The bowed head came up with a jerk, the face tight with fear. “You’ve found them, then?” he asked, voice a thread of sound. “Are—are they—dead?”

“No. But I’d like to ask you—it’s hard searching for someone you’ve never seen. I’d like you to describe the children for me. As you saw them on the railway platform.”

Mowbray shook his head. “No, please—I can’t—I can’t!

“It would help,” Rutledge told him gently, “if we knew. If they seemed healthy—lively—or were quiet, shy—”

Mowbray clapped his hands over his ears, swaying with pain and grief. “No—don’t! Oh, God, don’t!”

He was relentless, it had to be done. “They grow fast, children do. Would you say Mary was a good mother? That she’d cared for them properly? Were they well filled out? Or had she neglected them, let them grow thin and pale—”

The bowed head came up again, eyes suddenly fierce behind the tears. “She’s a good mother, always was, I’ll not hear anything against my Mary!”

“You must have found it easy to recognize her—but much harder to be sure of them. The little girl must have gone up like a weed—they do, sometimes—”

But perseverance got Rutledge nowhere. With a gasp Mowbray threw up his hands, as if warding off blows. “I tell you I couldn’t harm them—they were alive!—I loved them—I wanted to hold them—for God’s sake, I loved them!”

Rutledge reached out and touched the stooped shoulder, avoiding the eyes that looked into hell.

Like Hamish’s eyes, if he ever turned and found them watching him—

Rutledge spun on his heel and went out of the room, his breathing disordered, his mind in turmoil. The constable came after him, then stopped. “You got him to speak—it’s more than I’ve been able to do!”

“Not that it did any good! Are you coming?”

“I’ll have to wait for Hindley to return,” he said. “If you don’t mind—”

“No, I’ll find my own way!” Rutledge walked down the passage, his breath coming roughly in his throat. Outside on the steps of the building, he ran into Hildebrand.

“You look like you’ve seen your own ghost,” he said, staring at Rutledge. “What’s happened?”

I’ll not go back into that building! Not yet! Rutledge told himself and said aloud, “Nothing has happened. But I want to speak to you where we can’t be overheard. Shall we walk down to the railway station?”

Grumbling about the heat, Hildebrand followed him as he strode off. “I’ve been out in the sun most of the morning,” he was saying. “I’ll be dead of sunstroke before we find those bodies. And half my men with me!”