her.’

‘I won’t breathe a word, Miss James.’ She smiled invitingly. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’

‘No, thank you, dear.’

‘I just wondered why you’d rung your bell.’

‘Well, I wanted to tell you how pleased I am to see you back,’ said Miss James, ‘but I also needed to pass on a message. While you were out, a gentleman called.’

Irene was surprised. ‘Was he looking for me?’

‘Yes. I can’t really describe him because my eyesight is all but gone. But he had a nice voice and I could tell from his manner that he was fond of you.’

‘Did he give you his name?’

‘Of course,’ said the old lady. ‘I made a point of asking. His name was Mr Gill – Mr Ernest Gill.’

Irene’s heart sank.

They were miles from their destination when they first heard the continuous thunder of artillery. As they got closer, the sound grew steadily in volume. The British Expeditionary Force was undergoing a constant bombardment and retaliating accordingly. Stopping well short of Ypres itself, they established that the regiment they sought had its headquarters in an old farmhouse. The first person they encountered was a peremptory captain who treated their request with barely concealed hostility, arguing that Scotland Yard detectives had no jurisdiction over members of the BEF and that their journey had therefore been futile. Refusing to be turned away, Marmion waved the letter from the War Office under his nose and the man eventually gave them some grudging cooperation. He introduced them to Major Nicholas Birchfield, a portly man with a neat moustache, bulging blue eyes and a peppery disposition. When he’d heard them out, Birchfield clasped his hands behind his back and spoke with clipped politeness.

‘That’s all very well, Inspector,’ he began, ‘but your arrival is deuced awkward. As I’m sure you appreciate, we need every man we have. We can’t release two of our soldiers on the basis of what may turn out to be a wholly false accusation.’

‘There’s nothing false about it, Major,’ said Marmion. ‘The young lady in question was raped. A doctor confirmed it.’

‘He may have confirmed that she had intercourse but that’s hardly proof of rape. We are all men of the world, are we not?’ he went on with a ripe chuckle. ‘This situation is as old as the hills. A young woman drinks too much then gives herself willingly to a chance acquaintance. Later, when she comes to her senses, the only way that she can account for the loss of her virginity is to cry rape. It’s happened before a hundred times.’

‘Well, it’s not the case with Miss Stein.’

‘How do you know? Have you spoken to her about it?’

‘No,’ admitted Marmion, ‘but I talked with her mother. She was able to pass on the relevant details.’

‘Oh, so this is the mother’s doing, is it?’ said Birchfield, amused. ‘That settles it in my mind. What mother believes that her darling daughter would sacrifice herself before marriage? She simply hasto claim that rape took place. It’s maternal instinct.’

‘We’re not only concerned with the charge of rape,’ said Keedy, annoyed by the man’s tone. ‘Murder, arson and theft are among the related crimes. In all probability, Gatliffe and Cochran may be guilty on other counts as well.’

‘Do you have any evidence to that effect, Sergeant?’

‘We know that they were at the rear of the premises at the time, Major. That’s evidence enough to make them suspects.’

‘And who provided that evidence?’

‘The young lady,’ said Marmion. ‘Miss Ruth Stein.’

‘Doing so by proxy, I gather.’

‘She was under immense stress. You have clearly never dealt with rape victims before, Major. Sergeant Keedy and I have, and we know how hard it is to get them to come forward. In all my years in the police force,’ he went on, ‘I’ve never heard one false accusation, because women know the kind of punitive cross-examination they’ll face in court, not to mention the cruel and unfair assumptions that people like you will invariably make.’

Biting back a reply, Birchfield walked behind the table that was serving as his desk. The room he was using as his office was small and low-ceilinged. It had undulating paving slabs on the floor and peeling walls. Judging by the pungent aroma, it had once been used to store cheese and other dairy products. Weighing his words, the major returned to the attack.

‘Do you know what is happening at the moment?’ he asked.

‘You’re fighting a fierce battle,’ replied Marmion.

‘It’s more than that, Inspector. This is the second time Ypres has been in the thick of the action and Brother Bosch has decided to assault us with a new weapon – poison gas. It’s already taken its toll.’

‘This is hardly relevant to the matter in hand.’

