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‘Forty-seven minutes,’ she whispered in disbelief. ‘That’s how long I shouted for my egg this morning. I ran out of books. I feared I might perish of hunger. Thank goodness you so thoughtfully left the front door wide open last night, so the Ivys could let themselves in.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Decima,’ I whimpered.

‘You certainly appear so,’ she muttered. ‘You look like you spent the night being pissed on by a pack of stray dogs. What the hell happened?’

I wasn’t sure I was up to an explanation, but I didn’t have a choice. I downed my tea in one go: a gamble that miraculously paid off. ‘The political meeting got a little out of hand, Miss Decima.’

‘Hmm. I take it that refreshments were served?’

‘At points, yes.’

‘And the, er … mud stains?’

‘There might have been a football game afterwards.’

She sighed. ‘Very well. I trust you used the opportunity to get some information out of Peter, at least?’

I dredged up the memories. ‘He said that Chief Constable Cartwright was talking about Watts for weeks before the murder. Apparently, Watts was one of the first policemen on the Crace case – he was the one saying his death couldn’t have been an accident. So Peter thinks that whoever killed Crace killed Watts, too.’

Miss Decima sighed again. ‘Another conspiracy theory. Anything else?’

I scowled. Of course she hadn’t taken Peter seriously. ‘He said something about having a shady past. Something that he couldn’t let Cartwright find out about.’

‘Intriguing – what was it?’

I shook my head. ‘He wouldn’t say. But he did tell me something secret – something really important.’

Miss Decima brightened up. She snatched her notebook and pen. ‘Excellent work! What was it?’

I opened my mouth to answer … and nothing came out.

We sat in silence for a while, Miss Decima poised with her pen. ‘Any time you like, Stephen.’

It was no use. I couldn’t remember. Peter had told me the secret – I could remember sitting with him on the steps of the Albert Memorial, passing the poitin between us, and he’d slurred the whole sorry truth into my ear. He’d cried at one point. I remembered thinking, Gosh, that’s important, and then I wonder if the baked potato-sellers are out now, and the next thing I knew I was sprinting down the high street clutching a dozen stolen potatoes and falling head first into a horse trough. But I couldn’t remember a single word Peter had told me.

‘I am … struggling to recall the exact details, Miss Decima,’ I whispered.

She stared at me for a very long ten seconds. Then she slowly closed her notebook. ‘I see. What a shame.’

‘Yes, Miss Decima.’

‘I think I shall hold back that advance on your wages for the time being.’

‘Yes, Miss Decima.’

The doorbell rang. I put down my cup and staggered to answer it. It was the same delivery boy from yesterday, waggling a letter.

‘Another telegram for Miss D—’ He gawped. ‘Christ, what happened to you?’

‘Just give me the letter,’ I muttered, snatching it and slamming the door.

Miss Decima’s glare broke into a beaming smile when she saw what I was carrying. ‘Finally! Do you know what this is?’ She tore open the envelope and rapidly scanned the letter inside. ‘Dear Miss Stockingham, thank you for your interest in joining the WSPU, we enclose your membership pledge card as discussed –’

‘You joined?’ I said, surprised.

‘Of course not,’ she snapped, waving the letter at me. ‘It’s a ruse – don’t you see? It’s from Mrs Pankhurst! The enclosed membership pledge card will no doubt be the one that belonged to Lavinia Welford, which will naturally include her home address! We can get started on our investigation immediately!’

I swallowed. ‘Is there any chance I can have a wash first –’