Rutledge answered him in his mind. This killer could have moved on to Hastings or Rye or even London. But he hasn’t. Because his quarry is still here.

Half an hour later, he left Eastfield behind.

Walker’s parting words were, “I hope you find something that makes this incarceration worthwhile.” There was an undercurrent of doubt in his voice.

Rutledge’s first stop was in Hastings to see if any progress had been made in tracing Hartle’s movements before he was killed.

Inspector Norman said testily, “It’s early days. But he was seen in a shop that carries varnish at half past ten in the morning. They didn’t have what he needed, and he went to another place of business and found it closed. He came back half an hour later and bought four tins of the varnish. He was to pick them up at two o’clock. At that point, it appears he had lunch in a small pub that fishermen frequent. Apparently he knew the pub’s cook in France. He visits the man whenever he’s in Hastings. Yesterday the man wasn’t there. His wife’s mother was being taken to hospital in Eastbourne for suspected appendicitis. We checked, and she was admitted for surgery. Hartle waited for him at the pub, and the cook returned to Hastings at three-fifteen. The two men sat down together for a good twenty minutes, and Hartle asked if the family was able to pay for the mother-in-law’s care. Then a little before four o’clock, Hartle left to retrieve his tins, ostensibly on his way home to Eastfield, or so the cook says. He could think of no reason why Hartle would delay returning—he’d got what he’d come for. We know for certain our man left the pub close on to four. Half a dozen people can vouch for that. After that, we lose him.”

“Then that must be when he encountered the killer.”

“You can’t be sure of it. It’s possible my men will turn up something more by the end of the day.”

“Where is the van he was driving when he arrived in Hastings?”

“We haven’t found it yet. It doesn’t mean we won’t. I don’t fancy the idea that this man, whoever he is, is setting up shop in Hastings. I want him to go back to Eastfield. At least until you’ve made a little progress toward identifying him.”

“This fellow soldier Hartle visits when he’s here in Hastings—is the man in the clear?”

“Oh yes, he couldn’t overpower Hartle if he tried. Consumptive, if you ask me. Thin as a rail.”

Rutledge drew a breath in frustration. “Keep looking. I’m on my way to London to investigate these discs. Call the Yard and ask for Sergeant Gibson, if you need to reach me.”