Her face flushed. “If it was Teller who came back, why didn’t he stay? Why did he leave? I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know the answer to that. Still, he must have spoken to Florence. She must have turned him out. Perhaps she decided that she preferred Lawrence Cobb after all.”

“She did. Betsy—”

She stopped.

“Betsy asked her?”

“I was about to say—”

“Mrs. Blaine. Was it you or your daughter who murdered Florence Teller?”

Satterthwaite’s breath came out in a hiss, but he said nothing.

“Murdered her? It was that husband of hers, I tell you. You’ve seen the proof.”

“I don’t think it was Cobb. Teller came to see his wife, and she sent him away. Or he said what he’d come to say and left. We’ll never know. And someone came along just after that. Was Mrs. Teller sitting on her step crying? Or standing at the door looking as if she’d seen a ghost? Someone stopped. A woman. And misunderstanding what was said when Florence was asked what was wrong, one of you suggested she go back inside, and as she turned, one of you picked up the cane her husband had dropped in his own shock and grief, and struck Mrs. Teller with it, then panicked and left her there.”

“There’s not a word of truth—”

“And then,” he went on inexorably, “when no one found her, you had to be the one to call the police. You couldn’t wait any longer.”

“It’s Cobb—”

“Cobb didn’t have the box of letters. Teller didn’t have them. That left you. Which means you went inside that house, stepping over the body, to see if Cobb was in the back weeding. And because he wasn’t, you helped yourself to the bird, to the box where you knew Mrs. Teller had kept her personal papers, and then the head of the cane, which was gold. Putting it all together, I can see now that it was Betsy who killed her. And you went there as soon as she told you, to make sure there was no evidence against her.”

Mrs. Blaine, fighting for control, said, “I’ll tell them in the courtroom that you’re a filthy liar, that you came here from London and couldn’t see your nose in front of your face. I’ll tell them that because I did a good deed, you want to blame me, to cover up your incompetence. They won’t like you when I’ve finished with them, and they won’t believe a word you say.”

“Betsy thought it was Cobb, didn’t she, who had brought Florence Teller to tears? She didn’t wait to hear all of it. She acted in a fury.”