‘I think it’s extremely relevant, because it goes to the heart of the matter. Priorities – that’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it? What takes priority? Is it the word of some girl who let her emotions get the better of her, or is it two members of an overstretched army fighting against a deadly enemy? Private Cochran and Private Gatliffe are no use to us if they’re carted off to London. We need them here. They’ll be in the trenches very soon, where they’ll run the risk of being shot, shelled, forced to cough up their lungs by chlorine gas or made to cry their eyes out by a swinish German lachrymator, benzyl bromide. In short, they are brave soldiers acting out of patriotic impulse.’

Marmion was scathing. ‘I don’t consider rape to be brave or patriotic, Major,’ he said with asperity, ‘nor do I find the idea of two drunken men setting upon a defenceless young woman anything but repulsive. You should be ashamed that Cochran and Gatliffe are wearing army uniforms. They are a disgrace to your regiment.’

‘That’s for us to judge,’ said Birchfield, stung by his words. ‘All that I’ve heard so far are unsubstantiated allegations.’

‘They are supported by two arrest warrants.’

‘What if it’s a case of mistaken identity?’

‘Then the two men will be released without charge.’

‘From the information that we have,’ said Keedy, ‘that seems unlikely. The victim was able to supply us with the names of the two men and the fact that they were leaving for France on the following day. That led us to yourregiment, Major.’

Birchfield scowled. He sat down behind his makeshift desk and weighed up the possibilities. Reluctant to hand the two men over, he searched for ways to send the detectives packing. Marmion seemed to read his mind and jumped in smartly.

‘I can see that we are wasting each other’s time, Major,’ he said, briskly. ‘You clearly don’t have the authority to make a decision on the matter. We would therefore ask to speak to your commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Knox. Unlike you, he will doubtless understand the importance of arrest warrants and a letter from the War Office.’

‘ Iwas assigned to deal with this,’ said Birchfield, haughtily.

‘Then please do so without prevarication. Yes,’ said Marmion, stifling a protest with a raised hand, ‘I know that there’s a war on. My own son is stationed south of here with his regiment. And in case you think Miss Stein would surrender herself to a drunken stranger in an alley, I should tell you that she comes from a respectable middle-class family and that her brother, Daniel, is fighting on the Mesopotamian Front under the command of Sir John Nixon. Now then,’ he added, crisply, ‘are you going to comply with our request or do we need to discuss your obstructive behaviour with your commanding officer?’

Eyeing the inspector with distaste, Birchfield capitulated.

‘I’ll have these men sent for,’ he said, coldly.

Alice Marmion got back from school to find her mother on her knees as she cleaned the grate in the living room. When she looked around, Alice saw that the whole place was spick and span. Her mother had even burnished the copper plates that stood on the mantelpiece. There was no need to clean the grate. It might be months before they needed to have another fire. And there was no call for vigorous housework in a room that was already spotless. Alice understood. Her mother was eager to keep herself busy so that she did not brood on Marmion’s visit to the Western Front. The worried look on Ellen’s face showed that the strategy had comprehensively failed.

‘Hello, dear,’ she said, hauling herself to her feet. ‘I was just sprucing the place up a bit.’

‘It doesn’t needsprucing up, Mummy. Come here.’

Alice took her by the arm, led her to the sofa and lowered her onto it. Putting her bag aside, she sat beside her and held her hand.

‘Daddy is fine,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in worrying.’

‘I’m bound to have some fears, Alice.’

‘Why? He’ll be nowhere near the actual fighting – much to Joe Keedy’s disappointment, I daresay. The person we need to worry about is Paul, not Daddy. Paul is in the trenches yet you don’t let anxiety about him weigh you down.’

‘I did when he first joined up,’ said Ellen. ‘I stayed awake for nights on end. As time passed, it somehow got easier to bear.’

Alice squeezed her mother’s hand then rose to her feet.

‘I know what you need.’

‘I’ll make the tea, Alice.’

‘Oh no you won’t,’ said her daughter, easing her back down on the sofa as she tried to get up. ‘Stay here – that’s an order.’

