‘People said the same thing about Cyril Ablatt, yet he was murdered.’
‘I know. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘There is one possible motive.’
‘You’re talking about him being a conscientious objector, aren’t you?’
‘Yes — that makes him an object of disgust to some people.’
‘You could never be disgusted by Cyril. He was a splendid young fellow.’
‘What about your curate?’ asked Marmion.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Did he agree with the stand that Cyril was taking?’
‘He did and he didn’t,’ said the old man. ‘He agreed that everyone had the right to take a stand on an issue of moral principle and he admired him for doing so. At the same time, however, James couldn’t support him. He felt that the needs of a national emergency should come first. On the subject of war, the Bible is rather ambiguous. They had long theological arguments, quoting bits of the Old and New Testaments at each other.’
‘Who won the argument?’
‘The issue was unresolved. Cyril tried to persuade James to go to a meeting of something called the No-Conscription Fellowship. My curate showed me the leaflet he’d been given.’
‘Did he attend the meeting?’
‘No, Inspector. He felt that he’d be there under false pretences.’
Marmion was interested to hear how the leaflet had come into the curate’s possession and would take pleasure in passing on the information to Chatfield. It would puncture the superintendent’s theory about the second attack being an exact copy of the first. Howells and Ablatt were not interchangeable victims. They were on opposite sides of the argument. The vicar provided a link between the two men.
‘You mentioned that you visited Mr Ablatt,’ recalled Marmion.
‘That’s right,’ said Ellway with a sigh. ‘As you can imagine, I’ve had rather too much experience of visiting a house of mourning but it’s usually because someone has died a natural death. There have also been families here whose sons have been killed during the war, of course, and there have been rather too many of them. What I’ve never had to do before is to offer consolation to the father of a murder victim.’
‘How did Mr Ablatt seem?’
‘He seemed totally baffled. He just couldn’t understand what was going on. His sister, however, was beyond my reach. She was so consumed by anguish that I don’t think she heard a word of what I said. There was another member of the family there,’ he went on, ‘a Mrs Skene, a cousin of Gerald Ablatt. She struck me as one of those practical women who subdue their own grief in order to help those unable to do so. Yes, Mrs Skene was very capable.’
Marmion did not disclose her ulterior motive in visiting the house. He didn’t wish to betray a confidence or to shatter the fond image of Cyril Ablatt that the vicar had. Unlike his young parishioner, Simon Ellway would never have been able to reconcile religious conviction and an intimate relationship with a married woman. After thanking him for his help, Marmion took his leave and headed for the exit. Before he reached it, he saw Keedy coming down the corridor towards him.
‘Good morning, Joe.’
‘Good morning. The superintendent told me I’d find you here.’
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘The killer went after a second victim.’
Marmion took a deep breath. ‘That’s not quite what happened …’
Against all advice, Gerald Ablatt opened his shop that morning. He felt that he’d been writhing in pain for long enough and he sought the anaesthetic of work. It gave him a sense of purpose and showed him that not everyone in Shoreditch disapproved of the fact that someone hadn’t volunteered for military service. Customers were uniformly sympathetic. They made the cobbler feel both proud of his son and comforted in his loss. As a result of his decision to resume work, his sister was forced to stay at home. Promising to come back early, Dalley went off to work. He met the postman on the way and stopped for a chat. When the blacksmith reached the forge, his assistant was dealing with a customer whose horse he’d just shoed. After the bill had been paid, Percy Fry came over to his boss.
‘I didn’t expect you so soon, Jack.’
‘There was a change of plan today. I’ve had to leave Nancy at home. Her brother went off to open his shop so she couldn’t go to the house.’
‘Gone back to work, you say? Is that wise?’
‘It’s my brother-in-law’s way of getting through this ordeal.’
‘Is anyone sitting with Nancy?’
‘No,’ said Dalley, ‘she’s on her own and, to be honest, I’m rather worried about her. Do you think you could ask Elaine to pop over there at some point?’
‘Yes, of course — she’s been waiting for the call.’
‘Thanks, Perce.’
Customers arrived and they were both kept busy for a while, filling the place with the clang of steel and the roar of the fire. It was not until an hour later that the blacksmith had time to pass on a rumour he’d picked up.
‘As I was leaving the house,’ he said, ‘I bumped into the postman. He’d heard something about a second attack in Shoreditch.’
Fry was amazed. ‘You mean there was another murder?’
‘No, it stopped short of that. The killer was interrupted and ran off before he could finish the job. This all took place only two streets away from our house. I daren’t tell Nancy about it or she’d be afraid to leave the house.’
‘It would scare anybody, Jack. There was nothing like this when we lived in Shoreditch. The place felt safe. Elaine was saying that over breakfast. People used to settle their differences with their fists. They didn’t need to kill each other.’
‘There was no war on when you lived there, Perce.’
‘So?’
‘It’s changed people for the worst — especially the lads who’ve fought in it.’
‘Well, yes, I’d agree with you there.’
‘I reckon that the man who killed Cyril was either a soldier or the father of one who died at the front. He couldn’t bear the sight of someone refusing to fight for his country when others have given their lives.’
‘We’ve said it before,’ noted Fry. ‘Nobody likes conchies.’
‘Cyril was the exception. I liked him.’
‘So did I — up to a point. What about this second one?’
‘What do you mean, Perce?’
‘Was he a conchie as well?’
‘The postman didn’t know any details,’ said Dalley, ‘but I think it’s very likely. In fact, I’ve got a horrible feeling that he’s connected to my nephew in some way. I’d put money on it.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘When she eventually hears about it, Nancy will be in a terrible state. She’s going to start wondering who’ll be next.’
One advantage of delivering bread was that Gordon Leach picked up all the local gossip. He was alarmed to hear of the second attack and deviated from his normal round in order to call on Fred Hambridge. The carpenter and his boss were both at their benches in the workshop. They were horrified by the news of an attempted murder and even more shocked when they realised who the victim actually was. Hambridge knew the name.
‘James Howells was a curate at Cyril’s church, wasn’t he?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Leach. ‘He was going to marry me and Ruby.’
‘Maybe you’ve got a jealous rival, Gordon,’ suggested Redfern, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘He tried to bump off the priest to stop you getting hitched.’
‘That’s not funny, Charlie,’ said Hambridge.
‘It was only a joke.’
‘Well, we’re not laughing.’
‘We’ve got nothing to laugh about,’ said Leach, anxiously. ‘Two people I knew and liked have been attacked in a matter of days. One of them was murdered and the other is in hospital. I’m terrified.’
‘You’re not in any danger,’ said Redfern.
‘How do you know?’
‘You’d have more sense than to walk down a dark lane at night.’
‘The killer could strike anywhere and at any time.’
‘The police will get him,’ said Hambridge, confidently.
‘They haven’t got him so far, Fred.’