‘What camp are you talking about?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

‘Have you got a suspect?’

‘We have two at the moment, love, and a third on the horizon.’

‘This case is getting more and more complicated.’

‘That’s its attraction,’ he said, breezily. ‘It would be far more convenient if we were operating entirely within London but we have to go where the evidence takes us. Is there any news at your end?’

‘I knitted another pair of socks today.’

‘Well done!’

‘Oh — and Alice called in to see me at the centre. That inspector of hers has sent her out on patrol, looking for prostitutes.’

He chortled. ‘She’ll find plenty of those roaming the streets.’

‘It’s nothing to laugh at, Harvey.’

‘I’m glad, for her sake. Alice will be out in the fresh air and she’ll get some experience of the seamy side of life. It will toughen her up.’

‘I don’t want her toughened up. I want her to stay as she is.’

‘We all have to grow and develop, Ellen. Anyway,’ he said, ‘I must be on my way. Joe sends his love and has made a decision about where he and Alice will spend their honeymoon.’

‘Oh, that’s good. Where will they go?’

‘Anywhere but Wales — that’s official.’

He rung off and the line went dead.

Royston Liddle had never felt his weakness so keenly. Convinced that Alan Suggs was responsible for the outrage, Liddle wanted to avenge the deaths of his rabbits but he had neither the strength nor the cunning to do so. All that he could do was to follow the killer whenever he could and watch his every move from the shadows. That way, he could at least direct his hatred at Suggs. The explosion at the pub had been a major event and Liddle had been unable to take in the enormity of it all. The murder of his pets was another matter. It was more personal and direct. In his limited codex, five dead canaries couldn’t compete against two dead rabbits.

Having waited for Suggs to return home from work, he hid nearby and kept the house under surveillance. When a light came on in the bedroom, he decided that his quarry had gone upstairs to change out of his working clothes. There was another wait in a doorway while — as he assumed — the driver made himself a meal. Liddle was patient. The longer he stayed out of sight, the darker it was getting. When he finally came out, Suggs was wearing a suit and had changed his flat cap for a trilby. Walking with a swagger, he made his way to the nearest pub and went in for a drink. Liddle could see him through the window, quaffing a pint and chatting to some of the other patrons. At one point, Suggs came over to the window and Liddle had to duck sharply to avoid being seen. It was a false alarm. In fact, Suggs hadn’t spotted that he was under scrutiny. Having removed his hat, he used the window as a mirror in which to check his appearance.

Half an hour later, he came out of the pub and looked in both directions to make sure that he was not observed. He then moved off furtively down a side street until he reached the house on the corner. After a second check that nobody else was about, he knocked on the front door. It was opened almost immediately and he was whisked inside. Royston Liddle gave a silent cackle. Perhaps there was a way to get his revenge, after all.

Silhouetted against the night sky, Frongoch camp looked all the more forbidding. Its high perimeter fence was topped with barbed wire. Guard dogs could be heard barking. The building that had once housed the whisky distillery was now largely given over to staff accommodation. Internees and other prisoners were locked away in crude huts fitted with wooden bunks. It was late when the detectives arrived and they had to show their credentials to the armed guards at the gates before they were let in. The interminable drive along winding roads had been an ordeal for the chauffeur. Left alone in the car, he fell instantly asleep.

Once inside the fence, Keedy’s curiosity got the better of his discontent. He looked around with interest, noting the number of armed guards on patrol. Marmion was grateful to be liberated from the car. It had explored every pothole on its way there and he was aching all over. When the visitors were conducted to the governor’s office, they rallied at the sight of the bottle of whisky on his desk.

Major Hugh Gostelow was a genial host. He beamed at his guests.

‘Welcome to Frongoch, gentlemen,’ he said, cheerily. ‘May I offer you something to keep out the cold?’

‘Yes, please,’ replied Marmion.

Keedy was more wary. ‘It isn’t Welsh whisky, is it?’

‘No,’ said Gostelow. ‘It’s the best Scotch — single malt, of course.’

He poured the drinks and handed them to the newcomers, reserving a generous portion for his own glass. After introductions had been made, they all sat down. Tall, angular and still in his forties, the governor had an air of gentlemanly authority. His uniform was impeccable and he was noticeably well groomed.

‘What’s this all about, Inspector?’ he began. ‘When I spoke to your superintendent, he only told me what he felt was necessary to get my cooperation.’

Marmion gave him a fuller version of the investigation. When he heard details of the explosion, Gostelow winced. He asked some pertinent questions and thanked the inspector for being so articulate and concise. Then he reached for a folder on his desk and handed it to Marmion.

‘That’s your man,’ he said as the detectives read the file together. ‘As you can see, Quinn has packed rather a lot into the twenty years he’s been on this planet. The police want him for a string of offences in Dublin and he’s suspected of being involved in many Republican activities on this side of the Irish Sea. Pity, isn’t it?’ he added. ‘He’s a good-looking young fellow.’

Marmion and Keedy looked at the photograph of Niall Quinn. He had close-cropped dark hair and a faint resemblance to his cousin, Maureen. The scowl on his face couldn’t hide the fact that he was arrestingly handsome. He looked older than twenty and his gaze was challenging.

‘How did he escape?’ asked Keedy.

‘It was during the night,’ said Gostelow. ‘He’d bribed one of the Germans to take his place at roll-call so that we thought he was still with us. It was hours before we found the tunnel. Quinn was a human mole. He’d been working on that tunnel for months, by the look of it.’

‘Did nobody else go with him, Major?’

‘No — it was a solo run.’

‘Was a search mounted?’

‘Of course it was, Sergeant. We scoured the whole county for him but there are lots of places to hide in Merionethshire. My feeling is that he went to ground somewhere. We know he’d been hoarding food so he wasn’t short of rations.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘The rogue even helped himself to a bottle of my Scotch.’

‘He sounds like an enterprising chap,’ said Marmion.

‘He was, Inspector. When he put his mind to it, he could be quite engaging. It was only a means of camouflage, however. He tried to convince us that he wasn’t really so eager to plant bombs in the name of Sinn Fein but we weren’t fooled.’

‘Do you have many Irish prisoners here?’

‘They’ve increased in number recently and I fancy that we’ll have many more. I don’t know how conversant you are with events across the water,’ said Gostelow, ‘but Sinn Fein and the so-called Irish Citizens Army have both stepped up their activities. It’s only a matter of time before something really serious happens. My fear is that it will spill over into this country.’

‘Do you have room for more prisoners?’ asked Keedy.

‘Not if they come in substantial numbers. If that’s the case, our German guests will have to be moved to Knockaloe Camp on the Isle of Man. That’s a shame because most of them are perfectly harmless individuals with the misfortune to have German parentage. The Irish are different. They hate us simply because we’re British. If they had the chance to blow Frongoch up, they’d take it.’