There was no escape. Ruth decided that she would sooner face an angry mother than an embarrassing examination from a doctor. She heaved herself up into a standing position.

‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ she said.

‘So I should hope.’

Ruth clambered out of the bath and reached for the towel. When she’d wrapped herself up in it, she turned the key and unlocked the door. Her mother stepped in with an accusatory stare.

‘What on earth’s got into you, Ruth?’ she demanded.

‘I feel much better now.’

‘I’m your mother. You don’t need to lock me out.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And look at the way you’ve dropped everything on the floor,’ said Miriam, bending over the pile of clothes. ‘You’re always so careful about hanging things up. What’s got into you?’

She picked up the clothes and was about to put them on a chair when her eye fell on a stocking. Miriam gaped at the large bloodstain.

Herman Stein bore a close resemblance to his elder brother. He had the same paunch, the same rounded shoulders and the same facial features. He’d kept much more of his hair than the tailor but that was the only marked difference between the two men. Having driven to the West End, he parked his car and hurried to Jermyn Street. The fire engine was still outside the smoking shop owned by his brother but some of the crowd had melted away. When he spoke to the senior officer, he was told that the incident was in the hands of Scotland Yard detectives. Marmion and Keedy were pointed out to him. Face clouded with foreboding, he went straight across to them.

‘My name is Herbert Stone,’ he said. ‘Jacob Stein is my brother.’

Marmion didn’t need to ask why the man had anglicised his surname. It was a precaution that many people of German origin had taken after the war had broken out. He introduced himself and the sergeant then chose his words with care.