“There was no one else in the house with them year after year. It’s not surprising. I’d have had to win his trust. Or not. But I’d have kept him,” he added wistfully. Then with a spark of his old self, “He didn’t get along all that well with my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law heard him speaking once and swore I was in that house somewhere. Florence told me that.”

A thought struck Rutledge. Peter would have known the difference between Jake’s voice and his brothers’ . . .

“What do you have to say for yourself, Cobb? You swore to me you hadn’t killed her. You told me you wanted to get your hands on the man who did.”

“I never expected Betsy to turn against me,” he said. “Not that I blamed her. But it was a stab in the back, all the same.”

“You walked away from her and your marriage.”

“After great provocation. It was that or strike her back. All I can do is wonder how long she’d have kept that cane’s head hidden, if I’d stayed. Or begged to come home again.” It was what Rutledge himself had wondered.

“Why did you keep the head of the cane?”

“I didn’t. If I’d found it, I’d have come to the police.”

“Then how did it wind up among your tools? Your wife has sworn in her statement that she’d found it there.”

“I don’t think it bothered her to swear to a falsehood. She was that angry. At a guess, the knob came from Mrs. Blaine, Betsy’s mother. She found the body. If she’d seen the cane and realized that the head was gold, she’d have taken it. She’s like a magpie. Always had an eye for herself, or anything to her advantage. She’ll offer to buy Florence’s land. See if she doesn’t. I hope Teller tells her to go whistle up the wind.”

“All the same, it was interfering with the scene of a murder.” He paused. “Peter Teller is dead.”

“What? How? By his own hand?”

“We don’t know yet. Early days.”

“My God.” Cobb shook his head in disbelief. “She’d have been a widow after all. As for the cane, I wouldn’t have kept it, gold or not. There’s blood on it. Constable Satterthwaite made certain to point it out.”

“We’d like to ask you one last thing. What became of the rosewood box with Mrs. Teller’s letters in it?”

“I wouldn’t have taken them. What good were they to me? But they meant a lot to her. It would be like taking Timmy’s photograph. A cruelty.”

“What else was in that box? The deed to the house?”