“Of 1902?” She smiled. “That’s very easy to do. He contracted rheumatic fever and nearly died. It was something of a miracle that he lived. We had him with us for almost fifteen more years. The doctor warned us there might be lasting effects, but thank God, he sprang back to health with the vigor of youth and was chafing at the bit to rejoin his regiment.”

“Did he walk as a way of recovering his strength? For instance, in Lancashire, which isn’t as demanding as the Lake Country or Derbyshire. Or perhaps he took the sea air in Morecambe?”

“I don’t believe anyone in this family has ever been to Morecambe? I’m beginning to think you must have the wrong Burrows, Inspector.”

“We’re trying to find anyone who might have been in that vicinity in 1902 and into 1903.”

“It couldn’t have been our Thomas. He was very ill for weeks, and then there were weeks of recovery after that. Walking tours would have been impossible.” She frowned. “I’ve always had the feeling that Thomas knew he was living on borrowed time. He grasped life with such eagerness after that. I was surprised his regiment allowed him to sail with them for India. But of course the long sea journey was good for him.”

Rutledge hadn’t intended to name names, but he could see no other choice.

“Do you perhaps know Peter Teller, who was in your son’s regiment?”

“Yes, we met him at a regimental affair. Quite a handsome young man in his dress uniform, and his wife was charming. Susannah? Was that her name? Imagine remembering it after all these years. But I couldn’t help but think watching her that I hoped Thomas would find someone just as loving. I heard from friends that Captain Teller was severely wounded and is still recovering. Is there better news now?”

“He’s walking again,” Rutledge told her, “though still with great difficulty.”

“I’m glad. Thomas admired him so. I must say that if my son had to emulate anyone, Peter Teller was as fine a choice as I could wish for.”

Susannah Teller had been right about the imitation, then. But either she’d forgotten or didn’t know about Thomas Burrows’s illness.

Hamish said, “Ye ken, he’d ha’ put it behind him. It was no’ something to bring up.”

And that was true. Stiff upper lip and all that for a young subaltern just learning to fit in.

Rutledge took his leave, thanking her for her help.

“But I’ve given you very little,” she said. “I hope your inquiry prospers.”

In the motorcar once more, Rutledge said as he let out the clutch, “I don’t think Susannah Teller expected her story to collapse so quickly.”

“Aye. That’s verra’ likely. But she’s afraid her husband is a murderer.”