Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

‘So I put another question to him and that shook him for some reason.’ During a long pause, Keedy saw the prisoner’s apprehension intensify. ‘I asked him if he could think of any other way that blood could have got there. Why should he be so reluctant to tell me? Has he got something to hide?’

‘That’s his business.’

‘No, Horrie, it’s yours as well. You and Stan Crowther are linked in some way and it’s not only through his mother. I think you’ve burnt your boats with regard to both of them now.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Waldron, aggrieved.

‘Well, Mrs Crowther doesn’t want you and your best suit within a mile of her and,’ said Keedy, bluffing, ‘her son is not going to give you a welcome at the Weavers Arms. The likelihood is that Stan will ban you altogether. You really upset both mother and son.’

‘Stan’s got no reason to get on his high horse!’

‘He thinks he has.’

‘I’ll smooth things over with him.’

‘I wouldn’t advise you to try,’ said Keedy. ‘When I left the pub, there were flames coming out of his nostrils. You’re not wanted there, Horrie.’

‘But I done the bugger a favour!’

‘If you mean you had those secret rendezvous with his mother, I wouldn’t call those a favour — and neither would he.’

‘I’m not talking about that.’

‘Then what are you talking about?’

Waldron turned away and put both palms against the wall as he leant against it. Profoundly shaken by what Keedy had told him, he needed time to think. Maud Crowther and her son had summarily cut him out of their lives. That created a huge gap. He’d never find another woman who took such an interest in him and there were few pubs in Shoreditch that would want a customer with his reputation. Waldron had been cut adrift. The only way he could think of to appease his mounting fury was to inflict pain elsewhere. He swung round to confront Keedy.

‘I want to make a statement,’ he said.

Ruby Cosgrove was astonished when he called at her house that evening. Fred Hambridge had never been there before and it had taken an effort of will to visit her. Of Gordon’s friends, he was the one she liked most. Cyril Ablatt had been too prone to make speeches, while Mansel Price resorted to suggestive remarks that made her uneasy. She took Hambridge into the front room and apologised that there was no fire in there. Shy in the presence of women, it was minutes before he was able to explain the reason for his visit.

‘It’s about Gordon,’ he said.

She was annoyed. ‘Did he send you?’

‘No, Ruby. He doesn’t know I’m here. Please don’t tell him I came.’

‘I was rather hoping he’d turn up himself.’

‘I think he’s afraid to,’ said Hambridge, fishing a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘Would you read that, please?’

She took it from him. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s an article that Cyril wrote for the parish magazine. He gave me a copy. It wasn’t printed in the magazine. Father Howells said that it was unsuitable.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know but it upset Cyril.’

As she read the article, Ruby could hear Ablatt’s voice declaiming the words. His style was so distinctive. At the same time, his argument in favour of pacifism was cogent and sincere. She recognised phrases that Gordon had quoted to her from time to time. Now she knew from whom they came. She passed the article back to him and he slipped it into his pocket.

‘Why did you bring that, Fred?’

‘I wanted you to understand what Gordon believes in.’

‘He’s told me dozens of times.’

‘That article isn’t only what Cyril thought. It covers all four of us. He let us read it before he sent it off.’ He rubbed his hands nervously. ‘All I’m trying to say is that you put Gordon in an awkward position.’

‘I want to marry him,’ she said. ‘What’s so awkward about that?’

‘You’re trying to make him join a non-combatant corps.’

‘Well, yes, I think it’s a good idea.’

‘It’s a very bad idea for Gordon,’ he argued. ‘If he does that, he’ll feel rotten. He’s dying to marry you, Ruby. He talks of nothing else when I’m alone with him. But he doesn’t want to betray his ideals — the sort of thing you read about in that article. Gordon is a good Christian. He hates the very idea of war.’

‘So do I.’

‘Then let him do what he’d planned to do all along.’

Her suspicion was aroused. ‘He did send you here, didn’t he?’

‘No, no, I swear it.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Fred.’

‘I came because I thought it might help. Gordon is suffering.’

‘How does he think I feel?’

‘He doesn’t know what to do.’

‘Then you can pass on this message,’ she said, angrily. ‘He can start by speaking for himself instead of sending you to speak for him. This is between me and Gordon. You shouldn’t be butting in, so I want you to leave now and not come back. If he hasn’t got the courage to talk this over, then he doesn’t deserve me.’ Close to tears, she opened the door to show him out. ‘You can tell him that as well.’

Hambridge was chastened. He left the house wishing that he’d never gone there in the first place. His intervention had only made matters worse.

The problem was that Alice Marmion might have been mistaken. The offer that Hannah Billington had made was ambiguous. It could well have been an example of the older woman’s kindness and had no other implications. As she thought it over in the safety of her digs, Alice began to feel guilty. Her abrupt departure must have seemed very rude to her hostess. Not that Hannah had complained. On the drive back, she was unfailingly polite to Alice and made no mention of her earlier invitation. To show that she hadn’t taken umbrage, she said that Alice was welcome to come back for tea on a future occasion.

‘You can bring Vera next time,’ she said. ‘The girl needs some kind of treat.’

Something had happened in the bedroom but Alice still didn’t know what it was. She might have had nothing to worry about. Had she stayed, she could have slept in a borrowed nightgown in one of the other bedrooms. She would have been driven to the depot next morning by Hannah and been very grateful. At the back of her mind, however, was the outside possibility that there’d have been an alternative sequence of events. While the other woman was married, she was happy in her husband’s absence and had stressed the importance of having plenty of elbow room for herself. She was clearly fond of Alice and had complimented her on her appearance a number of times since they first met. Hannah had also got her to admit that there was no man in her life. Such deliberate probing could have had a purpose.

The frustrating thing was that Alice would never know the truth. It would only have emerged if she’d had the courage to stay. Though she planned to tell Vera all about the house, she’d make no mention of the strained moment in the main bedroom. Vera was too innocent about the ways of the world. Yet Alice did feel in need of the support and protection of a close friendship. Alone in Hannah’s house, she’d been isolated and defenceless. Alice never wanted to be in that position again.

Sitting at the table, she began to write a letter to Joe Keedy.

Superintendent Chatfield was disappointed. They had a confession out of the prisoner but it wasn’t the one for which he’d hoped. Harvey Marmion was much more tolerant. A crime was involved but he was nevertheless amused.

‘It’s all to do with rabbits,’ explained Keedy.

‘Rabbits?’ echoed Chatfield, wrinkling his nose.

‘That’s how he got the blood on his trousers, sir. On the night in question, Waldron broke into the garden of a house and opened every hutch there. That’s why he had the spade with him, you see. He used it to kill them and some of the blood inevitably spattered his trousers. After putting the rabbits in a sack, he hid his spade near the Weavers Arms and went round to the back door.’