“I’m not holding out,” he retorted. “So far there’s no clear motive for these murders. And as long as there isn’t, I have no more reason to suspect Pierce than I do any other person.”

“I’m told you went away for several days. What was that in aid of?”

Rutledge wondered who had told him that? Walker? Or someone else? “I went to see two of the men whose names were on the identity discs we’ve found. One man swears he never had them—and that’s likely. He was a career soldier and sewed his name into his uniform. The other man I spoke with found his discs in the trunk where he kept his uniform and souvenirs. I saw them for myself. I didn’t pursue the question any further. There wasn’t time. But if two of the discs are false, then the others are likely to be.”

“If these are false, then where did the killer get real names to put on them?”

“From transport manifests, burial details, payroll accounts, censoring letters—or merely sitting in a pub and keeping his ears open.”

“And so where does that leave us?” Inspector Norman demanded.

“I’m not sure. The discs we’ve found in the mouths of victims appear to be real, but that means someone has learned how to counterfeit them well enough to pass for authentic discs. It would be easy enough, I should think. But why should anyone go to that much trouble? And if he did, why not simply make up the names on them? Or use the victim’s name? If I’m any judge, the two men I spoke with hadn’t heard of or met anyone from the Eastfield Company. Nor did they know Anthony Pierce. Instead the killer used real people. The point, then, seems to have been the confusion these discs have created.”

“There’s only one reason I can think of to use the wrong names,” Inspector Norman said, opening the door to the motorcar. “If he’d used the names of the real soldiers involved, then we’d be able to trace them and learn precisely whatever it is that’s behind these murders.” He got in and waited until Constable Walker had turned the crank and stepped into the rear seat. “What if the Eastfield men fired on another company by mistake, and killed a number of them?”

Constable Walker spoke up for the first time. “That’s not likely. My nephew is one of the Eastfield Company. And he’d never cover up something of that sort. And I knew each man in that company. If they’d done wrong, he’d be the first to try to take responsibility and make amends.”

“That may well be. But there were other things going on at the Front. Like shooting an unpopular officer in the back during an attack.”

“You weren’t there,” Constable Walker persisted.