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Alasdair spun on his heels to see a handsome young man behind them, one whom he was certain he’d seen somewhere before but couldn’t place. There was, however, a more important and more urgent call on his attention than working out where that could have been. The small matter of the man’s hand in his coat pocket and the outline of what seemed to be a handgun he was holding there. A brief partial exposure of the weapon confirmed Alasdair’s worst fears but snapped his wits into action: this was the man from the tube, whom Alasdair thought had tailed him on part of the journey to St Bride’s Tavern .

“Mr Archer. Or is it Mr Salt?” Toby surely couldn’t be as calm as he sounded. “I’m certain your picture was in the newspaper reports of Charles Carstone’s inquest but I don’t recall which of the pair you are.”

“Well remembered. James Salt, at your service.” He had the nerve to tip his hat, using his free hand. “I’m here to ask the pair of you to make your way to Manor House tube station. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t get any ideas, because I’ll use this.” He slipped the weapon partly from his pocket again, before hiding it. “Nice and quiet around here on a Sunday so I’ll easily get away if I have to shoot. Come along. Chop chop.”

As they set off, Alasdair had a strange feeling of consolation, in that Salt’s actions were proving that the cases they’d been investigating were unlikely to be wild goose chases. He tried to catch Toby’s eye, but Salt growled, “None of that, you two Brylcreem boys. No sending secret messages to coordinate an attack. That’s your only and final warning about funny business.”

“Have you followed us all the way here?” Alasdair asked.

“Not bloody likely. A certain young lady tipped me the wink about where you’d be because I can’t watch both houses and get any kip.”

“A young lady called Alexandra?”

“That’s her. She’s very convincing, isn’t she? Carstone fell for her nonsense, as did young Nicholas.”

Vera and her mother appeared to have got it spot on with their judgement on the woman.

“Oh, for goodness shake,” Toby groaned. “You’re her baby’s father, aren’t you?”

“Yep. I wanted her to get rid of it but she insisted on keeping it so we had to find someone to keep her honest. Luckily she’d already given Nicholas cause to think it was his. I can tell you all this now because you won’t have the chance to repeat it.”

“What exactly have you got planned for us?” Toby asked.

“A touch of what Carstone got. It’s worked once so we’ll try it again, only this time I’ve another person helping this time as Robert Archer’s in an important meeting. Oh, how tragic it will be.” Salt ladled on the melodrama. “More Landseer actors throwing themselves under a train.”

“Won’t that look suspicious?” Alasdair said, all the while trying to slow their progress without Salt realising.

“Not necessarily. The public will wonder what the studio can be doing to its assets to make them so unhappy or they’ll speculate that there was a nasty secret about to emerge. Assignations with starlets in the dressing rooms and the like.” Salt sniggered, although the more he got caught up in his own cleverness, the better.

“The newspapers would have a field day,” Alasdair said, again strangely relieved that Salt hadn’t suggested any secret was connected to their relationship. If the worst happened, he wouldn’t want the families Bowe and Hamilton to be dealing with public revelations about their sons’ lives or obituaries carrying loaded phrases such as “he never married”.

“They will.” Salt emphasised the certainty of the word will, as opposed to would. “The whole business would make an interesting case for an amateur sleuth to investigate, but alas, you won’t be there to do it. Just as well, considering what a pain you’ve been in this instance. Why couldn’t you have left things alone?”

“Because that’s not in our nature,” Toby said. If he’d been this apparently nonchalant and valiant in the face of the airborne enemy, no wonder he’d proved such a feared opponent. “Once we’re on the trail, we follow it to the bitter end.”

“Well, you’re right about this end being bitter.” Salt gave a nasty chuckle. “What you’ve discovered will go to the grave with you, under that train.”

Toby snorted. “You must take us for idiots if you think we haven’t told other people what we’ve uncovered.”

“Your pal from the house of Stewart and his po-face friend? They’re next on my list. Shame you won’t be able to get word out to warn them that they’re marked men.”