Ellen gave a grateful laugh. Going into the kitchen, Alice filled the kettle, set it on the stove and lit a gas ring. Evidently, her mother had spent a lot of time there because every surface gleamed and every item was in its rightful place. In the time that Alice had been at school, her mother had also done the washing and ironing. The windows had been cleaned on the outside and the inside. When she glanced into the back garden, Alice saw that a lot of effort had been expended on tidying that up as well.

Having made the tea, she took it back into the living room on a tray and set it down on the low table beside the sofa. Alice perched on the edge of an armchair.

‘I’ve just seen how much work you’ve done today,’ she said. ‘If this is what being married involves, I’m going to stay single.’

‘I have to keep the place looking nice, Alice.’

‘Then clean it once a week at most.’

‘Believe it or not, I like housework.’

‘Well, I don’t. I find it soul-destroying.’

After waiting a short while, Alice put milk into the two cups then removed the tea cosy. As she poured from the teapot, she used the strainer to catch the leaves. Her mother added sugar and stirred her cup. Alice spurned the sugar. Grabbing one of the biscuits, she wolfed it down.

‘I didn’t have time for a proper lunch,’ she explained.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I still can’t make up my mind about whether or not to join the Women’s Emergency Corps. You and Daddy are against the idea so I decided to get some independent advice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I went over to see Uncle Raymond.’

‘I told you to keep him out of this discussion.’

‘He’s family. His opinions count. So I walked over there.’

‘That was a long way to go.’

‘I didn’t mind. I felt that he’d listen without hectoring me. He’s so patient and he never makes you feel that you’re stupid.’

Ellen frowned guiltily. ‘Is that what wedo, Alice?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Alice, ‘but I don’t always feel that I get a fair hearing. I was able to talk at length to Uncle Raymond without any interruption.’

‘And what was his advice?’

‘He said that I should follow my instincts. After all, that’s what he did when he joined the Salvation Army against the wishes of just about everyone in the family.’

‘I’m surprised that he didn’t try to recruit you.’

‘As a matter of fact, he did,’ said Alice, grinning, ‘though it was partly in fun. Anyway, he gave me food for thought but nothing that I could actually eat.’

She munched a second biscuit. Looking at her daughter, Ellen could not believe that someone so attractive and patently intelligent had not met her partner in life yet. Ellen had been years younger when she’d met and married Harvey Marmion and she tended to use that fact as a yardstick. The thought that Alice might end up as a spinster was deeply unsettling. After a mouthful of tea, Ellen tried to sound casual.

‘It’s high time you had a chap of your own, you know.’

‘I don’t wantone, Mummy.’

‘You have such a limited social life.’

‘That’s not true. I go to dances occasionally and I sing in a choir. I just haven’t met the right man yet.’

‘I’m not sure that you’ve been looking, Alice.’

‘I’ve had more important things to do.’

‘Nothing is more important than marrying and having a family.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. At the moment, I’m enjoying my freedom while I can. There’ll be little chance of doing that if and when I do eventually have a husband.’

‘Haven’t you met anyyoung man you really liked?’

‘I’ve met several,’ said Alice, ‘but they already have girlfriends. Either that, or they’ve gone off to join the army. I don’t want my choice to be limited to a small number of chaps, Mummy.’

‘What sort of person would attract you?’

‘I want one who is fabulously rich and who’ll indulge my every whim.’ They both laughed. ‘Failing that, I’m looking for someone who is … very special.’

‘Does he have to be handsome?’

‘He has to have pleasant features, certainly.’

‘Will he be older than you or a similar age?’

‘Oh, he must be older, that’s definite.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Men take much longer to grow up,’ said Alice, mischievously. ‘That’s been my experience, anyway. Every chap I went out with was very nice until he had a drink inside him. All of a sudden, they became giggling schoolboys and I have enough of those at work.’

‘So you want somebody more adult? What about character?’

‘He must be honest, reliable and have a sense of adventure.’

‘Is there anything else?’

Alice was pensive. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Except that I’d want him to treat me as his equal, of course.’ Ellen grinned. ‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No,’ replied her mother. ‘It’s just an odd coincidence, that’s all.’

Alice was befuddled. ‘Coincidence?’

