Jenks was touched by the unexpected sign of compassion. He viewed the munitions factory as an enemy, a huge, relentless machine that enslaved thousands of women and sent them home with ruined complexions. It had cut short his daughter’s burgeoning career as a musician, eating into her practice time and coarsening her hands so much that she could no longer conjure the same mellifluous notes out of piano and violin. Enid had denied that filling shells had had a deleterious effect on her playing but her father knew what he heard. Her talent had been compromised. After reading the letter again, he decided that the factory owed his daughter something and that the invitation should be accepted.

Putting on a coat and hat, he went off to discuss the matter.

Things had changed at the Golden Goose. Now that detectives had finished searching through the rubble for bomb fragments, the lumps of stone and charred timbers were being loaded onto the back of a lorry. The pub might be losing its outhouse but it had gained some scaffolding. It now surrounded the building, holding it in like a metal corset. Men were already on the roof, mending the chimney and replacing the dislodged slates. Houses nearby had also improved in appearance. Windows had been installed and the shards of glass on the pavement swept up. There had even been some repairs to damaged brickwork and to front doors from which large splinters of wood had been gouged out. The area was getting back to normal.

What could not be removed so easily were the ugly memories of the blast. People were still complaining angrily about it and comparing the damage it had done to their properties. There was sympathy for the victims but it was relegated to a secondary position. Leighton Hubbard could not leave his pub alone. Drawn back to the Golden Goose that morning, he stared up dolefully at it, trying to work out if it was doomed to distinction or a phoenix about to rise from the ashes. One thing was certain. He and his wife would never feel safe inside it again.

The police car drew up and Harvey Marmion stepped out. After an exchange of greetings with Hubbard, he looked at the work going on.

‘The mess will soon be cleared away, sir,’ he said.

‘But what am I left with?’ asked Hubbard. ‘I’ll have a pub with a jinx on it. Customers are already starting to say they won’t come back. Others have deserted me for my rivals. I’ve been put out of business for good.’

‘I doubt that, Mr Hubbard. I’ve talked to a lot of people around here and they speak well of you and your pub. Rely on their loyalty. They’ll be back.’

‘The big question is this, Inspector — will I be back?’

‘Is there any reason why you shouldn’t be?’

‘Yes,’ said the landlord. ‘That bomb has given my missus the shakes. She won’t even hear about moving back in yet. She’s lost her nerve completely.’

‘I’m sure it will return in time,’ said Marmion, facing him. ‘Did you do what I asked you to do?’

‘Yes,’ said Hubbard, thrusting a hand into his pocket, ‘but I can’t see that it will be of any use.’ He handed over two crumpled pieces of paper. ‘Those are all the names that I could remember. Frankly, I was amazed how many there were. Some just pop in now and then, of course, so they may not count. Regulars like Ezra Greenwell were in the Goose almost every night.’

Marmion ran his eye down the list on the first page, then studied the second one. He noticed that Royston Liddle had a mention and so did Alan Suggs. It was as well that the landlord didn’t know what the two of them had got up to at the pub.

‘Did you see much of Alan Suggs in here?’ asked Marmion.

‘He wasn’t one of my regulars,’ said Hubbard. ‘Alan’s more interested in chasing women than playing darts in my bar. When he did come in, he had that smile on his face as if he’d been having fun somewhere else. He even tried to flirt with my missus once.’ His expression hardened. ‘I wasn’t having that and neither was she. After we’d both had a go at him, we didn’t see him in here for months.’

‘What are these ticks against certain names?’

‘Those are men who’ve been coming here for years, real dependables.’

‘What about the crosses? Do they indicate men employed at the munitions factory?’

‘Yes — it’s what you asked for, Inspector.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Marmion, pocketing the two pieces of paper. ‘It could turn out to have been a profitable piece of homework. One of the patrons on your list might have been the bomber.’

Hubbard was incensed. ‘I deny that,’ he said, hotly. ‘I know everyone who comes into the Goose. Not one of them would dare to do such a thing to me.’

‘But they didn’t do it to you — they did it to five young women.’

‘It amounts to the same thing. It was on my premises.’

‘Which would have been worse?’ asked Marmion, looking him in the eye. ‘A bomb planted in the outhouse or one hidden in your cellar?’

‘One in the cellar, of course — we’d all have been killed then.’

‘Please bear that in mind, sir. Instead of moaning about being a victim, you should be grateful that you’re a survivor.’

But the landlord could only see the explosion in terms of what it had cost him. He drifted away to talk to one of the workmen. His place was taken by Royston Liddle, grinning and nodding simultaneously.

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Liddle. Perhaps you can help me.’ Marmion took out the lists given him by Leighton Hubbard. ‘Have a look at those, please.’ The grin vanished and Liddle took a step backwards. ‘Ah, I see. You can’t read. In that case, I’ll go through the names of people in whom I’m interested. Tell me what you know about them.’

‘I can read a bit,’ said Liddle, ‘but I’m very slow.’

‘Let’s start off with Les Harker.’

‘Oh, he comes in here a lot. He works at the factory.’

‘All the people that I want to hear about work there.’

There were over a dozen names on the list. Marmion went through them one by one. Liddle knew them all by sight and was able to supply a lot of detail about some of them. The last name required no comment from him.

‘You’ve already told me enough about Alan Suggs,’ said Marmion.

‘He said that you talked to him.’

‘Oh, I did. We had a long and fruitful conversation. Mr Suggs has a very complicated private life, but I daresay you know that.’

‘Alan came after me.’

‘Did he threaten you in any way?’

‘He did more than that, Inspector,’ said Liddle, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. ‘He pushed me so hard against a fence that I’ve got bruises. I saw them in the mirror. He chased me down the alleyway. If I hadn’t run so fast, he’d have really hurt me.’

‘I warned him against reprisals.’

‘What are they?’

‘Never mind,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ll speak to him again.’

‘Tell him that I didn’t mean to get him into trouble. I’m his friend.’

‘He might take some convincing on that score.’ Folding the pieces of paper again, he slipped them into his pocket. ‘But thank you for your help with those names. You’ve saved me bothering with most of them.’ The praise made the other man beam. ‘Keep your eyes open. If any of the people we talked about show up here at night just to gloat, let me know.’

‘I’ve always wanted to be a policeman,’ said Liddle, excitedly.

‘Don’t wish too hard,’ cautioned Marmion. ‘The hours are terrible, the work is never-ending and a lot of people think it’s their mission in life to tell you dreadful lies. You’re better off doing odd jobs, Mr Liddle. It’s a lot safer in every way.’

When he was shown into the room, Keedy was astonished to see how barely furnished it was. Apart from the desk and the chair behind it, there were only two upright chairs and a bookcase. The floor was uncarpeted and the only wall decoration was the large crucifix above the fireplace. Father Cleary was amused by his reaction.