London had been for a long time the home of the persecuted and exiled. Whitechapel was largely the refuge of European Jews. They brought a bustling energy and life to the area, but there were still pockets where the English residents staved in filth and dirt, ground down by lives of poverty. Gerald Street was a narrow cavern flanked on both sides by dingy tenements.

‘The smell is awful,’ said Harry. ‘Why don’t they wash?’

‘In what?’ asked Becket. ‘They haven’t any baths and the public baths cost money.’

Becket stayed to guard the car while Harry mounted the stairs of number 5. Names were scrawled in plaster at the side of the doors. Halfway up the stairs, he made out the name ‘Carver’.

He knocked on the door. Nearby a baby wailed, a caged linnet sang, and a man shouted something unintelligible. Harry knocked again. No reply.

He turned away. Then he turned back and tried the door handle. The door was not locked. He moved cautiously inside, calling, ‘Mr Carver?’

A blanket was hanging over the window, leaving the room in darkness.

Harry edged towards the window and pulled the blanket down. He turned round and surveyed the room. It had very little furniture. There was an armchair in front of the fireplace. Harry realized with a shock that he could see the top of a man’s head.

Must have fallen asleep, he thought. He walked round the front of the armchair and stared down in horror. Carver – and surely it must be Carver – had had his throat slit. His clothes were matted with blood.

Harry went quickly to the window which overlooked the street and threw it up. He called down to Becket, ‘Get the police here as fast as you can.’

Harry was wearing gloves and so he decided to do a search of the room. There was little to search. He found a box of photographs – Carver with other prison guards on some sort of outing – and a birth certificate.

The bed was in a recess. Harry slid his hands under the mattress and pulled out a wad of five-pound notes.

The police arrived first, followed later by Kerridge himself. ‘I would like to get out of here,’ said Harry. ‘Can I make my statement at the Yard? I’ve already told the police I found a wad of fivers under the mattress.’

‘Did you find a weapon? Looks like it’s been done by a razor.’

‘No, but he may have thrown it away outside – down a drain in the street.’

‘We’ll get to it.’

‘I’ll go downstairs and wait in the motor.’ Harry ran down the stairs and gulped down fresh air outside before climbing into the car beside Becket.

He told Becket what had happened. ‘I hope my Daisy is behaving herself,’ said Becket, looking worried. ‘We thought it was all over and finished, but it’s beginning to look as if the murderer is still out there.’

‘He may have bribed the guard. That would explain the money under the mattress.’