‘So do I, Inspector.’

Thelma leant in closer to her. ‘What has your father said about the case?’

‘He hasn’t discussed it with me.’

‘Inspector Marmion must have said something.’

‘When he comes through the door at home, he leaves his work outside. My mother appreciates that. Besides,’ Alice went on, ‘I don’t live there any more. I have a flat of my own.’

‘But you’re also engaged to Sergeant Keedy. What has he told you?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Come now — you must have wheedled something out of him.’

‘It’s not my place to do so, Inspector.’

Alice’s face was expressionless under the searching stare of the other woman. To admit that she had taken an interest in the case would have been foolish. It would have unleashed a torrent of denunciation from the inspector, accusing her of trying to get involved in something that was totally outside her remit as a police officer. Behind the censure would be a deep envy. Thelma Gale would be suffused with jealousy at the notion that a junior member of her force was engaged, even tangentially, in such an important investigation. Alice got an even harder tap on the shoulder.

‘Get about your business,’ said Thelma, ‘and be sharp about it.’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ replied Alice. ‘Do excuse me. Please.’

Stepping past the older woman, she strode along the corridor and turned a corner, gasping with relief. The first thing she saw was one of her colleagues coming in through the main door and letting in a blast of cold air as she did so.

‘It’s so windy today,’ said the woman, straightening her hair.

‘Yes,’ agreed Alice. ‘Gale force.’

Marmion had no difficulty in finding Royston Liddle. He lived with his widowed mother only two streets away from the Golden Goose. When his visitor called, Liddle was feeding two rabbits who were scrabbling about in their hutch. He opened the side door of the yard and called up the entry that ran between the houses.

‘Who is it? I’m down here!’

Marmion peered down the entry. ‘Mr Liddle?’

‘That’s me,’ said the other, grinning broadly.

He was a short man with a compact frame. Though still young, he was totally bald. He had large protruding eyes with the gleam of innocence in them. Beneath his snub nose was a pencil-thin moustache that looked like a supplementary eyebrow. On a chill morning, Liddle wore nothing more than a collarless shirt, a pair of crumpled trousers and some dog-eared slippers.

‘I was just feeding Mild and Bitter,’ he said. ‘They’re my rabbits. When people go to the pub, they ask for mild or bitter. I like both, see? So that’s what I named them.’ He gave himself a congratulatory giggle. ‘Clever, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Mr Liddle.’

Marmion introduced himself and explained why he was there. The grin never left Liddle’s face. He invited his visitor into the house and took him to the living room, a small, cluttered space with hideous green wallpaper and an abiding smell of boiled cabbage. Royston Liddle had to move a pile of clothing off the settee so that Marmion could sit down. Perched on an upright chair, he nodded away.

‘Mummy isn’t here at the moment,’ he explained. ‘She works in the shop.’

‘Actually, it’s about your job that I came, Mr Liddle.’

‘Everyone calls me Royston.’

‘So I gather.’

‘Which job do you mean, Inspector? I’ve got five altogether.’

He chuckled as if it was some sort of record. It transpired that he worked part-time at two pubs other than the Golden Goose. He also helped to deliver milk every morning and did two afternoons at a furniture warehouse. Liddle was anxious to display his full range of abilities.

‘Mummy cleans the big house on Wednesdays,’ he said, ‘and I sometimes help her, though of course, I don’t get paid for that.’

Marmion could see that the landlord had got the man’s measure. Royston Liddle was a willing simpleton. His glaring lack of intelligence was balanced by a burning desire to please, in whatever mundane station in life. Jobs that others might view as beneath them constituted a legitimate career in his view. When Marmion talked about the explosion at the Golden Goose, Liddle expressed shock and outrage but his grin nevertheless remained intact.

‘Where were you at the time?’ asked Marmion.

‘I was down the cellar of the Black Dog,’ said Liddle. ‘I was moving a barrel when the explosion went off. I heard it clearly even though I was five streets away.’

‘Mr Hubbard said that you did some work earlier for him.’

‘That’s right. I had to sweep the floor of the outhouse and put up that table. There was a birthday party there.’

‘And you did that when the pub was closed, I understand.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Did you lock up after you?’

‘Oh, yes, I have to or Mr Hubbard gets angry.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual when you went to the outhouse?’

Liddle was baffled. ‘Unusual?’ he echoed.

‘Was there anything out of place?’

‘No, Inspector, there was just the usual pile of crates. I moved them out of the way so that the girls had some room. Oh, and I used the brush to get rid of the spiders in the roof beams. I know that some people are scared of them.’ He thrust out his chest. ‘I’m not. I like spiders.’

‘Tell me about the key to the outhouse.’

‘It hangs on a hook in the corridor.’

‘I know that. Has it ever gone missing recently?’

Liddle became furtive. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well,’ said Marmion, ‘from what I hear, it would have been easy for any of the customers to take that key and let themselves into the outhouse. Is that true?’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Mr Hubbard confirmed it.’

‘Then it could happen.’

Marmion watched him carefully. The grin had now become sheepish and Liddle’s body had hunched protectively. Patently, he was hiding something.

‘You do realise that this is a murder investigation,’ said Marmion, putting some steel into his voice. ‘You are aware that withholding evidence is an offence, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong, Inspector,’ bleated Liddle.

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘I just looked the other way.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Royston Liddle wrestled with his conscience and ran a hand across his pate. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be in trouble and his mother was not there to speak up for him, as she habitually did. He was alone and hopelessly unequal to the situation. He started to bite his nails and his grin was almost manic.

‘I think you’re holding something back, Royston,’ said Marmion. ‘You can either tell me what it is right here or we’ll go to the police station and have a formal interview. Is that what you’d prefer?’

Liddle emitted a squeak of terror. Having lived a blameless life, he’d never had the slightest trouble with the police. He was a fixture in the area. Constables on patrol treated him with amusement. The idea that he might be arrested by a detective from Scotland Yard sent a shudder through him. He got apologetically to his feet.

‘It only happened a few times, Inspector,’ he confessed. ‘And it wasn’t really my fault. I mean, he’s a friend of mine. I just did him a favour.’

‘Who are we talking about?’

‘He gave me two shillings once but that’s all.’

‘What did you have to do to earn it?’

‘I had to pretend I didn’t notice,’ said Liddle, ‘and say nothing to Leighton.’ He put his hands together in prayer. ‘You won’t tell him, will you, Inspector? If you do, I could lose my job there.’

‘It all depends on what you actually did for this friend of yours.’

Liddle breathed in deeply and gnashed his teeth. ‘I didn’t report it when that key disappeared on the hook. They wanted to use the outhouse.’

‘Who are they?’ pressed Marmion.

‘I don’t know her name but she lives in Hyde Road somewhere. On Tuesday, they were only in there for half an hour. I know that because I checked that the key was back on the hook. No harm was done. It wasn’t a crime or anything like that.’