‘Your ideal man has to be very special, handsome, older than you, honest, reliable and with a sense of adventure. Oh, and he must treat you as an equal. Is that a fair summary?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Then you’ve given me a perfect description of Joe Keedy.’

Alice came extremely close to blushing.

Divide and rule. The detectives adopted their usual policy. While Marmion interviewed John Gatliffe, Keedy was given the task of confronting Oliver Cochran. They made sure that the two men were summoned separately so that they had no time to concoct an alibi together. Keedy had the use of a room so small that its only furniture was a table and two chairs. He made sure that he sat down between Cochran and the door. Taking out his pad and pencil, he looked the suspect up and down. He could see instantly that he would meet with resistance. When he was told who Keedy was and why he had come into a theatre of war, Cochran was at first flabbergasted. He quickly recovered and stoutly denied the allegation of rape.

According to the soldier, he’d been drinking in a Soho pub on the evening in question and could call on several friends to vouch for him. He had no idea where Jermyn Street was, he insisted, and would have had no reason to be there.

‘How do you explain the fact that the young lady knew your names?’ asked Keedy.

Cochran looked blank. ‘What young lady?’

‘The one who remembers you well enough to identify you.’

‘She’s making it all up.’

‘Why on earth should she do that, Private Cochran? What woman in her position wants to admit that she was sexually assaulted by two men in the alley at the rear of her father’s shop? It’s highly embarrassing for her. Why would she do it?’

‘Ask her.’

Keedy aimed several more questions at him but Cochran had erected a brick wall that the detective could not penetrate. Now that he was in the army, the soldier felt safe. A touch of arrogance crept in. Keedy changed the angle of attack and asked him something that caught him off guard.

‘Did you murder Jacob Stein?’ he demanded.

Cochran blenched. ‘What are you on about?’

‘During the time that you and John Gatliffe were close to the scene of the crime, the owner of that shop was stabbed to death. Was that your doing, by any chance?’

‘We weren’t even there.’

‘Think carefully before you give another glib answer,’ warned Keedy. ‘Rape is a serious offence but murder carries the death penalty. If you fight in the trenches, you stand a chance of being killed by a bullet or a shell. It will probably be a quick death. That’s not the case on the gallows. When you and Gatliffe are found guilty of murder, it will be a slow and deliberate end to your useless lives.’

Though he was certain that Cochran was not involved in the death of Jacob Stein, Keedy saw no harm in using the accusation as a prod. It quietened the suspect completely. Instead of trying to brazen it out, Cochran lapsed into silence. He realised that he was in serious trouble. He also knew that there was a strong possibility that Gatliffe would crack under pressure and give them both away. Cochran was determined to avoid a prison sentence. Somehow he had to escape. His head fell to his chest and his arms were slack. He pretended to have given up. Gathering his strength for attack, he suddenly made his bid for freedom.

He stood up, turned the table on its side and used it to knock Keedy from his chair and ram him against the door. When he tried to scramble over the detective’s body, however, Cochran felt a hand taking a firm grip on his ankle before yanking him off his feet. With both of them on the floor, there was a frantic fight and Keedy was always going to be the victor. He was quicker, stronger and more agile. His first punch caught Cochran on the nose, splitting it open and sending blood dribbling down his chin. A relay of heavy punches to the body stunned the soldier. Before he could counter, Cochran found himself expertly turned over so that the handcuffs could be snapped onto his wrists. Keedy stood up, righted the chair and table then lifted his assailant from the floor by the scruff of his neck.

‘I fancy that that amounts to a confession, Private Cochran,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘You will also face the additional charges of resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duties.’ He took out a handkerchief and held it beneath Cochran’s nose to stem the bleeding. ‘It’s easy to overpower a frightened young woman like Miss Stein, isn’t it? When you take on someone your own size, it’s a different matter.’

Cochran glared malevolently at him.

Harvey Marmion sized the man up before inviting him to take a seat. John Gatliffe was on the defensive at once. They were in the room that Major Birchfield used as his office. Remaining on his feet, Marmion explained why he was there and asked for Gatliffe’s response to the charge of rape.

‘I didn’t do it, Inspector,’ said the soldier, urgently.

‘We know that. The man who raped her was your friend, Oliver Cochran, but you assisted him by holding the girl down, didn’t you?’

