'See that you do. Who's Gerald Parkinson, when he's at home? Never heard of him.'
'He's from Wiltshire. He's known there, he has an estate there. For some reason he left it and moved to Berkshire, not far from Uff- ington, content to live in a small cottage under a different name. His neighbors found him aloof, and none of them seems to know he had a past different from the one he's given out to them. Which is precious little.'
'Are you certain this sketch of yours is a good likeness? You'll look a fool and so would I if it's off the mark.'
'No one in Yorkshire admitted to recognizing the body-or the sketch.'
'Humph.' Bowles rubbed his eyes. 'Well, it's time to get to the truth. Find out why Inspector Madsen is hell- bent on causing trouble. Or what he knows that we don't. Either way, settle it. Don't come back until you do.'
'I'll do my best.'
'No, man, you'll do more than your best. If we're to have a hornet's nest burst about our ears, we want to make certain we can survive it.' He leaned forward in his chair. 'I have no more use for this Deloran than you do. I don't like outsiders meddling in an inquiry, and above all I don't relish being made to look a fool. Do you understand me?'
Bowles had been an unexpected and unwilling ally when they faced a common enemy in the War Office. Now he was back to his irascible self.
Rutledge took a deep breath. 'I'm fairly certain Deloran is hiding information that might make our work easier. But I can't find a way to get at it without bringing Partridge to his attention again.'
'If you're asking me to beard the lion in his den, you've another think coming. You're expendable, Rutledge. And don't you forget it.'
During the long drive north, Rutledge had much on his mind, and there was only Hamish to break the silence that pursued him mile after mile. When, the next morning, he pulled into Elthorpe, he had the odd feeling that nothing had changed since his first arrival only days ago. As he switched off the motor, he could have sworn the same faces were on the street, the same wares displayed in the shop windows, and the same rain clouds hovered in the distance. He sat for a moment looking at nothing, considering how best to say what must be said to Inspector Madsen.
A cold wind blew across the dales and into the narrow streets, reminding him that here April had not brought the same spring softness that was awakening the south of England.
Finally he got out of the motorcar and crossed the road to the police station.
There was a distinct pause in conversation when he entered and asked for the inspector.
Madsen was not pleased to see him. He met Rutledge's gaze with righteous hostility as he came through the door, waiting for him to speak first.
'I've been told that Albert Crowell has been taken into custody.'
'Oh, yes, you explained away that book on alchemy very well. It's harder to explain away Henry Shoreham's disappearance less than a week before we found our corpse in the abbey.'
Rutledge said, 'I've had a positive identification of your victim. He lived in Berkshire, and as far as I know, never met Alice Crowell.'
'From a sketch.'
'You yourself saw both the sketch and the victim. Are you telling me that the sketch is faulty?'
'Then what was your Berkshire man doing, hanging about in Yorkshire?'
'I don't have the answer to that. Yet. My sergeant told me,' Rutledge went on, 'that Shoreham had left Whitby shortly after the Crowells refused to press charges against him, and no one has seen him since. Where has he been, these last few years?'
Madsen sat down in his chair and leaned back, suddenly smug. 'London isn't as thorough as a good Yorkshire man can be when he puts his mind to it. We ran Shoreham to earth in the village of Addl- eford, living quietly with a cousin. Only, he went to stay with another cousin, and vanished. This cousin, one Lewellyn Williams, swore he never arrived. And he left Addleford because a family from Whitby moved there and he feared he'd be recognized.'
'Why didn't one or the other of these cousins raise the alarm when Shoreham failed to arrive in Wales? Surely they were concerned about him?'
'The one in Wales thought Shoreham had changed his mind about coming just then. The one in Addleford thought he was snug in Wales. Constable Pickerel got the distinct impression that the cousin in Ad- dleford hadn't been in any great hurry to contact Williams.'
'How did Crowell find Shoreham, if it was impossible for the Yard to locate him?'
'It's our view that Crowell ran into him quite by chance. Lucky for him, not so fortunate for Shoreham. The Crowells weren't living in Dilby when the accident happened. Shoreham had no way of knowing his danger.'
'For the sake of argument, let's say you're right-'
Madsen smiled. 'Very well.'
'Where did Shoreham die? And why did Crowell take the risk of leaving him in the abbey ruins? It was not the cleverest thing to do.'
The legs of Madsen's chair smacked the floor with a sharp thump. 'Early days yet, Rutledge, but we'll have that soon enough.'
'I'd like the name of the cousin in Addleford. And the direction of the Welsh cousin as well.'
'Where's the need? We've been over that ground already.'
'So you have,' Rutledge responded with more patience than he felt. 'But the Yard will require assurances that all the evidence has been thoroughly examined. More to the point, we appear to have some confusion about identity. I'll remind you that Mrs. Crowell didn't recognize the drawing, and Crowell himself said he couldn't identify the body, when he was taken to the doctor's surgery.'
'Well, they would say as much, wouldn't they? Crowell because he had no intention of drawing attention to himself, and Al-Mrs. Crowell, that is-because she's not about to betray her husband.'
Rutledge saw something in Madsen's face as he said the last few words that was very different from his manner to this point. 'Nothing in my conversations with her made me feel she would lie for her husband's sake. And what about Crowell's feelings about killing? They're on record.'
'This is the man who ruined his wife's face, for God's sake. It's all very well to make a public display of forgiving the bastard, but deep down inside? Crowell was probably biding his time for a bit of quiet revenge.' Madsen shook his head. 'I don't hold with conscientious objectors. I never have. They were perfectly willing to let someone else die in their place, weren't they? I'll stay home, cozy by my hearth, thank you very much, and leave you to do the fighting!'
'I remind you he drove an ambulance.'
'Yes, that's all very well. A bit of conscience overcoming him, for a guess.' It was a sneer. 'And Alice thought him quite the hero, didn't she, bringing back the wounded and saving lives. And those of us who had to carry on back in England, doing the job we were meant to do, were not good enough-'
Madsen stopped short, but not before Rutledge had seen more than he was meant to see.
Alice…
And those of us who had to carry on here in England were not good enough…
As Madsen struggled to rein in his temper, Hamish said, 'Ye ken, he's jealous, and he canna' live with it.'
The inspector looked away from Rutledge, his gaze going to a half- dozen folders lying on top of the table at his elbow. 'It could be she's afraid to tell us what she really thinks. There's no getting around the fact that every time she looks in her mirror, the scar is there, staring back at her.'
He picked up one of the folders and opened it. 'Peter Littleton. That's the cousin in Addleford. And this man Williams lives outside Aberystwyth in a place called Hill Farm.'
Rutledge took the sheet of paper that Madsen held out to him. 'I'll let you know what I discover.'
'Precious little, I'll be bound,' Madsen said under his breath as Rutledge left.
Rutledge made a detour to Dilby, to find Alice Crowell. She was trying to keep the school open in her husband's absence. There were shadows under her eyes and a tightness in her face that spoke of her distress. The white scar seemed to shine in the morning light as if newly burnished by the reminders of how it had begun.
There was a flare of hope in her face as she saw Rutledge in the passage outside the bookroom, and she
