RUTLEDGE AWOKE FROM A DEEP SLEEP to the sound of thunder. The guns, he thought, as he tried to shake off the dullness that weighed so heavily on his body, like a mattress, muffling and distorting the noise. They’ve started firing again—

He could hear one of the Sergeants calling his name, and cleared his throat to answer, but couldn’t.

And then sleep fell away and he realized there was a pounding on his door, and the voice calling him wasn’t one he knew.

Rising swiftly, he went to open the door and found a young constable standing there, blood on his cheek and shoulder, his face white. Rutledge struggled to recall his name. Franklin—

“Inspector Blevins asks, sir, if you’ll come straightaway.”

Rutledge opened the door wider. “Yes, all right. Tell me what’s happened.” He crossed to the chair by the window and began to dress, adding a sweater under his coat.

The constable was saying, “All hell’s broke loose, sir!” His voice was still high-pitched from shock, but steady enough. “That man Walsh has escaped—he struck me over the head and was gone before I could do anything. When I got my senses back, I ran to wake up Inspector Blevins, and on the way back to the station, we saw Mr. Sims, coming from the vicarage. There was someone trying to break into the house. It had to be Walsh, sir!”

Rutledge found his shoes and stockings, pulling them on hastily, then ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “All right, let’s be on our way.”

Hamish was saying, “I canna’ believe he’d run. It’s sure proof against him!”

May Trent, in a dressing gown, her hair in a dark plait over one shoulder, was at her door as he strode into the passage. The words found their way into the jumble of thoughts in his mind: She’s damned attractive—

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is there something amiss?”

The constable started to answer her, but Rutledge said, “No, it’s a problem at the station. I’ve been sent for. Go back to sleep, there’s nothing to worry about.”

There was doubt in her face, but she nodded and went back into her room, shutting the door. As he turned toward the stairs, he heard the click! of the lock behind him. Just as well, he told himself. But Walsh had no reason to come here. . . .

They let themselves out quietly, and Mrs. Barnett, in dressing gown and slippers, shut and locked the door behind them.

As the two men walked fast up Water Street to the station, Rutledge said, “You were on duty, then?”

“Yes. Walsh was asleep when I checked at midnight, snoring like the wrath of God. He always does—you can hardly hear yourself think!”

“And?”