‘You’re joking,’ said his opponent. ‘It was a lousy shot and it’s left the table at my mercy. So, if you’re about to go charging off, I want my money right now.’
‘But we haven’t finished the game.’
‘You’re forty points behind and you just committed suicide. Pay up, Joe.’
Keedy conceded defeat with a grimace. He reached for his coat and slipped it back on before taking his wallet out of the inside pocket. After handing over the money, he apologised for having to break off in the middle of the game. Grabbing his hat off the peg, he put it on at a rakish angle and went quickly out to the waiting car. As he climbed in beside the chunky figure of Marmion, he was in a frosty mood.
‘You just cost me ten bob, Harv,’ he complained as the car set off.
‘What are you on about?’
‘Thanks to you, I had to abandon a snooker game that I could’ve won.’
‘Sorry, Joe, but police work comes first. By rights, I ought to be at home with my slippers on. Instead of that, we’re on our way to Hayes.’
‘Bit outside our territory, isn’t it?’
‘The commissioner wants us to investigate.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘It could be, Joe. For a start, we have five murder victims.’
‘Crikey!’
‘We’re going to a pub called the Golden Goose.’
He gave the sergeant the outline details of the case and aroused both his interest and sympathy. Five deaths and a number of associated injuries added up to a serious crime. Then there was the extensive damage to property. Keedy dismissed the snooker game from his mind. What he was hearing about was a major incident. His frown deepened.
‘Who’d want to blow up a pub?’ he wondered. ‘Was it a temperance fanatic?’
‘No, Joe. It was the outhouse that was destroyed in the blast and not the pub itself. The place went up in flames.’
‘Did Chat have any theories?’
‘The superintendent thinks it might possibly be the work of a German agent, in which case we let Special Branch take over.’
‘What’s your feeling, Harv?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ said Marmion, ‘though, if I was in the pay of the enemy, I’d try to blow up the munitions factory in Hayes, not part of a pub. I reckon that this might have nothing whatsoever to do with the war.’
‘In other words, we’re in for a long night.’
‘It’s on the cards, Joe.’
‘What a pity!’ said the other. ‘I promised to see Alice later on. She’s going to be very disappointed.’
‘Then she shouldn’t have got engaged to a policeman,’ said Marmion with a tinge of bitterness. ‘My daughter should have known better.’
When the bomb had exploded, pandemonium had ensued. Everyone within earshot felt that it was an air raid. Windows in the neighbouring houses had been blown out and people felt tremors worthy of an earthquake. Crowds had soon poured into the street. While the outhouse had taken the worst of the blast, the pub itself had not escaped unscathed. One wall had been badly damaged and half the roof had been ripped off, leaving the chimney standing at a perilous angle. Inside the bar, everything had been shaken up hard. Bottles had fallen off shelves, glasses had smashed on the floor and drink was spilt everywhere. Customers had been injured by falling bricks and plaster, and by horseshoes dislodged from overhead beams. Ezra Greenwell had been in the act of supping his beer when he felt what seemed like a giant hand slapping his back. It caused him to bite involuntarily through his glass and cut his mouth open. The noise of the roaring fire nearby made them all evacuate the premises as fast as they could.
By the time the fire brigade arrived, the two uniformed policemen first on the scene were trying in vain to hold back the crowd and still the tumult. When word spread that some canaries had been holding a party in the outhouse, there were shrieks of horror and vows of revenge. Speculation as to the cause of the blast was loud and contradictory. Everyone from foreign agents to landlords of rival pubs were blamed. It was only when police reinforcements arrived that the fire engine was able to get through to the Golden Goose. Intense heat kept onlookers from getting too close but curiosity made them surge forward in waves. For the first half an hour, the chaos was almost uncontrollable.
The journey from central London was much faster than the permitted speed limit but Marmion ignored that fact. It was imperative to get to Hayes as swiftly as possible, even if it meant upsetting other drivers and frightening pedestrians. When their car finally found its way to the correct address, scores of people were still clogging up the street. The fire was more or less under control and an ambulance was just leaving the site. Jumping out of the car, the detectives identified the senior officer and found themselves speaking to the burly Sergeant Edwin Todd, a man whose broad shoulders seemed to be about to burst out of his uniform. Sweat was dribbling down his face and his eyes were blazing. When the newcomers had introduced themselves, Todd waved a brawny arm at the crowd.
‘If only this bloody lot would get out of our way,’ he said with vehemence. ‘They seem to think it’s a sideshow laid on for their benefit.’
‘Tell me about the fatalities,’ said Marmion.
‘They were five canaries from the munitions factory, sir. According to the landlord, they were celebrating someone’s birthday. He put them in the outhouse because some of his customers don’t take too kindly to women with yellow faces.’
‘Five dead, you say — do we know any names?’
Todd referred to his notebook. ‘The only one the landlord could remember was Florence Duncan,’ he replied. ‘It was her birthday and she handled all the arrangements with the landlord. He’s Leighton Hubbard, by the way.’
‘What sort of state is he in?’
‘Still filling his pants, I expect.’
‘Have all the bodies been taken away?’ asked Keedy.
‘Yes, sir — and the other woman’s been taken to hospital as well.’
‘What other woman? I thought there were only five.’
‘Six of them went into that outhouse, Sergeant. What you might call a real flock of canaries.’ He gave an incongruous chuckle. ‘But Leighton told me that one of them came flying out minutes before the bomb went off. Apparently, she was found lying on the pavement. They took her off to hospital, suffering from shock.’
‘Do we know her name?’ asked Marmion.
‘No, we don’t, but she’s a very lucky woman.’
‘We need to speak to her. Joe,’ he went on, turning to Keedy, ‘take the car and get across to the hospital. See if she’s still there. If she’s not, go on to the factory and make enquiries there. Someone must have an idea who these six women were. Ask about friends of Florence Duncan.’ He looked at Todd. ‘Miss or Mrs?’
The policeman sniffed. ‘A bit of both, according to the landlord,’ he recalled. ‘She was Mrs Duncan till her hubby was killed at the battle of Loos. Hubbard described her as a real live wire who preferred to be called “Florrie”. She sounds like something of a merry widow, though she had little enough to get merry about.’
‘That’s enough to go on,’ said Marmion. ‘Off you go, Joe.’
Keedy nodded. ‘What about you, Inspector?’
‘I’ll have a chat with the landlord. Meet me back here.’
‘Right you are.’
When Keedy went off in the car, Marmion looked at the smoking ruin that had once been the outhouse. It was no more than a pile of stones and charred timbers now.
‘Nobody could have survived that blast,’ he said.
‘No,’ agreed Todd. ‘And the Golden Goose will need some repairs before it can reopen. A real pity — they served a good pint in there.’
Leighton and Yvonne Hubbard lived above the pub but neither of them felt that it was safe to stay there until the building had been properly inspected. Accordingly, they moved around the corner to the house of some friends. Hubbard had gradually adjusted to the crisis but his wife — a nervous woman by nature — was close to hysterics. At the suggestion of their hosts, she’d retired to bed. When Marmion got to the house, the front door was opened by Dennis Cryall, a swarthy man of medium height and middle years. Marmion identified himself and explained that Todd had directed him to the house. Cryall was amazed.