A tall man stood up as Rutledge and Walker were admitted by an elderly clerk.

Scanning Rutledge’s face, he came forward and said to Walker, “Good morning, Constable.”

“This is Inspector Rutledge, Mr. Pierce. From Scotland Yard, as you requested.”

Pierce held out his hand, and Rutledge shook it, saying, “I’m told you would prefer to tell me what’s been happening here in Eastfield.” He had kept his voice neutral, neither accepting Pierce’s authority to do any such thing, nor disputing it.

Pierce led them to the chairs set out before the empty hearth. “I apologize for that, Mr. Rutledge. Constable Walker here has handled events so far with his usual skill, and I am grateful for that. It’s just that I have a very personal stake in finding this madman. Two days ago my own son was his third victim. That doesn’t make Anthony any more important than the other two victims, but William Jeffers’s wife and Jimmy Roper’s father aren’t able to speak for themselves at this time. Their loss was as devastating as mine, but they are alone in their grief, and I have a staff at my disposal to see me through the next few weeks.”

“I understand,” Rutledge answered, without committing himself. Pierce was a man used to giving orders, and it was possible that Mrs. Jeffers and Jimmy Roper’s father were grateful that he was taking charge.

Clearing his throat, as if to dispose of all emotion before he began, Pierce said, “The first Constable Walker, here, knew of Jeffers’s death was sometime after midnight when a goods van, driven by one Sammy Black, came through Eastfield on his way to Hastings. He’d had a problem with his van and was several hours late as it was. Soon after passing the church, he saw something in the middle of the road. To use his own words, he said that it looked like a bundle of old rags lost off a dustman’s cart. But he slowed, because there wasn’t sufficient room to pass on either side, and he was wary about driving straight over the rags. He’d served as a driver in the war and was accustomed to watching out for unexploded ordnance in his path. By that time his headlamps had reached the bundle and he could see it more clearly. He realized it was someone lying in the road, and he stopped to see if it was a drunkard or if the man had been struck by another vehicle.

“He got out of his van, and walked over to what lay in the road, getting in the way of his own headlamps and having to step aside. Now he had no doubt the man was dead. His eyes were open, and there was a great deal of blood around his neck. At first Black believed that the man had cut his own throat. Unwilling to leave him there, Black finally decided to protect his body by leaving the van in the road, and he walked back into Eastfield to find the police station.”