“Yes, I see what you’re driving at. All right, how do I go about dying? And where will you take me? Not to Oxfordshire or I’ll refuse to help you.”
“That was a bit of a problem, but we’ve found a solution. I’ll find a way to make it happen. You must play your part and call for the nursing sister in half an hour, then let her examine you and cover your face. Someone will come and remove the-er-body.”
“When you’ve got what you want, will you retract the death notice?”
“As soon as I can. Yes.” He took the sheet of paper and returned it to his pocket. Then he said, “Did you know that Justin Fowler is listed by the Army as a deserter?”
“Justin? You can’t be serious! Yes, you are, aren’t you.” He lay there for a time, then said, “That’s odd. Because Justin said something I’ve never understood. He told me that the war was too bloody for him, that it gave him nightmares again.”
Rutledge leaned closer, to make certain his voice didn’t carry, but a patient was coughing heavily behind him, covering his words. He said, “Did you know that Justin Fowler’s parents were brutally murdered, and he himself repeatedly stabbed and left for dead?”
“Good God. No. Is that true? Justin? Did they catch whoever did it? No?” He whistled softly. “Did my mother know? She never said a word to me. But that explains the scars on his body. Something was mentioned-surgery, I think.” After a moment he added wryly, “I was a boy, I didn’t believe her. I was envious because I thought he’d done something daring. And so I asked him. Do you know what he said? I have no scars. I thought he’d been sworn to secrecy, and it was rather exciting.”
Rutledge said, “It’s time we got started. I must go.”
Russell stopped him.
“I remembered something last night as I was falling asleep. When I ran into Ben Willet in London, he asked me if I’d see that Cynthia got boxes that he’s left for her in his lodgings in Bloomsbury. He was in love with her. I could see it as plain as the nose on his face. But he didn’t want her to see him, ill as he was. I asked why the boxes shouldn’t go to his family in Furnham. Willet said they wouldn’t have any use for them. But I was jealous, I didn’t do anything about them. As far as I know they’re still there. My conscience pricked all night. It was wrong of me. There’s no one else, Morrison hasn’t come back. I’d like to ask you to make certain they’re kept until I can deal with it myself.”
“What sort of boxes?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t curious enough to ask.”
Rutledge thanked him and left.
He waited out of sight in one of the other wards until the transfer was over, watching the nursing sister he’d dealt with before hurrying out of the ward, summoning Dr. Wade, and then a few minutes later, the body of Major Russell was taken away on a stretcher under Matron’s grim, watchful eye. Finally the undertaker arrived, and Rutledge went out to his motorcar and left.
It was at a lay-by some two miles away that the transfer was made, the nursing sister settling the Major into the rear of Rutledge’s vehicle. It was painful work, but the Major took it stoically. Rutledge thanked the driver of the undertaker’s van, and an hour later, the Major was in Rutledge’s flat, lying exhausted in the bed while the sister took his vital signs.
Rutledge quickly packed a valise of whatever he would need for the duration and stowed it in the boot of his motorcar, then warned the nursing sister not to open the door unless she could see him through the window beside it.
And then he left, driving to Bloomsbury, and after asking a man walking a handsome English setter, he tracked down the lodging house where Ben Willet had stayed in London.
It was a small, well cared for, with a neat sign by the door advertising a vacancy. The woman who answered his knock was tall, with graying red-brown hair and a lined face, and when she spoke, he realized she was Irish.
“Hello, my dear, I’m that sad to tell you that despite that sign, we have no rooms to let just now. I’ve not had the time to change it. But I’ll give you the name of a friend one street away who does.”
“I’m actually here to collect Ben Willet’s boxes.” He smiled. “He seems to make a habit of leaving them behind. I hope you still have them?”
“Oh yes, of course I do, Major. He told me you’d be here sooner or later. Did he reach France safely? I was so afraid, you know, that ill as he was, he’d collapse on the journey.”
“I should think all is well. But I haven’t heard myself. What sort of lodger was he?”
“Neat as a pin, and such a gentleman. He’s a lovely man, and he could make me laugh until my sides ached, you know. Such a grand mimic, he was. What a pity that he took ill so sudden. I thought my heart would break. But there you are, we shouldn’t be questioning the Lord’s way, should we? All the same, I can’t help but think how his family must feel.”
“Did his sister or her husband come to visit him?”
“He didn’t want her to know, you see. I thought it wrong, myself, she sounded like such a lovely girl. He wrote to her, and I posted it for him myself. It was sent in care of someone else, to be given to her after he’d passed on. And then the man came to see him, and they left together.”
This was unexpected. “When was this?”
“It was the night he was to meet you at Tower Bridge. He said to me as they were walking out the door, ‘Good-bye, Mrs. Hurley. If the friend I was to meet comes looking for me, tell him I’ve gone ahead and will be there as promised.’ When Mr. Willet came back he told me there was a terrible accident on the bridge, and no one could come across. The next evening he left for Dover, and that was that. I held his room for a few days, just to be sure.”
“You’re very kind. Do you remember the man who came to see him?”
“I was in the dining room serving dinner and only caught a glimpse of him. It was Mr. Willet who told me why he’d be missing his dinner, and here I’d made his favorites. But I saved him a plate, in case, and when he got home he sat there in the kitchen with me and ate it.”
“Could you describe this visitor?” ”
“I had no reason to remember him, did I? I was only glad for Mr. Willet’s sake that he’d come, hoping he might persuade Mr. Willet to go home and see his father and his sister after all. I tell you I cried when he walked out the door that last time. I was that upset.”
“The other man didn’t come back with Willet?”
“Oh, no, he was alone. He told me the visit hadn’t gone as he’d expected, and I was sorry for that. But here I’ve kept you standing at the door. Come in, Major, my dear, and we’ll find those boxes.”
He followed her inside, and she led him to a tiny box room in the back of the house where there were odds and ends piled neatly to allow access, and to one side were two boxes marked with Willet’s name.
“In a way I’m that sad to see them go,” Mrs. Hurley told Rutledge. “As long as they were here, I’d hoped for a miracle, and that he’d come back the way he was before the sickness came on him. I couldn’t bear to hand them over to that constable who came for them. I was told to pass them to no one but the Major, and I keep my word when it’s given.”
And he was grateful for her insistence.
“There. I’ve said good-bye,” she said as he lifted them to carry them to his motorcar. And she turned and walked swiftly back into the house, shutting the door, so that Rutledge wouldn’t see her cry.
The Major was in Rutledge’s flat, so he took the boxes to his sister’s house. When he walked in carrying the first of them, Frances said, “Are you moving in?”
“Not precisely. I need to leave this and its mate with you after I open them. The study?”
“Yes, that will do very well.”
When he’d brought both boxes in, Rutledge set about opening each one.
Both contained sheets of paper neatly typed, and then others written in longhand.
“I wonder what became of his luggage?” he mused. “But I suppose it went into the Thames with him. I’d have done the same in his shoes.”
“Whose luggage? Whose shoes?” Frances asked.
“If I knew the answer to that I’d be ahead of the game.”
“Does this have to do with that awful village where you took me for tea? I still haven’t forgiven you for
