That was true. That swift turn, almost on the thought, so that Rutledge could no longer see his face. And he was able to leave the hotel and cross the terrace without creating a stir, even when he was hurrying.

And he had fit in, at The White Swans. Clothing and appearance in keeping with the clientele. Nothing to make him stand out or seem memorable in a crowd. Even the woman with the child, when questioned, had paid him little heed, because he attracted no attention.

Rutledge gave it another few minutes, but there was nothing else.

He got out and started the motorcar and then for a moment debated where to turn. Not to Inspector Norman. Constable Walker, then.

He set out for Eastfield, his mind busy.

He would like to believe that the man was Daniel Pierce. But how could Pierce recognize him on sight? Rutledge was aware that he too had fit into the hotel scene, comfortable in his surroundings and in no way attracting attention to himself. No one had walked past the telephone room while he was making his call. He was certain of that, for he could see clearly through the glass doors. The man couldn’t have overheard part of his conversation, then. Their first contact came as he was stepping out of the telephone closet and starting down the passage. The man must have looked up, seen him, and in that same instant known who he was.

Hamish said, “Unless he followed you into the hotel. And wanted a better look.”

“That’s unlikely.”

But was it? Where had the contact begun? In Eastfield, for instance? Had someone stalked Rutledge just as he’d stalked his victims, to take the measure of his opponent? There were enough dark corners and darker alleys, someone standing silently in the shadows could have escaped Rutledge’s notice. But could he escape Hamish’s?

There was no way of knowing. Before, when he had walked half blind out of the Hastings police station, he might well have attracted the notice of someone during that hour of helpless wandering. Still, he wanted to believe that it was unlikely. He didn’t care for the feeling of vulnerability that being followed at such a time gave him.

Reaching Eastfield, he left the motorcar at The Fishermen’s Arms and went on foot to the police station. Constable Walker was just leaving to eat his midday meal.

He saw Rutledge’s face as he came through the door, and said immediately, “Something’s happened.”

Rutledge answered, “I’m not sure. Describe Daniel Pierce for me.”

Walker said, “Pierce? Let me see. Not as tall as you. Dark hair, light blue eyes. Slim. At least he was the last time I saw him. He’d just come home from France. He may have filled out since then. Why?” He frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve found him!”

Was it Pierce?