‘How many more of you are there?’ asked Niall.

‘There’s only the driver — I swear it.’

‘Then keep moving.’

‘Let me see to the sergeant first.’

Niall put the barrel of the gun against Marmion’s forehead. It left its imprint on the inspector and persuaded him to do as he was told. With Keedy still motionless on the ground, the two of them walked along the track, Quinn at the rear, until they came to an exit that led to the place where the car was parked. Marmion was less worried about his own dilemma than about the injury suffered by Keedy. The gun had hit him with vicious force. He didn’t relish the thought of describing to his daughter what had happened. There was still some way to go and Marmion didn’t hurry. With his ankle causing him searing pain, Niall was content with the slow pace.

Keedy was still groggy as he hauled himself to his feet. It had been a glancing blow and his hat had taken some of the sting out of it but it had been enough to stun him and to draw blood. After rubbing his head gently, he made sure that he’d regained his balance before setting off. Dim figures were moving ahead in the middle distance. He could see that Marmion was taking an unnecessarily long route to the car. It gave him his opportunity. Keedy lurched after them, then struck off to the right, taking a short cut that would save him minutes. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred but he forced himself on. Marmion was at the mercy of a desperate man with no compunction about killing a police officer. He had to be rescued.

Niall Quinn stayed close behind his captive. When they reached the shade of a warehouse, he ordered Marmion to halt and put his arms out wide.

‘I don’t have a weapon,’ said Marmion.

‘I know that or you’d have drawn it on me when you had the chance. I’m not looking for a gun,’ said Niall, reaching inside the other’s coat. ‘I’m after this.’

With a deft flick of the wrist, he extracted Marmion’s wallet and slipped it into his own pocket. Then he nudged his prisoner forward with the point of his gun.

‘That’s very kind of you, Inspector. You not only lend me your car, you give me some money as well.’

‘You’re welcome to the money, Niall, but I would like the photographs inside it, please. They’re very important to me.’

‘You’re in no position to ask favours, Inspector, and I won’t grant you any.’

‘The photos are no use to you.’

‘Yes, they are — I’ll have fun burning them.’

Marmion struggled to prevent himself from turning round to confront him. Niall was heartless. Provoking him in any way could be a fatal mistake. As they reached the back of the warehouse, the car came into view. There was enough light for Niall to see that the only person in it was the man behind the driving wheel.

‘Thank you for your help, Inspector. This is where we part company.’

Before he could reply, Marmion felt the gun crash down on the back of his head. It sent him into oblivion. Stepping over him, Niall went towards the car.

Keedy, however, had got there before him and was bent down on the other side of it. Having warned the driver what to expect, he’d armed himself with the starting handle. Niall limped across to the car and pointed the gun at the driver, jamming it against the glass. It was as far as he got. Keedy suddenly came round the car and flung his weapon at the hand holding the gun. It was knocked from Niall’s grasp and fell to the ground. The driver then swung his door open, hitting the Irishman with enough force to make him fall backwards. Keedy rushed forward to kick the gun out of reach then dropped onto Niall, punching away at face and body. Flailing away with both fists, Niall fought back with a real ferocity, spitting into his attacker’s face and trying to bite him. But he was no match for two trained police officers. When the driver came to Keedy’s assistance, they soon overpowered the Irishman, turning him over and snapping handcuffs onto his wrists. He writhed madly on the ground and turned the air blue with expletives.

‘Save it for the trial,’ said Keedy, lifting him by the scruff of the neck and pushing him against the car. ‘You can swear all you like then.’

Picking up the gun, he thrust it under his belt then hurried across to Marmion, who was starting to move slightly. He brought an unsteady hand to his head.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘We caught him,’ said Keedy, gasping for breath.

Though they both needed hospital treatment, the detectives insisted on driving back to Scotland Yard first to hand over the prisoner. Claude Chatfield was still there. Unsure whether to praise them for their success or upbraid them for straying away from the murder investigation, he took pity on them and said that a full report could wait until the next day. The priority was to have their wounds examined. Knowing that she’d still be up worrying about him, Marmion rang his wife to assure her that he wasn’t seriously injured but that a driver was on his way to pick her up. In the event, Ellen got to the hospital before they did. When her husband appeared, she rushed over to him and saw the gash on his head.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine, love,’ he replied, hugging her. ‘You can order a coffin for Joe but I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow.’

Realising that she’d ignored Keedy, she turned to embrace him as well. His head wound would also require stitches. Marmion sent him off to be seen to first, then sat down with Ellen.

‘I’m so glad that Alice didn’t see Joe like that,’ she said, anxiously. ‘It would really have upset her.’

‘She’s a policewoman. Alice knows that we have a spot of bother from time to time.’

‘It’s more than a spot of bother, Harvey. That man could have beaten your brains out.’

‘I’ve got a thick skull and so has Joe. Besides, we both had hats on.’

‘They didn’t stop you from being knocked out.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ he said, one hand to his head. ‘The pain only eases when I can forget about it. Just be thankful I’m safe and sound. It’s all over now.’

Ellen was distraught. ‘He had a gun — you could have been killed.’

‘But I wasn’t, love. What does that tell you?’

‘It tells me that you take too many chances.’

‘We couldn’t let him get away.’

‘Has the superintendent given you time off to recover?’

Marmion laughed. ‘Claude Chatfield wouldn’t give us time off if we’d been run over by a train. He’ll expect us back to work tomorrow on the dot.’

‘That’s cruel.’

‘It’s the way the Metropolitan Police works, Ellen, and you know it.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘A word of congratulation wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘I just feel terribly sorry for the pair of you.’

‘We’ve caught a dangerous criminal,’ he told her. ‘He was sent to this country to cause havoc by setting off bombs. Joe and I will get a big round of applause in the press for this — and there’ll be cheering in Frongoch as well.’

‘Is that the place you went to in Wales?’

‘Yes, love. The governor is going to be very pleased with us.’

‘Then I should congratulate you as well,’ she said. ‘Well done, Harvey.’

‘The real hero is Joe. He actually arrested Niall Quinn.’ Marmion winked at her. ‘Would you like to know why?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘When he held a gun on me, Quinn took my wallet. Joe saw him do it. I bet that’s what incensed him. Joe must have known there was a lovely photo of Alice inside it,’ said Marmion. ‘Nobody was going to get away with that.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Unconfirmed reports of sightings of Herbert Wylie had come in regularly. Claude Chatfield had collated them and dismissed those that were clearly of no use to him. Some were deliberately misleading, sent in by people who patently derived a thrill from causing mischief. He was still sifting through the latest batch when Harvey Marmion appeared in the open doorway. Chatfield glanced at him. For a man sometimes on the verge of looking scruffy, the inspector was noticeably smart for once. He saw the question in the superintendent’s eyes.