“Her first name is Margaret. And she lives somewhere in Chelsea. You’ll have to ask Simon for the street and number.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “Good-bye, Mrs. Wyatt.”

She nodded and watched him walk away.

The watching bothered him. It hadn’t been simple curiosity, nor the look of a woman intrigued by a new man in her sphere, only uneasiness.

But whether it was uneasiness for herself—or for Simon Wyatt—he couldn’t tell.

Margaret Tarlton. Of Chelsea, London.

He had a strong feeling that she wasn’t the woman he was searching for.

Rutledge placed a call to London as soon as he reached Singleton Magna. The reply came before he went down to his dinner.

Bowles said peremptorily, “What’s this Tarlton woman got to do with the Mowbrays?”

“She was on the same train. She got off at Singleton Magna that day. We want to know what she saw—if anything.”

“See to it you’re not stepping on any toes, man!”

“I’m care itself.”

Satisfied or not, Bowles became crisp and to the point. He said, “We sent a man around to find Miss Tarlton. Her maid says she went down to Singleton Magna last week and afterward was to go on to Sherborne. To the country house of a Thomas Napier. One of the political Napiers, Rutledge! He’s in London, but his daughter, Elizabeth Napier, is staying in the house presently. We haven’t been able to reach her”

“Never mind,” Rutledge said. “I’ll drive over there myself.” He jotted the names in his notebook and closed it. “Any information available on Miss Tarlton or this Miss Napier?”

“Nothing about Miss Tarlton, except that she comes from an Anglo-Indian family that settled in London around the turn of the century, after her father died. Mother’s dead as well now. Several aunts and cousins, I’m told. They live in Gloucestershire.” There was a pause. And then Bowles went on, “You might be interested in one discovery we’ve made about Miss Napier. She was engaged to be married to Simon Wyatt, who lives in Charlbury, not far from Singleton Magna. Her father’s his godfather, I’m told. In fact, it was Wyatt Miss Tarlton was going to visit, to apply for a position. She used to be Miss Napier’s secretary, from 1910 to last year. Lived in the Napiers’ London house.” The voice stopped again, then added with relish, “Small world, isn’t it?”

Chapter Eight

8

As Bowles hung up, Rutledge took out his watch and considered time and distance. It was still light. He could make it to Sherborne by a reasonable hour. If Margaret Tarlton was there, it would save time to interview her tonight. If he telephoned, she might put him off. Or … he refused to consider the alternative, that he might not find her at the Napiers’.