well. I never wanted to see that village again. I made a bad marriage to escape it. We went into service together, and that was worse. He drank himself to death, finally, leaving me not a penny, and when I was turned out, it was Harold who rescued me and brought me to Hallowfields, though I wasn't to tell a living soul I was his sister. I paid for my freedom, and now I have money of my own. I still have nowhere to turn. I don't know how to live, except at someone else's beck and call.'
'You must find a home of your own, and learn to be your own mistress.'
'Yes, I must, mustn't I?' she said doubtfully, then announced him to Miss O'Hara.
'You keep turning up, like a bad penny. What's this visit in aid of now? '
'Tidying away loose ends.'
'That doesn't sound to me like an invitation to dinner.'
Rutledge smiled. 'Another time. I have other calls I must make. I hear Mrs. Quarles has made restitution.'
'Yes, that was the oddest thing. I was never so shocked as I was when I found her at my door. It's Betty who worries me. I told her I would keep her on here, until she can decide what she wants to do with herself. But she's been so browbeaten all her life, she doesn't seem to have tuppence worth of backbone. It's really quite sad. I shall miss you, Ian, when you've gone back to London. Perhaps I can arrange a murder or two to bring you here again.'
'Yes, do that.' He said good-bye and left, while Hamish rumbled in the back of his head, telling him to be careful.
After calling on the Chief Constable at his house in Bath, Rutledge turned back toward London.
He had some explaining to do when he got there. Chief Superintendent Bowles was not pleased about his absence.
'Why couldn't this inquiry have been wrapped up sooner?'
'Because there was misinformation from the start. And there were people to whom it was advantageous to muddy the waters.'
'This man Padgett. What possessed him? A policeman!'
'Pride.'
'And what about Evering. What are we to do with him?'
'There's not much we can do. He didn't touch Harold Quarles. He in no way encouraged Davis Penrith to kill the man. He simply told him a lie.'
Bowles said, 'A lie can be as deadly as the truth. See to your desk. There's more than enough work on it to keep you busy awhile. I don't hold with this running about. Leave it to the lawyers now.'
Dismissed, Rutledge went to his office and sat down in his chair, turning it to look out at the spring shower washing the London air clean, his mind far away from the papers in front of him. All he could see was a hot dry morning in the bush and a train burning while a man screamed.
Four days later, he was dispatched to Cornwall. A body had come ashore off Land's End, and in the dead woman's pocket was a waterlogged letter. They could make out Rutledge's name, and Scotland Yard. Much of the rest was indecipherable.
He left London as soon as he could and reached Penzance late in the evening. A young constable at the police station greeted him and said, 'I'm to take you directly to Inspector Dunne. He lives in that small farmhouse you passed on your way in.'
It was no longer a working farm, where the inspector lived. But the gray stone house, built in the distant past, its slate roof heavy on the beams, had a charm that was very obvious. The outbuildings had for the most part been cleared away, save for the barn and the large medieval dovecote. As they pulled into the yard, Rutledge could hear doves fluttering and calling, unsettled by the brightness of his headlamps.
Dunne was a middle-aged man graying at the temples. He had waited up for Rutledge, but he'd already replaced his boots with slippers, and shuffled ahead of them as he led Rutledge to the room where he worked when at home.
'You don't often find a victim of drowning with Scotland Yard's address in her pocket. We thought you might want to have a look.'
'I appreciate that. No idea who she was?'
'None. That's what we're hoping you can tell us.'
Rutledge had an odd feeling that it was Mariah Pendennis, who was the only person who could swear that Evering wasn't in his house on the night that Quarles was murdered. His spirits rose. There might yet be a way to catch Evering.
Even as he thought about it, he had to accept the reality of winds and tides. It would be nearly impossible if she'd drowned off St. Anne's for her to be found off Land's End.
Hamish said, 'He would ha' taken her out to sea. Else she might wash up in the Isles.'
Dunne was telling Rutledge the circumstances of finding the body. 'Fishermen spied her on the rocks. That's where a good many drowning victims turn up. Know anyone living in this part of Cornwall? Dealt with a crime in our fair Duchy, have you?'
'Only one, and that was some time ago. Nearly a year. And farther north, above Tintagel.'
'Not my patch, thank the Lord. Want to have a look at her tonight? Or wait until the morning. I'd be glad to put you up. The house is empty at the moment. My wife's gone to Exeter, a christening.'
Rutledge accepted his invitation, and the next morning, Dunne took him to see the body of the drowned woman.
Her face had suffered from the waves tumbling her against the rocks, but shocked as he was, Rutledge had no difficulty identifying her. What he couldn't grasp was why Betty Richards should have drowned herself off Cornwall.
A sad end, he thought, moved by pity. He reached out, gently touching the cold, sheet-clad shoulder nearest him.
Rutledge said to Dunne, 'You were right to summon me. Her name is Betty Richards. She was the sister of someone who was killed in Somerset recently. I'd like to see the letter. It may be important.'
They brought him the stiff, almost illegible pages, and he tried to read them, using a glass that someone found for him. Even so, even magnified, the ink had run to such an extent that Rutledge could decipher only one word in three. Something about money, and her duty, and at the end, her gratitude for what he'd done for her.
But it hadn't been enough.
She'd tried to kill herself before, and this time she'd succeeded.
Why here?
She couldn't have known. He'd told no one but Padgett He turned to Inspector Dunne. 'I must find a telephone. It's urgent.'
Dunne took him across to the hotel, and there, in a cramped room, Rutledge put in a call to The Unicorn.
He recognized Hunter's quiet voice as the man answered. Rutledge identified himself and said, 'Can you find Miss O'Hara, and bring her to the telephone. It's pressing business.'
'It will take some time. Will you call back in a quarter of an hour?'
Rutledge agreed and hung up the receiver.
Inspector Dunne said, 'Mind telling me what this is about?'
'I'm not sure.' He looked at his watch. 'Can someone hold the mail boat to the Scilly Isles? We should be on it, but first I've got to wait for my call to go through.'
'The Scilly Isles? She wouldn't have come from there. Trust me, I know the currents in this part of the world.'
'Nevertheless-'
Dunne sent a constable peddling to hold the boat. Rutledge paced Reception, mentally counting the minutes. Where was Miss O'Hara? Had anything happened to her?
He swore under his breath. The hands on the tall case clock beside the stairs moved like treacle, their tick as loud as his heartbeats, and his patience was running out.
Hamish was there, thundering in his mind, telling him what he already suspected, calling him a fool, reminding him that he had thought it was finished, and reiterating a handful of words until they seemed to engulf