‘No – I wasn’t even there. Nor was Olly – we’re innocent.’

‘I very much doubt that, Private Gatliffe.’

‘I’ve never heard of this Ruth Stein.’

‘That’s only because you never took the trouble to have any formal introductions,’ said Marmion with light sarcasm. ‘You were both drunk, a young woman comes out of the shop, so you felt that she was fair game.’

‘It’s a lie,’ wailed Gatliffe. ‘It wasn’t us, Inspector, I swear it.’

Marmion sat opposite him and looked deep into his eyes. What he saw was fear and desperation. There was also a hint of remorse. He surmised that it had not been Gatliffe’s idea to set upon Ruth Stein. He had simply done what he was told by a friend who was a stronger character. That did not, however, entitle him to Marmion’s sympathy. Gatliffe was an accessory. Even though it might have been against his will, he had committed a crime and merited severe punishment.

‘There are two ways to proceed,’ said Marmion.

‘It wasn’t us!’ repeated Gatliffe. ‘There’s been a mistake.’

‘Listen to me, please. You’re not a bad man, are you? In fact, I suspect that you have more than an ounce of decency in you. That’s why you spared the girl a second ordeal.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘That’s the first way to proceed,’ explained Marmion. ‘I make allegations and you respond with a tissue of lies. We could go on like that all day, Private Gatliffe. The problem with that strategy is that it will bring about your downfall. My colleague, Detective Sergeant Keedy, is interviewing Private Cochran and will meet with the same blanket denial that I’m getting. Your friend will invent an alibi which will differ substantially in detail from the one you’retrying to think up. In other words, we’ll know that you’re lying through your teeth.’

He fixed Gatliffe with a stare. ‘Are you going to tell the same lies under oath in a court of law?’

Gatliffe quailed. ‘It wasn’t me and Ol,’ he said, weakly.

‘The second way is the one that I’d recommend. It will not only save time, it will earn you some favour with the judge and jury. I’m talking about a confession,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m talking about having the courage to admit that you did something terribly wrong and that you’re prepared to face the consequences. We didn’t come all this way to let you slip through our fingers, Private Gatliffe. Back in London, a young woman is tormented by what you and your friend did to her. It’s a permanent wound that will never heal. The one thing that might act as balm to that wound is the knowledge that her attackers have been imprisoned. That’s why Sergeant Keedy and I are here.’

‘I need to speak to Olly,’ said Gatliffe, close to panic.

‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.’

‘We got rights, Inspector.’

‘I’m more concerned with Miss Stein’s rights. She’s the victim here, not you and Private Cochran.’

‘We’re in the army now – you can’t touch us.’

‘I’m afraid that you’ve been misinformed on that point.’

Gatliffe was cornered. His eyes darted and sweat broke out on his brow. His friend’s assurances that they were in the clear had proved groundless. Detectives had pursued them to the front and called them to account. He knew that Cochran would rebut any charges hotly but Gatliffe did not have his friend’s limitless capacity for telling lies. When their respective statements to the police were compared, they would be caught out. The girl would identify them in court. Gatliffe trembled. Instead of returning home as a war hero, he would be dragged back to London under arrest to face trial. Those fevered minutes with a terrified girl had been their ruination.

‘Well?’ said Marmion, watching him. ‘What have you decided?’

‘I need to think,’ said Gatliffe, morosely.

‘Let me remind you what else happened that evening. A mob, of which you may well have been part, attacked the shop owned by Jacob Stein in Jermyn Street. The window was smashed, the place was looted and someone set fire to the premises. Mr Stein – whose daughter was being raped nearby – was murdered. It remains to be seen if you and Cochran were implicated in these other crimes.’

‘We know nothing about murder,’ protested Gatliffe.

‘What about the fire? Did you start it?’

‘No, we never went inside the shop.’

Marmion smiled. ‘Ah, so you werethere, after all,’ he said, making a note in his pad. ‘We’re making progress at last. Why don’t you tell me the full story, Private Gatliffe? Do you know what I think? I fancy that you’d like to get it off your chest. Am I right?’

After a lengthy pause, Gatliffe nodded his head.