“He doesn’t know. I’d rather tell him myself. I just learned the news from my sergeant in London.” He smiled at the boy and lifted him into the driver’s seat, where the child instantly made motor noises and gripped the wheel like a racer. “But it means that most of Betty’s story is a lie. She didn’t have that brooch for a year or more—nor did she find it on the hillside. My belief is that the person who gave it to her and taught her a story meant to be told to the police also gave her the money to buy shoes. And there was enough extra to help her escape her father and this place. She would have bargained hard. She carried out her part very well indeed. It will be Oliver’s headache to track her down to testify at the trial. I’ve no doubt he’d do it.”

“I don’t believe it. You’re pulling at straws!”

The horn blew. Rutledge and MacDougal winced.

MacDougal went on. “It’s no more than speculation. You can’t be sure it’s the same brooch! No, until there’s proof to the contrary, I put my faith in young Betty.”

“I think there’s enough proof already to put some doubt into a jury’s mind.” Rutledge waited, then said, “Will you search for her?”

MacDougal gestured to the croft and the parents still standing in the doorway. “And bring her back to this?” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I shall have to. But it won’t be easy. Still, there aren’t many ways she could have gone from here. Even with her new walking shoes. Inveraray, most likely, where she could beg a lift in a wagon.” He turned away, settling his hat back on his head. “I’ll let Oliver know when she turns up.”

“Thanks.” Rutledge said to the boy, “Will you sit there while I turn the crank?”

The child nodded vigorously. Rutledge started the engine and then let him stay for a moment longer to feel the power of the car under him. MacDougal had already turned around in the yard and was heading back the way they’d come. Rutledge lifted the child down.

With a glowing face he said, “I’ll have mysel’ one of them!”

“I’m sure you will,” Rutledge answered.

And then, as if in payment for the special treat, the boy leaned toward him, standing on tiptoe. “There was a man with Betty—I saw him. Even though she claimed it was only the sun playing tricks.”

“What did he look like?” Rutledge asked quickly, suddenly intent.

The boy backed away, already regretting his confidence. “Fair,” he mumbled, and then ran back to the croft door, slipping between his mother’s skirts and his father’s legs. Disappearing into the house.