‘We didn’t find any tomato sauce in your larder, Horrie.’
Waldron stirred. ‘Don’t you poke around in there!’ he demanded.
‘There was hardly any food at all,’ said Keedy. ‘You live on beer, don’t you? That’s where you get your meals — at the Weavers Arms.’
‘Want to go home.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this.’
‘It wasn’t me what bashed his head in.’
‘Then who was it?’
‘Who cares?’
‘Everything points to you, Horrie.’
Retreating back into silence, Waldron folded his arms and closed his eyes. Keedy had to fight back the impulse to hit him. Instead, he delivered a verbal blow that had far more effect.
‘Maud Crowther is going to be disappointed in you, isn’t she?’
‘What you on about?’ growled Waldron.
‘Imagine what she’ll think when she hears that you’ve been arrested,’ said Keedy. ‘You won’t be her blue- eyed boy anymore, will you?’
‘Shut your trap!’
Having found his weak spot, Keedy exploited it mercilessly.
‘You’d rather forgotten about her, hadn’t you? So had we until we went into that skunk’s den where you live. We opened your wardrobe and we made an astounding discovery.’
‘Keep away from my things, you bastard!’
‘We learnt that there are two Horrie Waldrons,’ said Keedy. ‘One is that drunken gravedigger who can’t always be bothered to shave in the morning and who’s too quick to throw his weight about. The other one is a man who actually washes and takes pains to look nice for his lady friend, even to the extent of wearing a suit. Is that what you did on the night that Cyril Ablatt died? You went off to see Mrs Crowther in your Sunday best, then you put on your old clothes and committed murder.’
‘That’s a lie!’ howled Waldron, smacking the table.
‘How did the bloodstains get on your trousers?’
‘I told you to shut up.’
‘Perhaps we should ask Stan Crowther. He might have an idea.’ Keedy prodded him even harder. ‘I daresay he’d be interested to hear that his mother has a secret admirer. What are your chances of getting served in his pub when he knows the truth about the pair of you?’
‘I’ll kill you!’ roared Waldron, diving over the table.
Keedy was knocked to the floor by the force of the impact but he recovered quickly and grappled with his attacker. The sound of commotion brought two uniformed constables to the room. When they came in, they saw that Keedy was now astride his attacker, subduing him with a relay of punches. Turning him over, he snapped the handcuffs back on his wrists then signalled to the newcomers. They hoisted Waldron to his feet and dumped him back in his chair, standing either side of him with a restraining hand on his shoulder. Keedy got up calmly, straightened his coat, picked up his overturned chair and set it down before sitting in it.
He then gave the prisoner his most radiant smile.
‘Now that I’ve loosened your tongue,’ he said, ‘we’ll start again.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As he delivered bread on his daily round, Gordon Leach contemplated a grim future. Any decision that he made involved substantial loss. There was no escape from it. If he sided with Ruby Cosgrove, he would lose his two closest friends and for ever be despised by them. Yet if he stood shoulder to shoulder with Mansel Price and Fred Hambridge, he risked losing his fiancee. There would also be a loss of liberty. The government’s position was unequivocal. Those who defied the call to arms would be sent to prison. It was conceivable that Hambridge’s long association with the Quakers might be accepted as a legitimate excuse but it wasn’t one that Leach could offer. He would be incarcerated in a military detention centre such as Wandsworth and be subjected to a punitive regime. It was a bleak prospect.
He reminded himself of the reassuring words that Cyril Ablatt had often used. They would not be common criminals. They would be prisoners of conscience, martyrs to a just cause and an inspiration to others. Leach was young, fit and able to withstand the rigours of imprisonment. What he did not know was whether Ruby would be waiting for him when he was released. If she were, he could cope with anything. If not, his time behind bars would be continuous torture. His conscience might be salved but his hopes of a happy marriage would be dashed. A life without Ruby, he felt, was quite meaningless.
Unable to make up his mind, he tried to recall the days when he and his three friends had their regular meetings and committed themselves to an agreed cause of action. It had all seemed so clear then. Though she had misgivings, Ruby had supported his decision. The right path had been chosen. Ablatt’s death had introduced an element of panic into the situation. Leach had been convinced that he was also in jeopardy. A second brutal attack had intensified his fears but at least it had brought Ruby back to him. Her love, however, might be conditional on his accepting her father’s advice about joining a non-combatant corps. How could he keep her without losing the respect of his two friends?
When he’d had problems in the past, he’d always been able to turn to Ablatt, whose clarity of thought was a godsend to Leach. Since he could no longer rely on him, he decided to call on Ablatt’s father instead to see if he could draw strength from another source. After completing his round, therefore, he drove to the cobbler’s shop and pulled the horse to a halt outside. He could see Gerald Ablatt through the window, bent over a last as he mended a shoe. Leach let himself into the little shop and was met by a strong aroma of leather and polish.
‘Good morning, Mr Ablatt,’ he said.
‘Oh hello, Gordon,’ said the cobbler, looking up.
‘I saw that the shop was open when I drove past yesterday.’
‘Yes, it’s business as usual.’
‘How are you?’
Ablatt’s head rocked from side to side. ‘I’m as well as can be expected,’ he said. ‘Everybody has been very kind. Cyril’s aunt spent a lot of time with me, then my cousin, Mrs Skene, popped in yesterday. I’m never alone.’
‘That’s good.’
‘What about you?’
‘Oh,’ said Leach, ‘I’m all right, I suppose. Well, no,’ he corrected, ‘to be honest with you, I’m not. I don’t really know what to do. Cyril would have guided me in the right direction. Without him, I’m a bit lost.’
‘I feel the same,’ said Ablatt with a wan smile. ‘What’s the trouble?’
‘I can’t bother you with my problems, Mr Ablatt.’
‘But I’d like to help. Pretend that I’m Cyril.’
The cobbler was so calm, friendly and steadfast that Leach was persuaded to confide in him. He explained the quandary he was in and how he could see no compromise that would satisfy all parties. Ablatt listened to arguments that his son had put to him many times and he felt a nostalgic glow.
‘Well,’ he said when Leach had finished his recital, ‘we both know what Cyril would have told you. He’d have said you must be true to your conscience. Nothing could be simpler than that.’
‘What if I lose Ruby?’
‘I think she’s more likely to admire you for your principles.’
Leach was unsure about that but he felt oddly comforted by the visit. His difficulties paled beside those of Gerald Ablatt, who, having lost his son in a foul murder, would have to endure an inquest and a family funeral before going back to live alone in an empty house. Leach thought about the slogans there.
‘I’m glad they caught the man who painted those words on your wall.’
‘Yes — so am I, Gordon.’
