Ann Tait shook her head. “No. I can look after myself.” She turned to go and then swung around. “If you mention a word of this to Dorothea MacIntyre and frighten her to death, I’ll see that you pay dearly for it!”

“I spoke to you,” he said, “because I thought you might give me information. It appears that we’re both in the dark. But Dorothea MacIntyre won’t hear such things from me, I promise you.”

She walked away. He watched her for a time, the swing of her shoulders and the straight back. She had confessed to envy of Eleanor Gray. But he thought that the two women were in many ways very much alike. Independent. Willing to make a life for themselves with their own two hands. Hiding behind a brusque shell because it saved them from pain.

White lace gowns with satin sashes and broad-brimmed hats had passed with 1914, along with lawn tennis and picnics on the Thames and a much simpler world. There were thousands of Ann Taits making a living for themselves now, and hundreds of Eleanor Grays looking for a different future. Five years, and a colder, bleaker world of war had reshaped a generation of women as well as men.

AS RUTLEDGE STOPPED at the desk to pick up his key, the clerk handed it to him and then reached into a drawer to find a folded sheet with his name on it.

In his room he unfolded it and read the brief lines written on it.

Sergeant Gibson requests that you call him at your earliest convenience.

Rutledge took out his watch and looked at the time. Far too late to find Gibson at the Yard.

He began to unpack, with Hamish rumbling at his back.

IT WAS NEARLY ten o’clock the next morning before Rutledge could reach Gibson.

The sergeant said, “It wasn’t a piece of cake. But I found the engraver.”

“That’s very good news,” Rutledge applauded. “I’m grateful.”

“You won’t be,” Gibson retorted, “when you hear what I have to say.”

The brooch had been engraved in a back street in Glasgow nearly three weeks before it had been “found” in Glencoe. It was a small shop that specialized in buying and selling jewelry. The owner was frequently asked to remove or change the engraving on items left for resale. But he seldom had the opportunity to use his skills on a piece that had no previous markings on it. He had objected when the man who brought in the cairngorm brooch insisted that the work appear older than it was. But the price agreed on helped overcome any qualms he might have had.

“Could the shopkeeper give you a description of the man who brought in the brooch?”

“Better than that. It had to be left and picked up in three days’ time. A name had to be put down on the card.”

Rutledge felt his spirits soar.