Just then, like a ghostly echo to his thoughts, he heard the faint wail of a siren and a second later a searchlight pierced the sky downriver, in the direction of Woolwich. Then another, and another, lending an eerie beauty to the velvety darkness.
‘What odds it’s another false alarm?’
Joe Grace was at his shoulder, a cigarette glowing at his lips.
‘We had three the other night. The wife was going up and down from the bedroom to the basement like a yo-yo.’
Billy grunted. Since the Luftwaffe had stopped coming over it was only the V-1s that put the capital’s defences on alert — the V-2s descended from a great height and without warning — and the number of their attacks had declined in recent weeks. It was reported that the batteries that fired them had been driven out of France. But rumour also said the Jerries were now launching the unmanned craft from planes, and Londoners remained nervous and on edge.
‘Billy!’
Lofty Cook’s urgent call brought their heads round.
The Bow Street inspector was pointing down, towards the front of the pub. Billy looked that way and saw that Pruitt had taken off his hat. He was running his fingers through his cropped fair hair.
‘Right! Let’s move.’
The only way down was by a steel ladder that went to the warehouse basement. Cook led the way, stepping backwards. Billy followed. A doorway at the foot of the ladder gave on to a flight of steps that ascended to the cobbled lane beside the pub. In no time the three detectives had joined their colleague by the charcoal brazier where the air, warmer by a few degrees, was rich with the smell of roasting nuts.
‘It was Meeks, all right, sir,’ Pruitt murmured to Billy as they came up. Erect and square-shouldered, he still had something of the beat bobby about him. I recognized him from his photo. He was with another bloke. They came that way.’ He gestured upstream.
‘What did he look like?’ Billy eyed the alleyway. ‘The other man?’
‘Couldn’t make out his face. He had his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down. They went straight in. Didn’t hang about.’
Billy glanced at Cook, who was at his elbow.
‘We could go in ourselves now, or we could wait, see who else might be coming. What do you think, Lofty?’
Cook pursed his lips, considering. Beside him, Joe Grace had turned his gaze away from the pub and was staring into the darkness downriver. Billy followed the direction of his glance and saw the night sky lit up, not only by searchlights now but by the flash of anti-aircraft shells exploding. It seemed they were too far off to be heard, but then he caught the faint pop-pop sound of the guns firing. The sirens continued to wail in the distance.
‘Why not wait?’ Lofty said. ‘See what develops. This is the only way out.’
‘Joe?’
Grace shook his head. ‘I say go in now. We’re sticking out like sore thumbs standing around here.’ He caught the chestnut vendor’s eye: the man, bundled up in a coat and balaclava, was cocking an ear to their murmured conversation. What’s your problem, sunshine?’ His smile was unfriendly and the man looked away quickly.
Grace hawked and spat.
‘The thing is, guv — ’he spoke to Billy — ‘if we wait for them to come out, one or two may make a run for it and we might not catch ’em all. In that back room they’re cornered. Rats in a trap.’
Billy thought for a moment longer, then nodded. We’ll move in now. We’ll detain them on suspicion.’
‘Suspicion of what?’ Grinning, Grace threw his cigarette into the river.
‘Conspiracy to commit a crime. Or anything else that takes your fancy. We can sort it out at the station.’ He turned to the two Wapping detectives. ‘The three of us will go in — it’s our case. You stay out in the alley, by the door. If any of them makes a break for it, nab him. Have you got a whistle?’ he asked Hornsby.
The detective nodded.
‘If things look like they’re getting out of hand, give a blast and those bobbies will come running.’
He paused for a moment, looking at the circle of faces around him.
‘I don’t want to be an alarmist, but watch yourselves, specially with this pal of Meeks’s. We don’t know how dangerous he might be. Stay on your toes.’
While he was speaking a piano had struck up inside the pub and it was soon joined by a number of voices. The song was ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’ and Joe Grace could only shake his head in disbelief.
‘A bunch of villains having a sing-song? What next …?’
His words were lost in the sudden wail of a siren. Coming from close by, the long keening note rose swiftly in pitch and volume until the air around them throbbed with its urgent clamour. The singing inside the pub stopped; the piano, too, fell silent. As one they looked downriver. It was Billy who spotted it first.
‘There —!’ He pointed.
‘Crikey!’ The whispered word came from Grace’s lips.
Suspended above the city, a thumb of bright orange flame glowed in the night sky. It appeared to hover motionless, but after a few moments they saw it was coming nearer, the stationary effect due to the lack of any solid background against which to gauge its movement. As they stood there, transfixed by the sight, the siren was cut off — the sudden loss of volume hinted at an electrical flaw — and in the silence that followed they heard the familiar stuttering drone of the flying bomb’s engine.
‘Coming our way, do you reckon?’ It was Hornsby who put the question.
We’ll soon know,’ Grace muttered.
The lottery was understood by all. Even the chestnut vendor stood riveted, his eyes fixed on the approaching craft. It was a question of when the doodlebug’s motor cut out: that would determine where it would fall.
The flame of its engine had grown brighter and it seemed to Billy it would pass over them, but then, all at once, as though a switch had been pushed, the fiery glow in the sky went out. There was a pause. The motor coughed … once … twice … and went silent.
‘Down!’ he yelled. ‘Get down.’
Dropping to his hands and knees, he was about to throw himself flat on the stone pavement when he saw that the vendor was still staring at the sky, open-mouthed. Reaching up, he grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him to the ground where his four colleagues were already spread out on their stomachs, faces pressed to the stone.
The hush was unearthly now. To Billy it seemed that the whole world was holding its breath.
But the next sound he heard was not the explosion he was expecting. It was a single gunshot, muffled, but unmistakable: then two more in rapid succession.
‘Christ Almighty!’
Joe Grace reared up from the ground, Lofty with him.
‘Get down!’ Billy yelled again, and at that moment he felt the ground beneath him shudder as the air was rent by an ear-splitting explosion followed at once by a blast of hot air that swept across the open pavement where they were lying. In its wake came a shower of stones and broken brick enveloped in a cloud of smoke and dust that swirled about them, filling the air and blinding them. Covering his head and neck with his arms, Billy waited till the rain of debris had ended, then looked up. To his right, in the middle of the warehouse, angry red flames burned in the midst of a black cloud that was ascending through the open roof. In front of him, the pub doors had been flung open. Although the smoke was still thick, Billy could make out the figures of two men who had come staggering out, one of them holding a bloody handkerchief to his head. Beside him, on the ground, Hornsby groaned.
‘Jack …?’ Billy lifted his head to peer at him. There was a gash on Hornsby’s neck that was bleeding freely. Hold still,’ he said.
Cook’s face appeared like a ghost’s in the billowing smoke.
‘Did you hear those shots?’ he gasped.
‘Yes … three.’
‘No, the others … three more.’
‘What-?’
Billy looked up. He’d bent over Hornsby to examine the wound in his neck, which didn’t seem too bad. A nasty gash was all.
