She leaned forward to see it more clearly but made no effort to take it and examine it closely. 'It's a cartridge case, of course. I have no idea what kind.'
'It's from a Maxim machine gun.'
'Indeed,' she commented, sitting back in her chair. 'Why have you brought this to me? Did you think it was mine?'
'Or meant for you. Anyone who knew the guest list might have assumed that a woman alone wouldn't choose to stay as late as a couple. But I received an unexpected call from the Yard, and so I was the first of the guests to go down the front steps.'
She smiled. 'My dear Inspector, I'd never have given it a thought, even if I'd seen it. And if Dr. Gavin had left before you did, I don't believe he'd have paid it any attention either. Commander Farnum on the other hand was in the Royal Navy. He'd have recognized it, no doubt, and even wondered how it had got there, but he wouldn't have picked it up and kept it.'
'Yes, I've considered that.'
Mrs. Channing studied his face for a moment. 'But you were in the trenches, I'm told. This would have taken you back, I think, to the killing. And you'd have wondered why the war had intruded again on a peaceful London.'
It was so close to the mark, he was silent.
'Have there been others?'
Rutledge was on the verge of denying it, and then answered truthfully. If this woman had had anything to do with the cartridges, she already knew the answer. And if she hadn't, telling her would do no harm.
'There've been three others.'
Hamish was clamoring for his attention, warning him to walk carefully.
'Yes, that's when you realized that the first one was indeed intended for you. But why have you come here, if you knew the answer to that? Why would you think I might recognize them?'
'A policeman always makes certain his information is correct. You were the only person at Maryanne's party I didn't know.'
'I see.' She digested that.
'You hold seances for the amusement of your friends. What would you do, if you raised the dead during one of them?'
'I'd be stunned, Inspector. It isn't my intention and I have no-talent in that direction, thank God! What I do have is a rather good instinct for what people find entertaining. As soon as one of Maryanne's guests thought that the King's spaniel was her own beloved dog, I made certain not to tread in that direction. We had a rather interesting discussion instead on whether or not Charles II had climbed that oak tree, or if it were merely a legend. After that we had a few words with Lord Nelson, to amuse Commander Farnum. You had nothing to fear, you know.'
'What makes you believe I was fearful?'
'It was there in the strain of your voice, and in your eyes. I had no intention of exposing your secrets. I'd have avoided them. But you couldn't believe that, of course. Whether that was a policeman's natural distrust of everyone or your own vulnerability, I couldn't say. I should think it was the latter.'
'My secrets?' He made it a question. Hamish was loud in his ears.
'Ah, we come at last to the real reason why you're here today. I saw you once before New Year's Eve, if that's what's worrying you. But I'd never have said so, unless you spoke of it first. I was in a casualty station in France, well behind the lines, but still close enough to receive the worst cases. You'd come to ask about a young soldier, and when the doctor told you he was dying in spite of all we could do, you sat there with him until the end. I never forgot that.'
He didn't have to ask who the man was. He remembered him vividly. Sergeant Williams, who should have died on the battlefield but somehow held on long enough to be sent back. Machine-gun fire had struck him in both legs. Rut- ledge had had to write a letter to his parents that night. Your son was a good and brave soldier. It was an honor to serve with him, and you can be proud of his courage under fire and the care he showed to his men…
It hadn't begun to say what Rutledge knew about Williams-little things, like how fond he was of sweets, and how he shouted at his wounded, telling them they weren't to die on his watch, by God, and how he hated the machine gunners Coming back to the present, Rutledge asked, 'And was that the only time you saw me?' For it hadn't been many months before he'd been brought in to the same station suffering from shell shock and claustrophobia, barely alive because Hamish's body had given him a tiny pocket of air to breathe long enough to be dug out of the shell hole in time and carried half-conscious back to the doctors. They had patched him up and sent him forward again, after a few hours' rest and a shot of whiskey.
'It was.' She didn't add that it wasn't the last time she'd had news of him.
'You'd make a good policeman,' he said, trying to divert the conversation.
She laughed, a throaty laugh that was warm and filled with humor. 'Surely policemen aren't the only ones who understand human nature. A good clergyman must, and a good doctor as well. Why shouldn't a mere woman have the same gift?'
He smiled in response. 'I never thought of you as a 'mere woman.' But you use your gifts in unexpected ways.' 'Your intuition brought you here. My intuition can take me places as well.' 'Then tell me, if you will, where these shell casings are coming from. Why I've found them wherever I go.' It was a challenge. After a moment, she said, 'May I see it again?' And this time she took the casing and held it for a moment without looking at it. Finally, she examined the design. 'Were the others the same? Just poppies in rows, perhaps a reminder of the dead in France?' 'No. Look just there. See that face, or skull, just visible? It grows more noticeable in each of the others. And the last one had no pattern at all.' Turning the case, she found the skull and nodded. 'Perhaps whoever is doing this only had three that were engraved.' He had considered that possibility. 'If I were to tell you what I think, you must realize it's nothing more than an educated guess.' 'I'll accept that.' 'Someone would like to see you suffer as he's suffered. You're to feel hunted, persecuted. Afraid. The suggestion is that you belong among the war dead, not here in London, alive-' Mrs. Channing broke off as she saw the expression on his face. 'You've already thought about that, haven't you?' 'Many times,' he managed to say. But he had answered her with the unvarnished truth as well as his interpretation of the designs on the cases. 'You must ask yourself whether whoever is doing this chose you-that is to say, Ian Rutledge-or if you are, so to speak, a surrogate for others. As opposed to a purely random target.' He was beginning to feel claustrophobic in this handsome, feminine room. Hamish, in the back of his mind, was keeping up a barrage of furious comment. And the woman before him was too aware of what he was thinking. What he was feeling. Rutledge got to his feet. 'I must go, I've a long drive ahead of me.' 'Yes.' She made no attempt to persuade him to stay. Instead she followed him to the door, handing him his hat and coat. 'You've been very helpful,' he told her, trying to make amends for his rudeness. 'Thank you.' 'I've only confused you more, Inspector,' she answered ruefully. 'I'm sorry.' She closed the door before he was halfway down the walk. He searched the motorcar carefully as he got in, expecting to find another casing there. If he could be followed to Hertford and Northamptonshire, he could be followed back to London. But there was nothing on the seats or on the floor. For some reason that was not reassuring. It wasn't until much later that he realized he'd left the original cartridge case behind. Rutledge drove to within a mile of the Yard, left the motorcar behind a hotel, and stood on a street corner within sight of the main entrance of the Yard. He waited there for half an hour, watching for Sergeant Gibson to leave at the end of the day. Gibson was surprised to see him and said bluntly, 'You're supposed to be in the North. Sir.' 'I know. I need information.' 'About Constable Hensley?' 'Exactly.'
'I don't know more than I told you. He was posted to the North without fanfare.'
'Something to do with the Barstow inquiry.'
'Talk in the canteen was that he'd stepped on the wrong toes and was being exiled. Out of sight, out of mind, so to speak.'
'I've heard that there was a fire at Barstow's place of business, and that someone died, a clerk who had come back to the office unexpectedly.'
'He was badly burned, I remember that. And died months afterward.'
'Will you find out what you can about the man, the fire, and Constable Hensley's role in the inquiry?'
Gibson gave him a sharp glance. 'The minute I start to ask questions, word will fly to the Chief Super's ear.'
