in any way could be a fatal mistake. As they reached the back of the warehouse, the car came into view. There was enough light for Niall to see that the only person in it was the man behind the driving wheel.
‘Thank you for your help, Inspector. This is where we part company.’
Before he could reply, Marmion felt the gun crash down on the back of his head. It sent him into oblivion. Stepping over him, Niall went towards the car.
Keedy, however, had got there before him and was bent down on the other side of it. Having warned the driver what to expect, he’d armed himself with the starting handle. Niall limped across to the car and pointed the gun at the driver, jamming it against the glass. It was as far as he got. Keedy suddenly came round the car and flung his weapon at the hand holding the gun. It was knocked from Niall’s grasp and fell to the ground. The driver then swung his door open, hitting the Irishman with enough force to make him fall backwards. Keedy rushed forward to kick the gun out of reach then dropped onto Niall, punching away at face and body. Flailing away with both fists, Niall fought back with a real ferocity, spitting into his attacker’s face and trying to bite him. But he was no match for two trained police officers. When the driver came to Keedy’s assistance, they soon overpowered the Irishman, turning him over and snapping handcuffs onto his wrists. He writhed madly on the ground and turned the air blue with expletives.
‘Save it for the trial,’ said Keedy, lifting him by the scruff of the neck and pushing him against the car. ‘You can swear all you like then.’
Picking up the gun, he thrust it under his belt then hurried across to Marmion, who was starting to move slightly. He brought an unsteady hand to his head.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘We caught him,’ said Keedy, gasping for breath.
Though they both needed hospital treatment, the detectives insisted on driving back to Scotland Yard first to hand over the prisoner. Claude Chatfield was still there. Unsure whether to praise them for their success or upbraid them for straying away from the murder investigation, he took pity on them and said that a full report could wait until the next day. The priority was to have their wounds examined. Knowing that she’d still be up worrying about him, Marmion rang his wife to assure her that he wasn’t seriously injured but that a driver was on his way to pick her up. In the event, Ellen got to the hospital before they did. When her husband appeared, she rushed over to him and saw the gash on his head.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine, love,’ he replied, hugging her. ‘You can order a coffin for Joe but I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow.’
Realising that she’d ignored Keedy, she turned to embrace him as well. His head wound would also require stitches. Marmion sent him off to be seen to first, then sat down with Ellen.
‘I’m so glad that Alice didn’t see Joe like that,’ she said, anxiously. ‘It would really have upset her.’
‘She’s a policewoman. Alice knows that we have a spot of bother from time to time.’
‘It’s more than a spot of bother, Harvey. That man could have beaten your brains out.’
‘I’ve got a thick skull and so has Joe. Besides, we both had hats on.’
‘They didn’t stop you from being knocked out.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ he said, one hand to his head. ‘The pain only eases when I can forget about it. Just be thankful I’m safe and sound. It’s all over now.’
Ellen was distraught. ‘He had a gun — you could have been killed.’
‘But I wasn’t, love. What does that tell you?’
‘It tells me that you take too many chances.’
‘We couldn’t let him get away.’
‘Has the superintendent given you time off to recover?’
Marmion laughed. ‘Claude Chatfield wouldn’t give us time off if we’d been run over by a train. He’ll expect us back to work tomorrow on the dot.’
‘That’s cruel.’
‘It’s the way the Metropolitan Police works, Ellen, and you know it.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘A word of congratulation wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘I just feel terribly sorry for the pair of you.’
‘We’ve caught a dangerous criminal,’ he told her. ‘He was sent to this country to cause havoc by setting off bombs. Joe and I will get a big round of applause in the press for this — and there’ll be cheering in Frongoch as well.’
‘Is that the place you went to in Wales?’
‘Yes, love. The governor is going to be very pleased with us.’
‘Then I should congratulate you as well,’ she said. ‘Well done, Harvey.’
‘The real hero is Joe. He actually arrested Niall Quinn.’ Marmion winked at her. ‘Would you like to know why?’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘When he held a gun on me, Quinn took my wallet. Joe saw him do it. I bet that’s what incensed him. Joe must have known there was a lovely photo of Alice inside it,’ said Marmion. ‘Nobody was going to get away with that.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Unconfirmed reports of sightings of Herbert Wylie had come in regularly. Claude Chatfield had collated them and dismissed those that were clearly of no use to him. Some were deliberately misleading, sent in by people who patently derived a thrill from causing mischief. He was still sifting through the latest batch when Harvey Marmion appeared in the open doorway. Chatfield glanced at him. For a man sometimes on the verge of looking scruffy, the inspector was noticeably smart for once. He saw the question in the superintendent’s eyes.
‘It’s my best suit, sir,’ he explained. ‘The one I had on yesterday got rather dirty. My wife refused to let me go out in it.’
‘That’s very commendable of her,’ said Chatfield, ‘but I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.’
Marmion held up some sheets of paper. ‘I had a report to write. You’ll want to know all the details of yesterday’s adventures.’ He handed the pages over. ‘It’s not fully accurate. I missed the actual arrest. Sergeant Keedy will tell you about that.’
‘How are you now?’
‘I’m feeling much better, sir.’
‘No permanent damage, I hope?’
‘When the stitches are taken out, I’ll be as right as rain.’
‘The commissioner is going to be singing your praises.’
‘I’m always glad to get plaudits from Sir Edward.’
‘Well, don’t rest on your laurels,’ said Chatfield, becoming businesslike. ‘There’s still a murder investigation to be resolved. Don’t expect an ovation from me until it’s all over and done with.’
‘Is there any more news about Wylie?’
‘There’s far too much. The British public seems to have invented a new game. The object is to befuddle us by making false claims.’
‘That’s an indictable offence,’ said Marmion, ‘as our friend in Rochester found out. Did you ever discover his real name?’
‘Forget him. The real Herbert Wylie is still at large. If I hear anything reliable, I’ll phone the information through to you. Make sure that you check your calls at regular intervals.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Where will you begin today?’
‘At the place where we left off yesterday,’ said Marmion, ‘and that’s the Quinn house. They’ll want to know
