He thought her self-control remarkable for a woman who had just lost a man she cared for. For that matter, her eyes showed no signs of crying herself to sleep, even though it was only two days ago that Pierce’s body had been discovered.

And as if she had read his thought, tears welled in her eyes. “If there’s nothing more, Inspector? I find this a very painful subject.”

Hamish said, “She’s afraid yon brother killed him.”

It would explain her very first question to him: not about Anthony’s death but in regard to Daniel’s whereabouts.

But he left it there. “If anything occurs to you, Mrs. Farrell-Smith, will you speak to Constable Walker? He’ll see that the message reaches me.”

“Yes, of course.” Her voice was husky. “You can find your own way out, I think?”

He thanked her and rose to leave.

The image he took away from the interview that stayed with him as he walked back to the hotel was of her face as he glanced back at her just before closing the door.

Desolation was writ large there. But for herself, he thought, not for the dead.

The long day was drawing to a close when Rutledge went back to the police station, intending to return the sheaf of statements.

Walker was standing by a window, looking out at the last shafts of light that touched the rooftops on the opposite side of the street, and he turned to greet Rutledge as the man from London stepped through the door.

“Any progress?” he asked.

“Not much that’s helpful. Tomorrow, I’d like to speak to some of the other men from Eastfield’s contingent. Can you arrange it?”

“That’s easily done,” Walker said, but his mind was clearly on something else.

“What is it?” Rutledge asked, suddenly alert. “What’s happened?”

“That’s just it. Nothing has happened. So far. But tonight’s the third night after Pierce was murdered. I’m wondering if that will change, once darkness falls.”

“I see your point. The problem is, our friend out there has the advantage. He has a better knowledge of where and when to strike, because he’s obviously laid his plans well. Otherwise you and Inspector Norman would have caught him without my help. All you can expect to do is get in his way and force him to alter those plans. That means patrolling not the village itself but back gardens, barnyards, the brewery precincts, the lanes, anywhere a man might be outside alone. Meanwhile, I’d ask everyone to stay in after dark.”

“I don’t know if he’ll alter his plans, or just wait until we’ve passed by,” Walker said, clearly still worried. “It depends, doesn’t it, on what’s driving the man?”

“Yes, I grant you that. Garroting is a very physical way to kill. More so even than a knife. Whoever it is may not be able to stop, now that he’s started. Unless he only intended to kill those three men. No one else.”

“There’s that,” Walker answered, considering the matter. “Although for the life of me I can’t see how they’re connected.”