Rutledge rubbed his face with his hands. “All I can tell you is that she went out last night”—was it only last night?—“to look for Walsh. She was—one of Father James’s flock, and afraid the man would escape justice. And somewhere between that time and dawn this morning, she believes she killed someone and she tried to kill herself.”

“Went out on her own? I can’t see Blevins allowing that!”

Rutledge was too close to exhaustion to fight a battle of wits with this very sharp man. “He didn’t know. Ask him yourself, if you like.” Whatever secrets Priscilla Connaught possessed, if the good doctor hadn’t stumbled over them in ten or twelve years, it was a salute to her deep and abiding need for privacy.

But Dr. Stephenson’s curiosity was, quite frankly, aroused.

“Then what did she say when you walked into the farmhouse?”

“That someone was dead. And she’d tried to miss the horse. But later on she was confused about the horse, whether it was there at all.”

It was a bald account. Rutledge left it at that.

Dr. Stephenson grunted. “Well, the accident itself could have caused confusion between what she intended to do and what she did do.” He took out his watch and looked at it, sighing. “I’ve a long day ahead of me. I’ve had two men brought in with broken bones, and a woman hysterical enough to deliver prematurely. And that doesn’t count the scrapes and cuts and sprains from people wandering around in the dark most of the night! I’ll send my nurse to find Mrs. Nutley and see that Miss Connaught is cared for. If you’ll wait here for half an hour?”

“How long do you think it will be before her mind is clear?”

“Hard to say,” Stephenson replied, considering. “Wait until tomorrow before questioning her again. She may be making more sense by then.”

When he was gone, Rutledge looked in on Priscilla Connaught and then sat in a chair in the room across the passage from hers. He intended to watch; instead, he fell heavily asleep.

When Mrs. Nutley arrived, letting herself in quietly, he forced himself back to wakefulness. But it was hardly more than that. She clicked her tongue when she saw him. A motherly woman with a strong face and an awesome air of competence, she said, “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll get yourself in that spare bed over there and go back to sleep.”

But there was still too much to be done.

Blevins was working in his office when Rutledge walked through his door. He looked up with a sour expression and said, “I thought you’d be asleep by now. I wish to God I was.”

“If I look as weary as you do, we’re both a fine pair of sleepwalkers.”