“Not only them,” Alasdair said, sensing an opportunity to wrong-foot their assailant. “The police know and so do those involved in security for the coronation. We’ve told them about Carstone’s murder, too. If they don’t manage to hang you for one, they’ll hang you for the other.”

While he couldn’t see their assailant, Alasdair picked up the tension in Salt’s voice when he replied. “They’ll have to catch me first and find anyone with the guts to stand up and testify. A man’s still innocent until proven guilty in this once great country of ours, no matter how much people are trying to drive it to the dogs.”

“I’m sure your mother’s very proud of you,” Toby said. “Assuming she knows what you get up to.”

“Leave my mother out of this.” The tension in Salt was unmistakable now. Maybe if Toby riled him some more, he’d lose enough concentration that they could turn and overpower him.

Before they could make any such move, Alasdair caught sight of another young man on the other side of the road. A second one with a familiar face—this time the chap who’d waved to Toby on Eagle Street. Was this the person Salt had referred to as his partner? Two against one might have been reasonable odds, even if the one were armed, but two against two felt insurmountable.

The Monday morning newspaper headlines flashed onto the Pathe newsreel of Alasdair’s mind.

Tragedy at Manor House station .

He stole a glance at Toby, who appeared to have tensed, perhaps having also noticed the new threat. At least they were facing death together, even if they couldn’t make any last avowal of their affection: they knew what they meant to each other.

“Keep up the pace, you two. No funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Toby said. “We’ll leave that to when we get to the platform, as we’ve already planned.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Mr Salt.”

So would Alasdair, who couldn’t decide if this was simply trying to distract the man or a cunning plan Toby had just hatched and was trying to subtly convey to him . He hoped if it was the latter then the second man had also been taken into account.

“Maybe I shouldn’t take the risk of waiting until we get to the station,” Salt muttered. “I could shoot you two now and scarper, taking my chances.”

“Afraid not, old bean.” A different voice, this one accompanied by two loud whacks and followed by a groan and a thud.

On turning, Alasdair saw Salt lying at his feet, apparently out for the count, with his right arm at an angle, while the other chap—grinning—cradled a hefty truncheon.

“A well struck blow, there,” Toby said. “Luck or judgement?”

“The latter, I’d hope. Skills learned at Beaulieu ten years ago and never forgotten.” The man kneeled, removed the handgun from Salt’s pocket and then gave him a cursory check over. “He’ll be fine, although he’ll wake with a headache and maybe a broken arm.”

“Are you a policeman?” Alasdair asked, still befuddled at what was going on.

“Technically no, although if anyone else asks, then yes. I’m one of Bruce’s men. Here.” He produced a piece of paper. “This is from Matthew Firestone, confirming it. He said that if I had to intervene, you’d be sceptical, given what this case has been like.”

The note, in Matthew’s unmistakeable handwriting, began by referring to a lunch the three had shared after Christmas.

That should prove who I am, if my scrawl doesn’t. This is Mr Brown, although I doubt that’s his real name. He’s been detailed to keep an eye on you over the last few days. Bruce says he knew you’d be a bloody nuisance and keep digging.

“Oh of course,” Toby said. “I saw you in Eagle Street. Twice over.”

“Yes. I did try to hint that I was friend not foe with my greetings, but I couldn’t say more in case this chap—he nudged Salt with his toe—or his mates were watching. I think they picked you up at the pub, yesterday.”

“Why didn’t Bruce let us know we had a nursemaid?” Alasdair enquired.

“Because he wanted to see what you were up to. Your track record means you’re either efficient or lucky and whichever applies, he wanted to take advantage of it. Some relation of his called Geraldine told him you’d plough your own furrow, no matter what you told him.” The laughter this remark evoked eased the tension.

Aware that people were starting to stop and stare, Alasdair asked, “What do we with him ?”

