“Were they stalked, do you think?”

Gooding shook his head. “They weren’t prepared. That wire came over their heads, and there was an end to it. If they had believed they were in any danger, they might have got a hand up in time to try to defend themselves. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, they might have lost a finger, or at least their hands would have been noticeably damaged. And this wasn’t the case.”

It was a very concise report. But then the doctor’s luncheon was waiting.

Rutledge said, “Do you know of any particular connection among the victims? Or any trouble they may have had with anyone else in the village?”

“I’d say Roper and Jeffers knew each other better than either of them knew Anthony Pierce. As boys, all three of them attended our village grammar school together, but when the Pierce brothers were sent away to public school, my guess is that they very likely lost touch. As for trouble, Walker here can answer that better than I could. If you’re asking if they came here, yes, from time to time, but never anything more than childhood ailments and the occasional scrapes and bruises from climbing trees or a rough game of football.”

“After the war, was there any sort of hard feelings amongst the survivors of their company? Something that happened in France, perhaps, and not finished there?”

“If there was, they never came to me to patch them up.” He hesitated. “Daniel—Daniel Pierce, that is—may have been the sole exception to that. Two days before he disappeared, I saw him in the street, and there was a bruise on his left cheek. He didn’t mention it and neither did I. It didn’t appear to be anything serious.”

“I’ve heard he was something of a troublemaker when he was young.” It wasn’t precisely what Pierce had told Rutledge But he was interested in hearing Gooding’s point of view.

“A troublemaker? That’s a little harsh. Who told you that?” Gooding asked, frowning. “You don’t suspect he has had anything to do with these murders!”

“How well did he know Roper and Jeffers?”

“Probably no better than Anthony did. I always had a feeling that his escapades were nothing more than an attempt to impress his brother and the others. The youngest trying to prove his mettle.”

“What sort of escapades?” Rutledge pressed. He could sense that Walker was uncomfortable now, but he ignored him.

“He probably thought it was quite a lark, the things he got up to. One summer three or four boys dressed in sheets and moved about the churchyard one moonless night. They gave the sexton’s wife and two young people courting in the church porch one hell of a fright. On Guy Fawkes night, they made their own bonfire—the old mill on the edge of town. It was a shambles anyway, no one lived there. They torched it. Still, it could have caused a general conflagration if the wind had blown the sparks about. There were demands that the ringleaders spend a night in jail. Cooler heads prevailed, and they were marched home under escort.”