It was very early. The storm over London hadn’t cleared the air here. The clouds were heavy, the rain dismal, and he had had no breakfast

Hamish said, “It willna’ improve your mood.”

He waited in a lay-by until eight o’clock, and then drove the short distance to Witch Hazel Farm. He found Edwin standing in the doorway, looking out at the weather.

“It doesn’t appear that this rain will stop,” Edwin called as Rutledge got out of the motorcar. “Good God, man, what happened to your face?”

“An altercation with a belligerent prisoner,” Rutledge said.

“Peter’s funeral is today. Did you know?”

“I spoke to Mrs. Teller yesterday in London. She told me.”

They walked indoors, and Edwin said, “What about Jenny? Can we go ahead there as well? I think it’s not in Walter’s best interests to go on brooding. We’ve hardly clapped eyes on him. He stays in his room. Leticia has been taking up his meals.”

“I see no reason not to release the body,” Rutledge said. “I’ve decided to agree with Inspector Jessup for now that these were accidents. I have found no evidence that they weren’t.”

“I don’t see how anyone would gain by their deaths. Financially or otherwise.”

Rutledge said, “It has nothing to do with money. What concerned me was the fact that your brother is no longer alive to deny he was married to Florence Marshall. And Jenny Teller is no longer alive to be hurt should the legitimacy of her marriage be questioned.”

“I don’t think—”

“No. I’m sure none of you did when first you embarked on this venture.”

Edwin said, “As I was about to say, I don’t think justice would be served by pursuing this.”

Rutledge entered the study to find the family collected there, save for Walter. They looked tired, dispirited, and isolated in their own thoughts.

Mary said, “The funeral is at two o’clock this afternoon. Did Edwin tell you?”

He thanked her, and asked after Harry.

“He’s bearing up well enough. The rector’s son gave him a puppy. I don’t know what Walter will say to that—he never cared for pets—but it has taken Harry’s mind off death.”

Rutledge was reminded of another small boy rewarded by a puppy from the litter in the barn.

Leticia said, “Did you speak to Susannah, Inspector? Is she coming?”

“I expect to see her,” he said.

She started out of the room. “I’ll see that her bed is made up.”

Rutledge had the feeling that his very presence dampened the conversation. He followed Leticia out into the passage. “I don’t believe she’ll stay here,” he told her.

“Well. Her choice, of course.”