As he stepped through the gate from the shrubbery, they turned to stare at him, as if he’d dropped down from the moon, a creature they had never seen before and dangerous.

Leticia forced herself to smile. “Inspector Rutledge,” she said. “Mary is just leaving.”

“On the contrary, I want to hear what he’s got to say.”

Leticia’s mouth tightened. “It’s nothing to do with you, this business. I’d be grateful if you leave.”

Mary said, “My sister is married to your brother. I’m here to protect her. She’s not as strong as I am.”

Leticia said through clenched teeth, “That can wait. Until we see what the Inspector has come to say.” Turning to him, she added, “I must assume we owe the pleasure of your company to Yard business?”

He said, “I’ve come to ask you what you know about Florence Teller.”

“Yes, that woman in Lancashire? I understand she was found murdered. It’s a tragedy, of course, but nothing to do with us. I don’t understand how we can help you,” Leticia said.

“Your brother felt it had enough to do with your family that he attended her funeral yesterday.”

The two women, their quarrel forgotten, were giving him their undivided attention now.

“Which brother?” Leticia demanded finally. “It’s the first I’ve heard of this. Not Peter, surely?”

“Edwin Teller. As we haven’t yet been able to locate her husband’s relations, he felt it was his duty to represent the Teller family there.”

“Was Amy with him?” Leticia asked as Mary’s voice cut across hers.

“Duty?”

“There’s damning evidence piling up against Peter Teller,” he told them. “I have a shard of cane in my motorcar, part of the murder weapon, if I’m not mistaken. I have not seen your brother use a cane since I’ve met him. But I’m sure Sergeant Biggin in London will remember if there was one before I came on the scene. A witness saw what we believe was your brother’s motorcar in front of the victim’s house the day she died, and then watched a lame man matching your brother’s description hobbling out to crank it and drive away in some haste. He was angry—upset, according to the witness. And if we take a sample of your brother’s handwriting, I’m sure it will match the signature in the records of St. Bartholomew’s Church in Hobson, where Florence Marshall and Peter Teller were married. For that matter, I could bring a dozen or more witnesses from Hobson, who knew Teller well enough to recognize him if they saw him now.”

Leticia said, “Then why haven’t your arrested him?”

“There are one or two loose ends to tie up. For instance, when you were in Portsmouth looking for your brother Walter, where was Peter?”