He turned. “I’ll do my best to protect Harry. For his mother’s sake. And I owe it to the Captain to protect you as well. At the same time I have a duty to the law. Until I am satisfied, neither your husband’s death or Jenny Teller’s will be closed.”

He left her then, and she didn’t call him back.

Rutledge was returning to the Yard when he saw Meredith Channing just coming out of Westminster Abbey. She still wore a sling on her arm but moved without pain as far as he could tell. He slowed the motorcar, and when she came within speaking distance, he called to her.

She looked up, recognized him, and paused, as if uncertain whether to greet him or not. And then she crossed to the motorcar.

“I see you’ve recovered,” he said.

“And you found the people you were searching for? Were they all right?”

“Yes, thank God. I came back to look for you. I was told you’d already been moved, but no one seemed to know where.”

“A very kind woman took in several of us. It was a relief to get away from such an horrific scene. And then friends came for me. I stayed a few days with them. ” She paused. “Ian. I’ve decided to travel for a while. I think it would be good for me.”

There was traffic behind him. He said, “Are you going home? Just now?”

“Yes. I sometimes come here to think. It’s very lovely and very quiet.”

“I’ll take you, then.” And he lied when he saw her hesitation. “I’m going in that direction.”

“All right. Yes. Thank you.”

As they pulled away from the pavement and headed for Trafalgar Square, he asked, “How long do you expect to be away? For the summer?”

“I’m not sure. A year or two, perhaps. I haven’t looked ahead.” After a moment, she added, “I’ve—become fond of someone. And I’m not sure that it’s wise.”

He couldn’t see her face. She was looking at the passing scene as if she had never traveled this way before. He wasn’t sure she was seeing it now.

“Something has upset you.”

“I think the train crash upset everyone who was there,” she said evasively. She turned to look at him, then looked away again.

He remembered that no one had sent him word about the name of the passenger who had died.

“Was he on the train? The man you’ve become fond of?”

Surprise flitted across her face as she turned back to him. “On the train? No. I was traveling alone. What made you think—”

“There was a man in your compartment. He didn’t survive.”