“That should be in hand. My partner’s been keeping an eye on us and once he saw Salt go down, he’d have gone for his car, where he’ll no doubt have used the radio to ensure we have a doctor waiting at Scotland Yard. He’s very thorough. As am I.” Brown produced a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket. “We’d better get these on Salt as he’s as slippery as an eel.”

The action of applying the cuffs seemed to rouse the man and—like a drunk might—he awoke in fighting mood, clawing at his pocket.

“Don’t bother,” Brown said. “I’ve got your gun and these two are handy with their fists, so it’s pretty hopeless. And here’s Mr Wilson to take you on a trip to see the police doctor.” A car had pulled up beside them, with what must be Wilson at the wheel.

“You bastards.” Salt squirmed on the pavement. “You won’t win. There are plenty of us who still believe in fighting for what’s right.”

“Oh, do shut up. Can you give him the once over, Wilson?” Brown asked the driver as he emerged from the car.

Wilson knelt down to inspect the casualty, while Brown flashed some kind of card at the small crowd which had formed. He told them he was a police officer and insisted that they please move along.

“Touch of concussion and a badly bruised arm, I’d guess,” Wilson said. “He’ll live until we reach Scotland Yard, although I’ll put his arm in a sling and make him comfy.”

“Thank you very much,” Salt replied, tartly.

“It’s more than you deserve. Now shut up or I’ll gag you with that sling when I’ve fetched it.”

While Wilson retrieved his first aid kit to patch up the casualty, Toby said, “I feel rather flattered at your diligence, Mr Brown. Isn’t it an awful waste of official manpower?”

Brown grinned. “Act of genius, I’d say. Irrespective of what happens regarding the murder and the attack, we can remand this chap in custody solely for this incident. You’ll make a statement about it, of course?”

“Absolutely. Do you want us to drop into a police station now? Or talk to this chap?” Alasdair had spotted a real police officer approaching the scene.

“Is everything under control here?” The sergeant asked. “We were told to keep an eye out but we’ve all been down at Manor House underground, dealing with someone who was making a nuisance of himself.”

Hopefully that would be Salt’s partner in crime rather than a drunk or a flasher.

“Nasty.” Brown grinned again. “No, we’re about to cart this chap off to the Yard where they’re expecting him. His two victims here need to make statements about what happened but could that wait until tomorrow, when the shock’s worn off?”

“I don’t see why not. Unless the Yard want to handle it, given it’s a bit delicate?” Clearly the sergeant wouldn’t be upset if the matter got shifted off his patch.

“That sounds a good idea.” Brown turned his attention to Wilson, while the policeman busied himself with dispersing any onlookers.

“Need a hand to get matey in the car?” Toby asked.

“No, but thanks for the offer.” Together, with several comical, “Oops a daisy” type comments, Brown and Wilson bundled Salt into the vehicle.

Before Brown could get in, Alasdair said, “Could you get the word to Matthew that Alexandra Munsey is embroiled in this, including letting Salt know where we were. He’ll want to talk to her. To Lloyd Conway, as well.”

“Noted.” Brown nodded. “I’ll also ask him to arrange for someone to take those statements of yours. Are you in the studio tomorrow? Maybe he could send someone there: imagine the publicity Landseer could drum up. The nation’s favourites held at gunpoint in a plot to foil their current acts of detection.”

“Would they be allowed to use the story in such a way?”

Brown shrugged. “I’m sure Matthew and Bruce could advise you on that but there have been enough people about to spread the tale, so hushing it up would be counterproductive, probably. You have such easily recognisable faces.” He closed the car door, presumably so that Salt couldn’t hear. “One of the other reasons Bruce wanted you kept an eye on was that he didn’t want to risk you being killed or badly injured. The effect on national morale would be terrible and Bruce’s cousin would apparently make his life intolerable.” He saluted, got into the car and then drove away.

Alasdair and Toby stood for a moment dumbstruck. “What do you make of that?”

