“Inspector Rutledge?”

“Yes, I’m Rutledge.”

“A message from Scotland Yard, sir. Will you proceed with haste to Sussex. The village of Eastfield, just above Hastings. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

Rutledge glanced at Rosemary Hume. “I’ll see my friends home first,” he said. The inquest was that afternoon. Rosemary had asked for it to wait until after the funeral. He knew she expected him to be present.

She said, tentatively, “Ian?”

“I’ll put in a call to the Yard. This may not be as urgent as it appears.”

She shook her head. “It’s better if you go.”

Surprised, Rutledge said, “But I thought—” and broke off.

“I have my family now, and my friends. I don’t need Max any longer. I don’t need Max’s friends.”

He was on the point of arguing when he caught Reginald’s eye. There was a warning there.

After a moment Rutledge said, “Yes, I understand. But you know how to find me if you should change your mind.”

“I won’t,” she said with finality. And when he had delivered his passengers at the Hume house, Rosemary offered him her hand as he stood ready to help her out of the motorcar. “Thank you for coming, Ian. It was very kind of you. Maxwell loved you in his way. I think because you understood better than the rest of us. Thank you for that, as well.”

And she turned to offer her support to Reginald, her back to Rutledge.

Reginald’s face was expressionless. But as he shook Rutledge’s hand, he said, “I’m glad you were here. Keep in touch, will you? I have a feeling about things sometimes. I’d like to hear from you.”

Rosemary had gone ahead to open the house door and was out of earshot as Reginald spoke the last words. And then she was back, taking his arm as she steadied him on the short walk to the house.

Rutledge saw them inside, and then turned to drive to the police station.

But the constable—his name was Becker—had no more information than the brief message he had passed on to Rutledge.

“The hotel sent someone to find me,” he explained. “It was a Sergeant Gibson on the line. I asked him if there was any further information to pass on to you, but he said that someone in Eastfield would explain all you needed to know. I was to tell you privately that the Chief Superintendent had not been at the Yard when the message from Eastfield had come through. And it was too urgent to await his return.”

Rutledge said, “My things are at the hotel. I’ll be packed and ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“I’ve taken the liberty, sir, to ask Samantha if she will put up sandwiches for you. It’s a long way. There will be a bottle of cider as well.”

Rutledge thanked him. And in fewer than the ten minutes he was on his way, the sandwiches in a small basket beside him. It was necessary to drive past the Hume house on his way out of town. The windows were open to the summer heat, and through them he could see silhouettes of people moving back and forth inside.