Timing was everything. If he made his move too early, the detective might find himself isolated and he was no match for four armed men and their leader. If he left his intervention too late, a nightwatchman could be knocked unconscious. Keedy had to hope that Marmion and the others were at hand to come to his aid but he saw no sign of them. He began to fear that they’d been shaken off by the lorry as it twisted and turned through the docks.
The leader gave the order and Gill set off, ambling along and puffing at a cigarette. When he saw the light in the gatehouse, he paused to wave to the man inside. After a few moments, the nightwatchman pushed the window ajar so that he could hear Gill. They got into conversation. The barber was relaxed and unthreatening. He was so plausible that the nightwatchman was eventually tempted to open the door. Gill reached in his pocket for the cigarettes. It was the moment that Keedy had been waiting for and he sprang into life.
‘It’s a trick!’ he yelled, running towards the gatehouse. ‘Get back inside and lock the door.’
The man was baffled at first. When he saw Gill pull out the cosh, however, he didn’t hesitate. Leaping back into the safety of the gatehouse, he locked the door and pressed the bell to alert his colleagues in the warehouse. Keedy, meanwhile, had tackled Gill with such power that he bowled him over and forced him to drop his weapon. Thompson was enraged at the betrayal. He charged after Keedy with his cosh held high but he got nowhere near him. Two detectives suddenly came out of the shadows to overpower him, relieve him of his weapon and, in spite of his frantic struggles, put handcuffs on him. Thompson was soon lying face down on the pavement with Gill beside him, also securely handcuffed.
The remaining two detectives used surprise to advantage, coming out of nowhere to take on other members of the gang. The older man was easily arrested and deprived of his weapon but the younger one was much stronger and put up a fight. Keedy had to lend a hand to subdue him. The leader had been quick to gauge the situation. When he heard Keedy shout his warning and saw five men emerge from hiding to attack them, he realised that it was futile to resist. They’d soon have to contend with four nightwatchmen as well. The odds were impossible. The leader therefore discarded the cans of petrol and took to his heels.
Harvey Marmion was after him at once. Having seen the group approaching in the gloom, he’d picked out the leader from the way that he was conveying his orders with gestures. When the man fled, Marmion ran in pursuit, their footsteps echoing along the empty streets. The leader was obviously heading for the lorry. Marmion had to reach him before he could start the vehicle. Pushing himself to the limit, he tried to ignore the burning sensation in his lungs and the jabbing pain in his legs. He was determined to get his man.
The leader heard the footsteps getting closer. When he reached the lorry, he swung round and saw Marmion haring towards him. There was no time to escape in the lorry. Instead he grabbed the starting handle and held it up menacingly. It made the detective slow to a walking pace.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Marmion of Scotland Yard,’ he said, panting, ‘and I’ve come to place you under arrest. The new member who joined the True British League the other night was my colleague, Sergeant Keedy.’
‘Stand back,’ warned the man, waving the starting handle.
‘Put that down, sir – there’s no way out.’
‘At least I can spill a little blood before I’m caught.’
As Marmion came to a halt, two of his men sprinted around the corner to help him. They slowed down when they saw what was happening. On a command from Marmion, the detectives fanned out so that they formed a semicircle around the leader. With his back to the lorry and three detectives in front of him, the man seemed to give up. The hand with the weapon dropped to his side and he sagged in defeat. Marmion wasn’t fooled. As he stepped forward to arrest him, he knew that the man would resist. When the inspector got close, the leader suddenly lashed at him with the starting handle. Anticipating the move, Marmion ducked beneath the weapon, diving into his midriff and slamming him hard against the front of the lorry. The other detectives moved in quickly to overpower the man and hold him while Marmion snapped on the handcuffs. He took a close look at the leader of the organisation. The dungarees and flat cap suggested a workman but his face belonged to a different class altogether.
‘Are you the leader of the True British League?’ asked Marmion.
The man was defiant. ‘I’m proud to hold that title.’
‘Your loathsome organisation has just been dissolved.’
‘Not before we had our triumphs.’
‘Was one of them in Jermyn Street, by any chance?’
‘Yes, Inspector – we burnt some Jews out of business.’
‘Who put you up to it?’
‘Somebody who hates them for what they’ve done to this country and who believes in our mission to drive out the scum.’
‘It was the same man who sponsored tonight’s attack,’ said Keedy, joining them with one hand on the shoulder of a forlorn Gill. ‘According to Ernie here, they were paid by someone to set fire to the synagogue and to destroy Mr Stone’s car.’
Marmion rounded on the leader. ‘Who was your paymaster?’
‘I don’t know, Inspector,’ replied the man.
‘He’s as guilty as you are. Do you want to take the rap while he goes free? That seems very unfair on you. Who is he?’
‘God knows.’
‘He must have a name.’
‘He never told me what it was.’ Marmion looked sceptical. ‘That’s the truth, I swear it. He just handed over money and gave us orders. We enjoyed working for him because he thought like us.’
‘Tell us something about him,’ urged Keedy.
‘Yes,’ added Marmion. ‘How old was he? What did he look like? How did he dress? Describe his voice. Was he a Londoner?’
