“Any reason to believe that a widow turning up would distress the Burrows family?”

“That’s the interesting bit, sir. The lieutenant married on his last leave and leaves a widow. No children. She has married again and now lives in Scotland.”

Hamish said, “It wouldna’ signify. Yon lass didna’ ken how to find her husband’s family.”

But Rutledge was prepared for anything. He thanked Gibson and put up the receiver.

No stone unturned . . .

Hamish said again, “It doesna’ signify.”

“It was important enough for Susannah Teller to bring it to my attention.”

“Aye, with lies. To throw you off the track of her ain husband.”

He drove on toward Worcester, tired now and ready to end the game of chase he’d been playing. But it was the last of the outstanding questions, and when it came to trial, Rutledge preferred not to leave anything to chance.

The house where the Burrows family lived was on the southern outskirts of Worcester, with a river view. It was a large and comfortable estate set back from the road. The house was of the same stone as the famous cathedral, with a portico and white pillars leading up two steps to the door. A fountain featuring a statue of Neptune, a conch held to his lips, and water horses at each corner spouting streams of water formed the centerpiece of the circular drive. From the age of the fountain, Rutledge thought it might have been shipped home from a Grand Tour a generation ago.

Wisteria climbed the wall of one wing of the house, and an old climbing rose set off the stonework on the opposite side.

When Rutledge lifted the knocker, he could hear the sound echoing through the house, and expected to find it was empty for the summer. But a maid in crisp black came to answer his summons, and he asked to speak to Mrs. Burrows.

She wanted to know his business, and he identified himself.

After a time she came back and escorted him to a sitting room overlooking a shrubbery, where a woman of perhaps sixty-five waited to greet him. Her graying hair was put up in the older style, and her clothing was rather old-fashioned as well. But her blue eyes were alert and wary.

“What brings the Yard to my door?” she asked, after asking him to sit down.

“A wild-goose chase, at a guess,” he said, smiling. “Your son Thomas was, I’m told, lost in the war.”

“Yes. Such a promising future lost with him as well. It was a pity. Does this have to do with Thomas? I can’t think why!”

“I understand that his widow has remarried and lives in Scotland.”

“Yes, Elizabeth was the sweetest girl. A perfect match. My husband and I were terribly pleased.”

“Can you tell me where your son might have been in 1902? I’m sorry, I can’t give you the month. Summer, I should think.”