Toby jerked his thumb in the direction of where the car had gone. “That Brown’s not the silly ass he portrays himself as. I’m glad he’s on our side.”

“Quite. Did you really have a plan to put into action when we got to the station?”

“As our old flight mechanic used to say, did I heck as like. I wanted to get him riled.”

“I thought as much.” Alasdair realised his hands were trembling. “Do you fancy a drink?”

“No. Well yes, although only in my own home. Or yours. Although first, I’d like to find a box and ring through to Matthew. I trust Brown to pass on the message as we gave it to him but we forgot all about Vera Brook. I’d hate her to get tarred with any brush that’s applied to the rest of the employees. Then we’ll get a cab, because I don’t fancy the underground.”

“Will a cab be safe, or should we go and find that sergeant and get a ride in a police car?”

“We’ll be fine.” Toby edged what looked like another handgun from his pocket. “Here’s a little present sneaked in by Mr Brown with a silent ‘Shh!’ while you were reading Matthew’s note. It must be intended to keep us away from harm, maybe in case Salt’s colleague at Manor House is still in the offing. I don’t think the gun’s Salt’s because they slung that in a bag for evidence.”

“Brown’s clearly got it all covered.” For which Alasdair was most grateful.

***

They’d barely started their brandies, sitting feet up on Alasdair’s sofa, when the telephone sounded. Morgan—still shaken from hearing their account of the afternoon—answered, then announced it was Mr Stewart.

Alasdair took the call, to hear a gleeful Jonny booming down the line that Archer had been arrested and there was likely more to follow.

“Word is they’re intending to have all employees of Herbert and Chapman—Vera excepted—rounded up by the end of the day and the offices are going to be raided, too. Probably not in that order. How did your meeting go?”

“You’d better sit down, because it’s been quite an afternoon.” Helped by Toby, who had come to join him, Alasdair described what had happened. He gave it strictly in chronological order, so that Jonny—and by implication Roger—would experience the same twists and turns they had. He finished with, “So we’re now waiting to hear arrangements for making our statements and wondering how long we’ll need to keep the handgun for. Although that at least would give us a reason for having to go around together.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining and all that, I suppose. I don’t envy you the day you’ve had, though.”

“Don’t envy us the next bit, either,” Toby said, as they shared the handpiece. “We’re waiting to see if Alexandra’s arrested. Accessory before the fact and all that.”

“Morgan’s beside himself.” Alasdair added. “How’s he going to be able to face Dennis if she ends up in custody and we were responsible?”

“I’d say she was entirely responsible for her own actions and has to live by them,” Jonny said. “Is the baby Salt’s, do you think?”

Toby nodded. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. What if he was arguing with her outside Fortnum and Mason? No wonder she got confused in her cover story, if it was. I bet she’ll still dob him in, though, when she gets in the interview room with Matthew. Safest thing for her to turn King’s evidence.”

“Any idea, if Salt had a gun, why they should need all Neil’s stuff?” Jonny asked.

“I guess because—if we’ve worked this out correctly—one little gun wouldn’t fit the bill of the scenario they were trying to create. It’s not impossible to tackle a man with one weapon if there are enough people at the Haymarket to overpower him, so people might smell a rat. And. anyway, a few shots into that procession wouldn’t be enough to make big statement. They needed more.” That was the best theory Alasdair had at present.

“I must pass on thanks from Neil, who’s been rather chuffed at taking part in such an adventure. Not as much of an adventure as yours has been, of course. Keep us informed of any further developments, please.”

They ended the call and managed another couple of sips of brandy before the telephone rang again. A tired yet satisfied sounding Matthew had called to thank them for their help and say that much needed evidence was already turning up at the Clanfield House offices. Evidence which would help clarify the plans for the attack and who was supposed to be involved in its execution.

