“I haven’t seen her since she returned to London. But I’m told she’s back and feeling much better. Oh, speaking of injuries and recoveries, did you hear that Chief Inspector Cummins was viciously attacked last night? I ran into his sister coming from the hotel in Marin Street. She was sent for. He was badly hurt, loss of blood, stitches. I hope they find whoever did such a vile thing.”

“I’m sure the Yard has every possible man searching.”

“What brought you here, if it wasn’t Jake?” she asked.

He smiled. “No further word from Scotland?”

“All’s well. Ian had his pick of the pups. He’s excited because Fiona is allowing him to sleep with it. I don’t think there’s any lasting harm from the horror of the train crash.”

“The resilience of youth.”

Leaving, he trolled the streets toward St. Paul’s, looking for Charlie Hood. But there was no sign of the man. Another loop, he thought, and then, six blocks from the cathedral, he spotted Hood.

This time Rutledge caught up with him and called, “Hood?”

The man turned, recognized Rutledge, and started toward an alley where the motorcar couldn’t follow. And then he thought better of it and came forward slowly, stopping about five feet from the vehicle.

People were swarming around them at this hour of the day, weaving in and out and making any sort of conversation nearly impossible.

“What do you want?” Hood asked. And Rutledge read his lips rather than heard his words in the noisy intersection.

“A drink. A few words,” Rutledge said to him.

“I don’t have the time,” Hood replied. Then, coming nearer, he asked, “You haven’t caught your murderer, have you?”

“Not yet. He came close to killing another man last night.”

Hood nodded. “Word gets about on the street.” He made to go.

Rutledge said, “Have you ever had trouble with the police?”

Hood laughed harshly. “Not since I was twelve and learned my lesson. Still trying to make a connection with that other man?”

“That inquiry was successfully concluded.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And he was off, moving briskly through the late afternoon crowds, then crossing the street and disappearing into a shop.

Rutledge watched him go. “I’ll have you yet, my friend,” he said under his breath, then turned back toward the Yard.

Instead he went to Bolingbroke Street and asked to speak to Susannah Teller.

To his surprise, she agreed to see him. The shades were drawn in the sitting room, but even in the dim light Rutledge could see that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and lack of sleep. Yet he thought she seemed to have found some inner strength to carry her through.

Hamish said, unexpectedly, “Anger.”

Rutledge thought that was very true. For she kept him standing, like a servant.

“I wanted you to know that we’ve released your husband’s body.”