Norman shrugged. “The excitement. He couldn’t have expected that, could he? The hunt for victims—avoiding the police. He was a sapper, wasn’t he? That’s perilous work. A man can miss danger.”

It was possible. It was also possible that he’d come to his senses, finally, and walked away from temptation. “No word on Mickelson?”

“He appeared to be awake for a quarter of an hour this morning. The doctors sent the constable charged with keeping an eye on the sickroom to alert the local police, but by the time they reached the hospital, Mickelson had slipped into unconsciousness again. Damned incompetence, if you ask me.”

“I’m glad to hear there’s been some improvement.”

“Because you care about the man, or because whatever he can tell the police stands to clear your good name?”

“I’ll let you decide.” Rutledge hadn’t taken a chair. Now he turned to leave the room.

“What are we to do about this Summers person?”

“We must find him first. Constable Walker wonders if your man Petty could be Summers.”

Shutting the door behind him, he strode out of the building and to his motorcar. Even the five minutes he’d spent there had forcibly reminded him of his cell. If he never saw the police station again for the remainder of his life, it would still not wipe away the memory.

Back in Eastfield, he went to call on Tyrell Pierce.

“Do you bring me news?” he asked as his clerk showed Rutledge into his office.

“Not at present. I would like to ask you several questions. The first is about your son Anthony’s connection with Mrs. Farrell-Smith.”

“I had hoped he would look in that direction. I won’t lie to you. She comes from an excellent background, and she has money of her own, from her late husband’s estate. There was no fear she was after Anthony’s inheritance. And she’s very attractive. I could see that for myself. Pleasant, well educated, good company at dinner, a fine hostess. She would have been a very good match for Anthony.”

Hamish said, “He’s verra’ attracted to her himsel’.”

And it was true. Rutledge, considering him, realized that he was still young enough to marry again and have a second family. Rutledge wondered if Pierce knew anything about the shadow hanging over the late Farrell-Smith’s death. Probing, he asked, “What happened to her husband?”

“Yes, a pity he died so young. She told me privately that he drank too much. Anthony mentioned that he’d been at loose ends after he left school. Moody, his temper uncertain. He felt that Farrell-Smith had married before he really knew his own mind about what he was going to do with his life. But young men in love are often impulsive.”