Outside the Pomegranate Music Hall, or the ‘Old Pom’ as we always called it – a bustling, lop-sided dear of a place that occupied the corner of Newark Street and Stepney Way – posters was plastered all over the slimy brickwork. One such stood out above all –

‘CUPID’S FROLIC!’ – ‘A musical mixture.

With beautiful scenery and charming effects.’

“MISS FLORRIE BOOTH – the jolly jack tar.”

“With a little bit o’ scrimshaw in me hand”.

‘ALL-BRITANNIA APTITUDE CONTEST – at the Pomegranate Halls.

Every night at 8 under the stewardship of Mr Gideon Mortlock!’

By the merest chance, the Mistress and me happened to be walking past the Old Pom that night, strolling back towards the Underground, arm in arm, after we’d been to a meeting of the Fabians. We was full of excited chatter about the new world what we was going to help build, of the fairer and more just society that Britain would become – and of what a looker that Annie Besant was, who had been speaking with such passion at the town hall meeting. That was when we heard the cry that all people dread – unless you’re us. For this particular cry is often the call to adventure!

‘Murder! Oh Gawd, MURDER!!’

Madam turned to me and I could see her eyes gleam even through her heavy black veil. ‘Murder?’ she said.

I smiled, a little guiltily. ‘No doubt … ’orrible. Let’s have a gander. Could be a juicy one.’

Madam sighed theatrically and put a hand to her breast. ‘Ah me, there speaks the modern world.’ Then she hitched up her skirts and pulled me forward. ‘Come on then!’

The cry of ‘Murder!’ rang out again and we followed it to a small alleyway round the back of the Hall. A very young copper, with one of them smooth blushing faces that boys only ever have at that age, was standing in the shadows, his bulls-eye lamp held in one, gloved hand. A small crowd had gathered round him, including a toothless crone, who turned her wrinkled face away from whatever lurked there in the dark. And what the lamp light revealed was a corpse. A corpse without a head!

The copper looked at what his lamp revealed – turned and was nosily sick on the cobbles.

Madam and me was by his side in a moment. ‘My dear fellow,’ said Madam. ‘You do look peaky. Allow us to be of service.’ She turned to me. ‘Look after the officer, would you, my dear?’

‘Very kind of you, miss, I’m sure,’ said the lad ‘… but I’m quite recovered now.’

Nevertheless, I dutifully took him to one side, all caring and solicitous-like – so that Madam could have a good shufty at the body.

’I suppose his head must be around here somewhere,’ I heard Madam mutter, then she bent down and seemed to take something from the corpse’s loud, checked suit.

‘’Ere!’ said the copper. ‘You shouldn’t be interfering with—’