just the right cajoling tone to mask the threat in his words.
'Frith's Wood. That's a pagan name if I ever heard it. Not surprised something nasty happened there. Very well. Mainwaring will be on the next available train.'
The connection was cut as Bowles put up the phone with a heavy hand.
Rutledge, standing in the small telephone closet at The Red Lion Hotel, swore softly to himself. If he was wrong about Emma Mason, Bowles would never let him forget it.
Out on a limb was the last place the superintendent wished to find himself. Even on behalf of one of his own.
Waiting for Mainwaring to come north, Rutledge went back to the hospital in the center of town.
Matron forbade him to speak to Hensley. 'He has a high fever, and Dr. Williams has moved him into a private room.'
'Then let me speak to Dr. Williams.'
'He's left for the day. I suggest you come back tomorrow. There may be some improvement by then.' Rutledge, feeling the first stages of exhaustion, had taken a room at the hotel, and he slept for five hours, hardly aware of where he was. By ten o'clock that evening, Mainwaring had arrived.
He was nearly as tall as Rutledge, broad shouldered and fair. He was also filled with curiosity. Rutledge, walking with him back to The Red Lion, was peppered with questions about the skeleton.
'You'll see it for yourself tomorrow,' he finally told his companion. 'Is it true you're leaving the Yard to work for the British Museum?'
Mainwaring laughed. 'I'm putting in for Chief Inspector. If it doesn't come through, I'll consider the Victoria and Albert. You've been in the Yard longer than I have. Why hasn't your promotion come through?'
'I'm not happy sitting at a desk, directing others,' Rutledge told him. 'I'm content dealing with cases firsthand.'
'Yes, well, we all say that, don't we? Until we're given advancement. Is the dining room still open, do you think? I'm starved.' They left early for Dudlington, and Mainwairing, who hadn't been to the area, found the drive interesting. As The Oaks came in view at the top of the rise, he said, 'I have a wager with George Reston that there's only one pub in the village.'
'You'd win. How is George?'
'His shoulder is much better, but the leg's taking its own sweet time. Motorcar accidents are the very devil, and getting worse.'
'I hope you brought your boots. We've a long walk ahead of us.' Rutledge had reached Hensley's house and turned in. 'The door is always open. You won't need a key. A bed is a different story.'
They walked into the house, and Mainwaring looked around with surprise. 'These are your accommodations? I'd have thought you'd been put up at The Oaks.'
'This is Constable Hensley's house. A woman next door prepares his meals for him. He offered to let me live here while he's in hospital.'
'An arrow is a nasty piece of work. If they don't strike something vital straightaway, then you die of septicemia from the dirty point.'
'Don't say that. Hensley's got a fever now.' They waited until well after dark, as Rutledge had done before, driving up the north road, then walking out through the fields.
Mainwaring said, 'Is all this secrecy necessary?'
'Possibly. The girl's grandmother lives in Dudlington. As soon as someone sees us carrying tools toward the wood, the gossip will fly, and I don't want it to reach her before I do.'
'No, I agree.'
They walked in silence for a time, and as the wood loomed dark in its fold of land, Mainwaring whistled. 'The Haunted Wood.'
'That's exactly what most of the people in this vicinity believe.'
'Has it ever been cleared out?'
'Who knows? It may have been larger in the past, and whittled away until this was all that was left. Or it may be the same size it's always been.' He shifted the pitchfork on his shoulder. 'But when the village was moved here and rebuilt in the shadow of it, the houses turned their backs to it.'
'Superstition is a powerful emotion. My family live near Avebury. My grandfather swore he saw lights moving among the stones on moonless nights-' He broke off. 'Speaking of lights.'
They could see what appeared to be a shaded lantern bobbing among the trees.
'Get down,' Rutledge murmured, and they dropped to their haunches, their silhouettes blending into the ground.
For another quarter of an hour, they watched the light. Then it was doused, and whoever had walked there seemed to vanish.
Rutledge dropped his pitchfork.
'Stay here.' He started running at an angle to the trees, keeping his profile low, intending to cut off whoever had been in the wood.
After several minutes he saw someone walking up the slope of the Dower Fields toward the village. Whoever it was, he was wearing a long coat that flapped around his ankles as he kept up a brisk pace. A hat, pulled low, changed the shape of the head. Rutledge thought perhaps whoever he was chasing was glad to be out of the wood and trying to reach the security of the village as quickly as possible.
The figure had reached the far side of the church when Rutledge ran hard toward the back garden of the rectory and used the shadows of its walls to hurry toward the churchyard.
He stumbled over a low tombstone, choked off a curse, and then ran on, trying to watch where he put his feet.
As he came around the far corner of the church, he nearly collided with the figure.
It let out a cry of alarm, recovered, and tried to turn back the way it had come, but Rutledge was on it, catching at the nearest shoulder with an iron grip.
A lantern fell to the ground, rolling under his feet.
The figure ducked, twisted, and almost broke his grip, but as it struggled the hat came off, and Rutledge pulled his quarry around for a good look at its face.
Only it wasn't a man. It was Mrs. Ellison.
27
Rutledge was shocked into speechlessness. Of all the people he had expected to find in Frith's Wood, Mary Ellison was the last. He released her at once. She stood there, and he could feel her eyes glaring at him, but her voice was husky as she spoke. 'You aren't the only one to watch from windows,' she said. 'What have you found in the wood? Who was the man you brought back to Dudlington with you? Inspector Cain? Is my granddaughter there in the wood? Tell me!' 'I don't know-' he began, still at a loss for words. What could he say to her? Hamish answered his thought. 'Nothing. It's too soon.' Rutledge said aloud, 'We've been searching quietly, so as not to cause you pain. Or give people a reason to gossip.' She was still breathing hard. 'I saw you putting the implements into the car. I saw you leave. Where else would you be taking a rake or a pitchfork at that hour of the night but the wood? I couldn't sit there waiting.' Her voice shook. 'I have a right to know what you've found, and why you brought that other man here!' 'Mrs. Ellison, let me take you home.' She seemed to shrink into herself. 'It can't be my granddaughter. I won't believe it. In that heathen, unblessed place? No, I refuse to believe it.' 'What did you find, when you got to the wood?' 'Nothing.' She was still breathing hard. 'It was dark, and the lantern cast shadows everywhere. I couldn't stay any longer, that place terrifies me. Nothing in the world could ever have taken me there but Emma.' 'Let me see you to your house. It's very cold, and you've had a shock.' She shook her head. 'I know my way. Go back there and do whatever it is you have to do.' As his own breathing slowed, he watched her walk steadily down Church Street and turn into Whitby Lane, and then he went on across the fields again to find Mainwairing. He wasn't where Rutledge had left him, and it was clear that his curiosity had got the better of him. Rutledge went down to the wood. The leaf mat under his feet was silent, and he walked carefully, almost from
