She glared at him. Why had he thought she was less involved?

Gran conducted him into the passage and, without knocking, opened the door to the study and walked straight in. This had been her house as a wife and then as the dowager of the family, and she stood on no ceremony. Her appearance caught Edwin Teller by surprise, and when he saw who was just behind her in the passage, his smile of welcome turned grim.

“Hullo, Gran,” he said. “Thank you for bringing Mr. Rutledge to me. If you’ll excuse us, we have some business to conduct, I’m afraid.”

She looked at her grandson, disappointment clouding her face. “He was staying for luncheon . . .”

Rutledge took her hand and said gently, “I’m afraid it must be another day,” he told her. “After your grandson and I have conducted our business, I must return to the Yard.”

“Yes, of course,” she said smiling and shaking Rutledge’s hand. “I shall look forward to it.”

And she took her leave, with the dignity of a woman who had all her life been accustomed to the niceties of social interaction. Business was business, and women were not a part of that world.

As the door shut behind her, Edwin said through clenched teeth, “What the bloody hell do you mean, coming here and interrogating my grandmother when I’m not present?”

Rutledge said, “Your wife was present during today’s interview.”

“But not last night’s. Walter is in Essex, where he is supposed to be. The search for him is over. He did nothing during the period when he was missing that would interest Scotland Yard. You have no business here. I’ll take this up with your superior, if you continue to harass my family.”

“Hardly harassment. I’ve come to ask if you could help me locate one Peter Teller.”

“You’ve met my brother,” Edwin said shortly. “As far as I know, he’s in Bolingbroke Street, where he lives.”

“This Peter Teller,” Rutledge said, “is being sought because we can’t find the last will and testament of one Florence Marshall Teller, his wife. Or I should say, his late wife. She was murdered several days ago.”

Edwin opened his mouth and shut it again. After a moment he asked in a very different tone of voice, “Where was she murdered? Here in London?”

“In Lancashire. Where she had lived almost all of her life.”

Teller was making quick calculations. He said, “The day Walter returned to the clinic?”

“Two days before that. Someone came to her door and, when she answered it, struck her down and left her lying there. A passerby finally saw her lying there, and summoned the police.”

Edwin Teller said, before he could stop himself, “My God.” And then he continued quickly, “I don’t see why any of us should know anything about this murder. Walter was missing. The rest of us were searching for him.”