“This is my patch. I told you.” He reached for his hat and led the way back to the street. “We’ll use your motorcar, if you please.”

And so Rutledge had no choice but to accommodate Inspector Norman, Constable Petty, and Walker, with no space left for Hamish where he usually rode. However, the distance wasn’t too great, and in a matter of minutes they were walking into a shop that catered to newborns and small children. There were caps and blankets, gowns and christening robes, finely woven blankets and the dresses that children of both sexes still wore when very young, rich with embroidery and ruching and tucks. There was also a small selection of prams, rocking horses, and the Teddy bears that the American president had made so popular, as well as a tray of silver rattles, spoons, cups, and teething rings.

The woman waiting on a customer was large and motherly, with a low-pitched voice and a warm manner. She glanced up as she saw the four men enter the shop, but her discussion of cap ribbons never faltered. And so the four policemen were forced to stand idly waiting until the customer was satisfied and had left with a small parcel done up in silver paper.

“Mrs. Griffith?” Inspector Norman asked, coming forward.

“Yes. How may I help you? I doubt you’ve come for christening robes or china kittens.”

Inspector Norman gave their names, and then said, “You spoke to one of my men. About Theo Hartle.”

“Oh, yes. I heard that the police were trying to find out where he was before he was killed. I saw him where the main road divides just at the foot of Marine Street. He was speaking to a man. A friendly conversation, as far as I could tell, but rather serious as well. I was walking with a friend, and we weren’t going in that direction, and so I didn’t have an opportunity to ask after his sister.”

“You know the family?” Rutledge asked, surprised.

“His mother and I went to school together. And then we were married and went our separate ways. But we stayed in touch. Peggy Winslow is my goddaughter, and I have tried to keep an eye on her for her mother’s sake. But that worthless complainer she’s tied to keeps her on a short rein. A pity, but there you are. She always enjoyed the little treats I planned for her visits. But she doesn’t come to Hastings these days.”

Rutledge remembered how Mrs. Winslow had seemed to enjoy the pastries at the tea shop in Eastfield.

“Did you know the man Hartle was speaking with?”

“I don’t think I do, although I may have seen him about from time to time.”

“And Hartle didn’t appear to be afraid of him, or uncomfortable in his presence?”

“No, not as far as I could tell.”

“What time of day was this?” Inspector Norman asked.