“Then I should think this man Hopkins fits the bill very well indeed. From what I was told he held a grudge that no one else knew about.”

They were silent for the rest of the drive, but as they were coming down the Hastings Road into Eastfield, Hubbard said, “I’m not comfortable, leaving you to cope alone.”

“Then you still believe I struck Mickelson.”

“Be reasonable, man. It was a misunderstanding.”

But Rutledge remembered the feel of that cell and the walls closing in on him, and the miasma of fear and hopelessness embedded in the very paint. He stopped the motorcar at the hotel and said, “I’ll find someone to drive you to the nearest railway station after you finish your business here.” As he got out of the motorcar, he added, “I’ve lost the promotion. I understand that, even if Mickelson lives to clear me. You can tell Chief Superintendent Bowles—”

He left the sentence unfinished, and walked away.

Chief Inspector Hubbard had the good sense not to follow him.

Of all the people he could think of who would talk to him, Theo Hartle’s sister seemed to be the best choice.

He found her just clearing away the tea things, and she said as she came to her door, “We’ve just finished—would you care for some tea?”

“Thank you, no. I need to talk to you, Mrs. Winslow. It’s a pleasant afternoon. Will you walk a little way with me?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder. “I think my husband has nodded off in his chair. I ought to be here, if he wanted anything when he wakes up.”

“He’s just had his tea. I shouldn’t think he’ll need you straightaway.”

She came reluctantly. “Where’s the other man, then? If you’re back again?”

“Didn’t you hear?” But he could see she hadn’t.

“We’re not often in the village,” she explained. “I only go when I really need something.”

“He was nearly killed.”

“Like those other men?” She stared at him, horrified.

“No. Someone fractured his skull.”

“He’s a policeman,” she said, as if that made it all the worse, that authority itself had been flouted and threatened with chaos. “I didn’t care for him, but still and all—” She looked over her shoulder, as if there was someone following them. “We’re all that afraid of going out at night. Hardly anyone stops by the pub, they say.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Tell me about your brother’s life.”

“He was a bouncing baby. That’s what Mum always said. Full of vinegar from the start.” She smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “But he was never in any trouble. Just mischief, that sort of thing. I didn’t like it when he was teasing me about my freckles. But he meant no harm.” She shook her head.

“Teasing can hurt,” he said.