He disappeared, and Mrs. Marshall showed no sign that her resolve was weakening. Dr. Gooding’s nurse came out of an adjoining office and asked Mrs. Marshall if she would like a cup of tea before her ordeal.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Davis, I’ll be all right. Rosie is waiting at home for me.”

The doctor came back just then and escorted them to the room where the body had been examined. It was tidy, and Hector Marshall lay under a sheet drawn up to cover the ravaged throat.

Ignoring the others, Mrs. Marshall walked straight across the room without faltering and looked down at her son’s face. After a moment she touched his hair, which Dr. Gooding had combed. Then she bent to kiss him. Her voice was audible, but not the words as she addressed him. She stared at him a moment longer, and before the onlookers could stop her, she stripped back the sheet. Nodding at the body as if she understood something, she gently pulled the sheet back into place.

“I’d thank you to take me home, now.”

Rutledge moved to her side, but she walked out of the room without help, down the passage, and out to the motorcar, thanking the doctor for taking care of her son.

Walker was there to open her door, and she got in without another word. When they had delivered her again to her home, Rutledge said, “Would you like us to help you break the news to your daughter-in-law?”

“Thank you, no, she’ll be able to cry if we’re alone.” She turned to Constable Walker. “Could you send someone to feed the pigs today? They will be hungry by now.”

He promised, and with a nod she disappeared inside, shutting the door quietly.

Rutledge said, “Will she be all right? Should we send someone to look in on her later?”

“Best to let them mourn,” Walker said.

Rutledge turned the motorcar, hearing Hamish’s voice like thunder in his head. And as he started off down the track, he heard a woman’s scream, so full of pain he winced.

They went back to the surgery, but Dr. Gooding could tell them very little more.

“When was he killed?” Rutledge asked.

Gooding said, “Later than the others by a good four hours. After the rain ended, I think. Marshall was on his back, and his clothing was wet from lying in the leaves. His chest was dry. Of course the killer had to wait for him to start his rounds, that may account for a change in timing.”

Or the killer had been thwarted, unable to reach the victim he had been waiting for.

“I was driving back from Hastings close to that time,” Rutledge said slowly. “I’m surprised I didn’t meet anyone on the road.” But Daniel Pierce had walked into The White Swans just before dawn broke. Where had he been?