“I got your message about Miss Brook and I’ve merely sent an officer out to get her statement at present, rather than arrest her, as I’m doing with the other employees. Some of them will no doubt turn out to be innocent but I’m not taking any risks until I can eliminate them from consideration. None of this would have been possible, of course, if you hadn’t followed up on those early leads,” he added.

Alasdair exchanged a glance with Toby, then took a deep breath. “Not sure if you’re aware of this yet, but the crucial lead we had at the start—the phone call Alexandra Munsey allegedly overheard—was a story she made up.”

Matthew gave a loud whistle. “Just as well you fell for it, then. On such small quirks of fate big outcomes depend. We’re going to quietly ensure the Haymarket premises are out of bounds for the big day, which will no doubt put the owner’s nose out of joint, but these things have to happen.”

“They do. When do you want our statements about today’s events to add to your evidence, by the way?”

“I’ll send a couple of chaps to the studio tomorrow, as per Brown’s suggestion. Good bloke, that. Useful in a tight corner. Quite a war record, Bruce tells me, although one can’t ask for details.” Matthew chuckled.

“I’d have been pleased to have him as my wingman,” Alasdair said. He ended the call and they returned to their drinks.

“Perhaps you should leave that thing off the hook,” Toby suggested, “or I’ll never get this brandy down me.”

“I’m tempted to, but I worry that someone might need to get in contact.” Alasdair eyed the handgun, which lay on the table. “Do you suppose one of Bruce’s chaps is still watching us?”

Toby rose, went to the window and did a scan of the street. “If they are, they’re well hidden, which is likely, given that we’d not spotted them before. Mind you, if we’ve been having an eye kept on us, those eyes can’t solely belong to Messrs Brown and Wilson, surely. Which means, depending upon how long we’ve been being nurse-maided, that several people will know about who sleeps at whose house.”

“I hope they keep that fact buried among the other secrets they harbour.” Alasdair wouldn’t let himself be overly concerned. They were alive and well, thanks to Bruce’s boys. “It’ll be a while before I stop glancing over my shoulder, though. Whether I’m looking for friend or foe.”

“We’re well used to that.” Toby joined him on the settee. “When we were in the air or now when leaving each other’s house. We’ve been leading charmed lives and long may that continue. Now, what next for us, case wise, apart from taking a secret pleasure in our success?”

“I’d like to tell Moira that Alexandra’s safe and I’ll maybe drop an unsubtle hint that she’s not to be trusted. I won’t go as far as warning against all contact with the scheming hussy.”

“Will you warn Moira that they might see Alexandra in the dock one day? Or at least in the witness box.”

“I think so. She should also be told that the overheard conversation was a lie, although a productive one as it transpired. If for nothing else than the satisfaction she’ll take in passing that titbit on to Jeff.” Alasdair could picture Moira’s restrained glee at the prospect.

“Then I will forgo the pleasure of doing that myself. It’ll make his pep talk easier if he knows already, so I’ll time that for after you’ve given Moira the good news.”

“Pep talk?”

“Yes.” Toby draped his arm around Alasdair’s shoulder. “The ‘stop being bloody blind, forget about Alexandra and see what’s on your doorstep’ one. I know I have to do it and I’ve dreaded the prospect.”

Alasdair snorted, but he also took Toby’s hand to rub. “That bad?”

“Let’s say that facing the Luftwaffe seemed a doddle in comparison. Anyway, I’d decided simply to tell Jeff that Moira fancies him something rotten and then inspiration struck. I remembered some lines I had to speak, although the film or play escapes me. ‘Sometimes we’re so focussed on the brightest and most distant star in the constellation that we miss the equally beautiful star that’s closer. And when we focus on that, instead, we find that it was the one we should have been looking at all the time.’ What do you think?”

“It sounds perfect.” Alasdair drew his lover’s face towards him, for a kiss. “You’ll always be both my brightest star and my safe harbour. Only let’s keep that gun of Bruce’s close to hand for a few days.”