‘Oh no,’ said the man. ‘He came from somewhere up North.’
The telephone call transformed him. When he came back into the room, Herbert Stone was actually beaming. Ruth and her mother were astonished by the dramatic change in his demeanour.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Miriam.
‘One of my warehouses was going to be burnt down,’ he said, ‘but the police foiled the attack. They’ve caught the men responsible. Inspector Marmion has finally got something right.’
‘That is good news, Herman.’
‘I want all the details. You’ll have to excuse me while I drive over there. Goodnight, Ruth.’
‘Goodnight, Uncle Herman.’
Miriam went out to see her brother-in-law off and left Ruth alone. Something had been puzzling her ever since she’d got back from her visit to the West End. She’d spent hours racking her brain for an answer that would simply not materialise. As she tried to solve the mystery once again, she thought of the figure she’d seen in profile at the end of the alley. Though there was something familiar about his outline, she still couldn’t place him. It wasn’t a close acquaintance but someone she’d met only briefly. Ruth went through a list of names in her head but none of them fitted the man in the alley.
Her mother came back into the room, smiling for the first time since the murder of her husband. Miriam was buoyed up by the news that arrests had finally been made.
‘It’s taken such a load off my mind,’ she said with relief.
Ruth was too preoccupied to hear her. As she concentrated hard on the problem that had been vexing her, a light gradually illumined the figure in the dark alley.
‘I know who it was now, Mummy,’ she cried in delight. ‘The man who watched me last night was Mr Burridge!’
Cyril Burridge and his son had dined in style at the Café Royal. As it had been a special celebration, no expense had been spared. Because of the nature of the celebration, Burridge’s wife had been excluded. She was quite unaware of what her husband and son had done. They, however, were savouring their success.
‘We’re making the bastard sweat,’ said Burridge, gleefully. ‘I’ll enjoy reading
newspaper reports of the destruction of his warehouse.’
‘Aye,’ agreed his son, ‘so will I.’
Arnold Burridge was a younger version of his father with the same build, facial features and mannerisms. They wore suits that they’d actually made for each other and seemed quite at ease in the plush ambience of the restaurant.
‘Best meal I’ve had in ages,’ said Burridge, ‘though I still prefer a sandwich in Green Park.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Less fattening.’
‘What do we do next, Dad?’
‘Nothing at all, son.’
‘But you talked about going for his house.’
‘That can wait, Arnold. He’ll be on the alert now. Let a few weeks pass before we strike again. Stone will start to think he’s safe. That’s the time to hit him.’
‘I still think we should get rid of him altogether,’ said Arnold.
‘Oh, no – that would be letting him off the hook. I’m going to keep the swine alive so that we can make him suffer.’
He called for the bill, paid it and left a generous tip. Then the two of them got up and headed for the door. As they came down the steps into Regent Street, they saw a car draw up at the kerb. Burridge took no notice of it until Marmion and Keedy got out and intercepted them on the pavement. Marmion raised his hat.
‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, glancing at the Café Royal. ‘This is a step up from a park bench, isn’t it?’ He turned to Arnold. ‘This is your son, I gather. When we called at the house, we were told that you’d be here.’ Burridge was silent. ‘Well, since your father won’t introduce us, Arnold, we’ll have to do it ourselves. I’m Inspector Marmion and this,’ he went on, indicating his companion, ‘is Sergeant Keedy.’
‘We’d like you to accompany us to Scotland Yard,’ said Keedy.
‘Why?’ demanded Burridge.
‘There are lots of reasons, sir. We could start off by discussing a fire at Mr Stone’s warehouse that never took place because we were able to arrest the people you paid to start it.’
Arnold was startled but Burridge remained cool.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Sergeant,’ he said.
‘Then let’s try something else,’ suggested Marmion. ‘We can talk about the murder of Jacob Stein by someone who remained concealed on the premises until the mob arrived.’ His eyes flicked to Arnold. ‘We’ve every reason to believe that you were the killer.’
Burridge turned white and Arnold immediately looked for an escape. Pushing Marmion away with both hands, he darted off along the pavement, dodging people as he did so. Keedy was quickly in pursuit. Arnold was young and relatively fit but he’d just eaten a large meal and drunk a lot of champagne. He soon felt the effects of his indulgence. Keedy was gaining on him with every stride. In desperation, the tailor dashed across the road and almost collided with a van. Keedy went after him. By the time Arnold turned into Piccadilly, the sergeant was close enough to hurl himself forward onto the tailor’s back, causing him to stagger then fall forwards to the ground. His forehead hit the pavement with a thud and he was completely dazed. Before he knew what was happening, Arnold was handcuffed and lifted to his feet. Keedy marched him back to the car in which an ashen Burridge was already sitting. A night of celebration had turned into a day of reckoning.
Eating out was a rare treat for Ellen Marmion. The restaurant could not compete with the Café Royal but the meal was delicious and, more importantly, she didn’t have to cook it. The wine was exceptional. Also at the table were her husband, her daughter and Joe Keedy. It was the evening after the investigation had finally been concluded and all the loose ends had at last been tied up.
