with a tippet around her shoulders and a feathered hat. Dalley more or less carried her to the car and it was apparent that she was too grief-stricken to say anything. The detectives expressed their condolences then remained silent during the journey to the Ablatt house. When they got there,their passengers got out, went to the front door and knocked. Gerald Ablatt appeared and his sister flung herself into his arms. He ushered her inside. Dalley came briefly back to the car.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We’re grateful for the lift.’
‘We’ll be in touch, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘Before we go, however, the sergeant has something to ask you.’
Keedy took his cue. ‘I wondered why you didn’t live over the forge, sir, that’s all. It would save you going to and fro all the time.’
‘We used to live there,’ explained Dalley, ‘but it’s not the cleanest place to bring up a family. When my parents died, they left me the house where you took me earlier. We moved into it four or five years ago. As for the forge,’ he went on, ‘my assistant lives there. Percy and his missus look after the place for me. I take the rent out of his wages.’ He pursed his lips. ‘He’ll have to manage on his own for a long while now. I’m needed here.’
Turning on his heel, he went into the house and shut the door behind him. The car set off and rounded the corner, giving them a clear view of the slogans and taunts painted crudely on the side wall. It was evident that the anonymous artist was burning with hatred for Cyril Ablatt.
‘Do you think someone will be back with a paintbrush?’ asked Keedy.
‘Not as long as Dalley is here,’ replied Marmion. ‘They wouldn’t dare.’
Running the bakery involved the whole family. Gordon Leach’s mother worked in the shop with the help of his sister. Having done his stint of baking, Leach had to go off on the first of his delivery rounds. The horse stood patiently between the shafts while he loaded the bread into the back of the cart. Still warm, it was wrapped in tissue paper. When the job was complete, he clambered into the cart and was about to set off. Then he saw the animated figure of Fred Hambridge coming towards him. He climbed out immediately.
‘I was hoping to catch you,’ said Hambridge, panting for breath.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You haven’t heard, then?’
‘Heard what?’
‘It was my boss who told me about it. Charlie was coming past Drysdale Street when he saw this crowd. That’s how he knew.’
‘You’re not making much sense, Fred,’ said Leach. ‘Why don’t you get your breath back and tell me what’s actually happened?’
‘There’s been a murder.’
Leach started. ‘A murder — where?’
‘I’ve just told you. It was near Drysdale Street.’
‘Who was the victim?’
Even as he asked the question, Leach thought of a possible answer and it made his blood congeal. He shook his head in a frenzy of denial.
‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I didn’t at first,’ said Hambridge.
‘It can’t have been Cyril.’
‘It was a young man, according to Charlie. That much is certain.’
‘But he had no idea what his name was.’
‘None at all,’ admitted the other, ‘but we have to face facts, Gordon. He was killed last night after dark. And it was near a place that Cyril would have walked past on his way to my house. It all fits. It explains why he never turned up.’
Leach’s head was spinning. ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t believe it.’
‘I went to the police station but they wouldn’t give me any details. They told me to wait until the newspapers come out this evening. There may be a name in that. When I told them that I was a friend of Cyril, they didn’t want to know and told me to stop being a nuisance.’
‘There must be some way to find out the truth.’
‘We can go to his house and ask his father.’
Leach brought a hand to his throat. ‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘
‘He didn’t get back,’ said Hambridge, woefully, ‘because he simply couldn’t. Someone had battered him to death. What are we going to do, Gordon?’
‘We try to find out the truth.’
‘We both
Leach didn’t even hear him. His mind was running on another track altogether. If their friend really was the murder victim, there would be implications. Ablatt had given a brilliant speech at the meeting of the NCF. Had he been killed by way of punishment? Was someone determined to silence conscientious objectors? Leach was overcome by a sense of panic.
‘Cyril may just be the first one,’ he cried. ‘Which one of us is next?’
CHAPTER FOUR
The lane connected two streets in Shoreditch. It was narrow, twisting and unlit at night. When the detectives arrived there by car, policemen were on duty at either end of the little thoroughfare, stopping anyone from using it and trying to move on people who just came to stand and stare. Marmion identified himself to one of the policemen and asked to be taken to the exact spot where the body was found. He and Keedy were escorted to a point near the middle of the lane. The policeman indicated a rickety garden gate set into a recess.
‘It was right here, Inspector,’ he said.
‘Who found him?’ asked Keedy.
‘I’m told it was a courting couple, sir. You’ve got to feel sorry for them. They sneak down here for a kiss and a cuddle and they trip over a dead body.’
‘That must have cooled their ardour.’
‘It was well after midnight — must have been pitch-dark.’
‘How did they know it was a corpse?’
‘They didn’t, sir,’ replied the policeman. ‘In fact, they thought it might have been a drunk who passed out as he tottered home from the Weavers Arms.’
‘That’s the pub on the corner, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Afraid it might be more serious, they reported it.’
‘I’m glad they had the sense to do that.’
‘So am I, sir. By all accounts, it was a hideous sight. It’s just as well they moved the body away before the public got to see it.’
Marmion was only half-listening. Crouching down, he examined the ground with great care. When he eventually stood up, he stroked his chin meditatively.
‘This is not the scene of the crime,’ he concluded. ‘If it were, there’d be lots of bloodstains and there are hardly any. I think that the victim was killed elsewhere then dumped here. I also think that we’re after a local man.’
Keedy was puzzled. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Only someone who knew the area would be aware of this lane. It’s a good place to get rid of a dead body — but only after the pub closes and people stop using it to get home. The victim was brought here when there was nobody about.’
