She considered the question. “Not Lord Sedgwick, no. I did pass his motorcar near Gull Street. I didn’t see who was in it, the lamps were right in my face, and it was traveling fast. It went on toward Wells, as far as I could tell. Occasionally that chauffeur of his takes it to The Pelican, if Lord Sedgwick is out of town. It could have been Edwin. He’s a fast driver, like his brother.”

“Do you know the Randal farm?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone does. I used to buy cut flowers from his wife, for the dining-room tables. She was a wonderful gardener.”

“Whose property is adjacent to Randal’s, to the south?”

“My guess is it belongs to the Sedgwick family. Lord Sedgwick has made a practice of buying up acreage when he can. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s bought the Randal property, when Tom’s too old to run it himself. There’s no close family, you see.”

What she’d told him agreed with the map he’d seen in Blevins’s office. “Thank you, Mrs. Barnett. You’ve been very helpful!”

“Will you be staying in for lunch?” Her glance ran around the room.

“Yes, if that’s convenient,” Rutledge answered for them.

“You know something we don’t,” Holston said, as the door closed behind Mrs. Barnett.

“Little things. Henderson saw Lord Sedgwick arrive at the rectory just after Mrs. Barnett left. When there was no answer to his knock, Sedgwick went inside. Furthermore, if Sedgwick’s property adjoins the Randal farm, it’s very likely he’d also know about the horses—and that the old man is hard of hearing.”

Monsignor Holston said, “I don’t follow you—are you telling me that Sedgwick arranged for a horse to be available to Matthew Walsh, once he escaped?”

“No,” May Trent said slowly, watching Rutledge’s face. “No. He thinks someone else rode that mare.”

She was quick. . . .

“It’s possible,” Rutledge agreed. He saw again the hammer wound on the dead wife’s temple. All those years ago— Reaching into his experience and deeper into his intuition, he said, “When Matthew Walsh escaped from his cell, it was seen as an admission of guilt. If he was killed before he could be recaptured and tried, all the better. With his death, the investigation would be closed. As it has been! If he’d been retaken and sent to Norwich for trial, anything could have gone wrong.”

“Insufficient evidence to convict him?” she asked, intrigued. “Then you’re saying that someone went after Walsh, and caught up with him not long after the mare cast her shoe—” Her face changed. “But, look here, if Walsh wasn’t riding it, he wouldn’t have been the one the mare kicked!”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Rutledge smiled. “After luncheon, I intend to pay a call on Lord Sedgwick.”