‘The commissioner was thrilled with our success,’ said Marmion, ‘and couldn’t stop congratulating us.’
‘Who actually committed the murder?’ asked Alice.
‘It was Arnold Burridge, whose father used to work at the shop. It turns out that Arnold was due to join him there but was turned down at the last moment. That really rankled with Cyril Burridge. It was the latest in a long line of broken promises.’
‘Yes,’ said Keedy, taking over. ‘Burridge was without question the finest tailor there and Mr Stein knew it. He offered to take him into partnership and bring Arnold into the firm as well. Neither of those things happened.’
‘Why not?’ asked Ellen.
‘They believed it was because Jacob Stein had betrayed them. Wanting their revenge, they tailored what they thought was a perfect murder. Aware of the riots caused by the Lusitania tragedy, Burridge hired some extremists called the True British League to loot and burn down the premises. His son, meanwhile, was hidden in the attic, waiting for his chance to come down and stab Mr Stein to death.
‘If he’d used a gun,’ explained Marmion, ‘the shot would have been heard, so he chose a knife instead. He’d got into the premises at night with duplicate keys made from David Cohen’s set. Cyril Burridge had “borrowed” them when the manager wasn’t looking.’
‘They planned ahead very carefully,’ said Keedy. ‘Arnold waited until Ruth Stein had run out of the office before he went into it and murdered her father. And he had a piece of extraordinary luck.’
‘The safe was open,’ continued Marmion, ‘so he helped himself to the contents. He not only got away with a lot of money, he also took documents that proved Mr Stein was no longer the sole proprietor of the firm. He’d been bought out by his brother, who made all decisions affecting the business from the shadows.’
‘I see,’ said Alice. ‘It was Mr Stone who prevented Mr Burridge from becoming a partner. He refused to promote him because he wasn’t a Jew. ’
‘He also refused to give him a large pay rise that had been promised as a reward for long service.’
‘What a dreadful man!’
‘The Burridges didn’t realise how dreadful he was until they read through the documents in the safe. Stone was the real villain, not his brother. From that point on,’ said Marmion, ‘they turned their attention to Herbert Stone. With the money from the safe, they were able to employ the True British League again. Its members would stop at nothing, as Joe can tell you.’
‘I joined them myself for a few days,’ recalled Keedy, ‘and I can’t say I liked it. They were vile people, led by a disgraced lawyer, Simon Higlett, who’d fallen foul of his Jewish colleagues and blamed them for all the things he did wrong. He and his cronies got their pleasure from attacking Jewish families indiscriminately. Some of the leaflets they put out were disgusting. They made me feel sick. Thank God we’ve stopped them in their tracks.’
‘What will happen to them, Joe?’ wondered Alice.
‘Four of them will serve long prison sentences for arson,’ he replied, ‘and Ernie Gill will go back to Liverpool to stand trial for murder.’
‘Cyril and Arnold Burridge will be hanged,’ said Marmion.
‘When did you suspect them, Daddy?’
‘There were two things, Alice. I caught Burridge looking at the burnt-out building with an air of satisfaction when he had no reason to be there. The second thing was his smugness. I met him in Green Park today and he had the complacency of a man so certain he can’t be linked to the crimes that he can afford to be rude to the detective in charge of the investigation. I felt taunted,’ said Marmion, ‘and that confirmed my suspicions.’
‘Think of the wife,’ said Ellen with a rush of sympathy. ‘I can’t believe that Mrs Burridge was involved, yet she has to watch her husband and her son being sent to the gallows. How could any woman cope with two horrible blows like that?’
‘You could do it,’ teased Marmion. ‘After all, it’s no worse than having a daughter who joins the Women’s Emergency Corps and leaves home. Those were two horrible blows for you.’
‘Harvey!’ exclaimed Ellen, slapping him playfully.
The dessert course arrived and they started to eat it. Marmion enjoyed his pudding but, after the excitement of the investigation, he felt rather flat. Keedy had shared his sense of disapp
ointment but his spirits were soon revived when his foot accidentally nudged Alice’s toe under the table. Instead of moving her foot back, she kept it where it was, nestling against his shoe. The meal was suddenly operating at two levels. Four of them were joining in a pleasant celebration and two of them had started a silent dialogue of their own below the table.
Marmion raised his glass. ‘I think we should toast Alice,’ he said. ‘She’s made two momentous decisions in the past week and we should wish her well in her new life.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Ellen, snatching up her glass and making it clear that she had no recriminations about what her daughter had decided. ‘To Alice and her future!’
‘To Alice and her future,’ echoed the men in tandem.
‘Thank you,’ said Alice, laughing happily.
‘We’ll support you in whatever you do,’ said Marmion.
‘Yes,’ said Ellen, warmly, ‘and I’m sorry if I was too maternal. I promise that I won’t try to interfere again. I’ve learnt my lesson, Alice. I can’t live your life for you.’
Keedy wondered what Ellen would think if she could see below the table. Alice had just kicked off her shoe and was stroking his ankle with her foot. He was content. He’d not only joined in the toast to Alice’s future, he was determined to be a major part of it.
By Edward Marston
A Bespoke Murder Page 27
