Was this the end, were we delivered to our final destination?

“I normally shoot rabbits, and game birds.” He took out a knife. “And I do a bit of this and that. But I’ll make an exception if necessary.”

So here was not our executioner, but our protector.

Pellets might be deadly against game, but not against a determined killer.

Now would be a good moment for someone to walk Sergeant Dog in this wood. He would find me.

It is against my usual habits to sit and wait for something to happen.

Given that Alec wasn’t allowed in the house, the possibility of telephoning for help evaporated. “Milly, do you know what Alec intends to do?”

“I’m not sure. We just dashed over and he said we had to be quick.”

“Why did you have to be quick?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t say.”

From his black cooking pot, Herbert Wesley filled the tin mug and now offered it to Milly.

“That’s all right. I had something earlier, after the funeral.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Farrar. God rest her soul. I’ll pay my respects when the crowds have lessened.”

It seemed neither the time nor the place, but I asked anyway. “Do you know anything about the circumstances of her death?”

“I do not. I wish I did. If she’d accepted my proposal of marriage all them years ago, it might not have come to this. But she’s with the Lord.”

Milly said, “I’ve remembered. Alec is going to see if he can take one of the cars, telling them he’s going to look for you. We should meet him on the track by the copse with the three poplar trees.”

“And if he can’t take a car?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t know where he meant. I’ve seen too many poplar trees and too many tracks.”

Herbert stood. “Come on then.”

There was a rustling sound nearby.

He raised his gun.

Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

Sykes looked once more through the window of the White Swan. An old man turned up his collar against the wind. A woman wearing a shawl on her head and another around her shoulders picked up a little child who had tripped over a paving stone and started bawling.

He took a page from his notebook. He scribbled a message, for when Mrs. Shackleton arrived. She should have been here by now. He gave the note to the landlord.

Leaving the pub, he turned into Swan Yard. He knew which door. It was the house with the cream curtains. He knocked. Sergeant Dog barked.