“You aren’t paid to think, you’re there to find answers! And for God’s sake, placate that Napier woman before her father comes down on the lot of us! Don’t annoy the Wyatts either, do you hear me?”

There was a distinct sound of the receiver at the other end being slammed into its cradle.

Rutledge felt like doing much the same.

He found Peg, the chambermaid, and asked her to take a message to Miss Napier’s room.

“Miss Napier left not ten minutes ago, sir. Someone brought a motorcar over from Sherborne, and she’s being driven to Charlbury.”

He swore, silently, as Peg curtsied and went on her way.

“Aye, you should ha’ seen it coming!” Hamish said, commiserating. “But yon Frenchwoman addled your wits. You’ve no’ been thinking straight all the morning, and see where it’s got you! A tongue-lashing by auld Bowels, and that headstrong lassie slipping off to Charlbury the instant your back’s turned, intent on meddling in this business.”

“Making mischief isn’t at the bottom of it. Elizabeth Napier still wants Simon Wyatt. The question is, to what lengths is she willing to go, if she thinks there’s even an outside chance of getting him?”

“I’ve a feeling,” Hamish warned, “that you’d best be on your way to Charlbury, to find out.”

But Rutledge first went to the station to ask the master about Margaret Tarlton, describing her and the clothing she’d worn.

The man shook his head. “I don’t remember a woman fitting that description taking the London train. There were three men from Singleton Magna going up that day, and two women who bought tickets to Kingston Lacey. I know them both by name. That was the passenger tally, according to my records.”

“She may have taken the train south, rather than to London.”

“I doubt it. Not that many people do, from here. I’d recall that. I’d recall her as well.”

Rutledge thanked him, then walked back to the inn for his car. He might well need that exhumation order if Worthington came up empty-handed.…

Marcus Johnston, Mowbray’s lawyer, was coming down the street toward him as Rutledge drove out of the Swan’s yard. Just as he was about to make the turn for Charlbury, Johnston hailed him. “Any news? I’ve been trying to find Hildebrand to ask. But he’s out in the field again, which tells me not to be sanguine.” He came up to the car and put a hand on the lowered window.

“No. How is your client?”