'He told me something about Captain Fordham that made a lot of sense.'
He groaned. 'I thought you'd been warned off that topic.'
'I was. I can't help it if Freddy knew the man.'
'I see. You'd better tell me.'
I did. Simon nodded as I was finishing the account.
'He's right,' Simon told me. 'There's delayed shock, you know. As long as Captain Fordham was recovering from his wounds, he could put France out of his mind. But as soon as he knew he was nearly ready to return to the Front, the truth had to be faced.'
'Then why didn't he use his service revolver?'
'I expect he didn't wish to. I expect he didn't feel he had a right to use it.'
That was a very interesting observation.
I sighed. 'Poor man.'
'He wouldn't be the first. And he won't be the last. Don't you remember Color Sergeant Blaine? It was much the same story.'
I did remember. It was in Lahore, and Color Sergeant Blaine was in hospital recovering from wounds. He slashed his wrists one night, without a word to anyone. And my father said Sergeant Blaine blamed himself for losing his men in an ambush on the Frontier. He felt, experienced man that he was, that he should have foreseen it. No one could have, my father told my mother. But Sergeant Blaine had never lost a troop before.
'You're very wise, Simon. But what became of the handgun that Captain Fordham used? Solve that mystery too.'
'It's buried deep in the mud under the bridge where he was standing. It fell from his height and through the height of the bridge. Enough force to bury it in the soft soil at the bottom of the lake.'
But the police had searched, and still hadn't found it.
I finished my tea, and sat back in my chair. 'Will you drive me to Little Sefton? I'd like to speak to Lieutenant Hart before Inspector Herbert sees him.'
'Do you think that's wise?' Simon asked.
'I don't know what's wise anymore. But Inspector Herbert has a second victim now. He's probably already under a good deal of pressure to take someone into custody. Michael Hart would solve all his problems. As soon as the inspector speaks to Helen Calder, he'll order Michael's arrest. See if he doesn't!'
'That could be later this afternoon or evening. Are you convinced that Michael's shoulder wound is as serious as he claimed?'
'You know as well as I do that severely wounded men can go on to do heroic things before they collapse. He's a soldier, he could stab her if he had to-wanted to. What would be impossible for him to do is carry or drag her into the square afterward.' I bit my lip, then added, because I knew Inspector Herbert was already considering it, 'It could explain why she was found in the square and not taken to the river, as Marjorie was.'
'Yes, I'd considered that myself.' He signaled to the waiter. 'I'll take you to Little Sefton, only because I feel safer with you under my eye. And then you'll go back to Somerset and stay there.'
'I promise.'
But I crossed my fingers behind my back, just in case.
Simon took me to Little Sefton, then did as I asked, driving away after leaving me on Alicia's doorstep. He was to return in precisely two hours. He wasn't happy with that arrangement, but I promised to stay with Alicia.
I had the excuse of returning the borrowed photograph, but I needn't have worried about my welcome.
She was delighted to see me. From the twinkle in her eye, I knew what she was thinking, that I couldn't stay away long because my heart was given to Michael Hart.
She said nothing about that as she led me into her sitting room, and asked if the photograph had helped.
'Indeed it has,' I told her. 'The only problem is, that officer is in France just now.'
Looking at the photograph I'd given her, she said, 'He looks like a nice sort. And if he's someone Gareth photographed, he must be all right.'
I changed the subject, asking if the village had been reasonably quiet since my last visit.
'That's right, you haven't heard, have you?'
I knew what must be coming. 'What's happened?'
'Michael Hart was walking in his aunt's garden. Pacing it, more likely. Mrs. King was passing by, and she said he had the face of a bear, so she didn't stop to speak. And not a quarter of an hour later, he went raging in to see Constable Tilmer, claiming someone shot at him. But Constable Tilmer couldn't find anyone who'd heard one shot, much less two. And with all the windows open because of the warm evening, you'd have thought someone must have heard it.'
'What happened then?'
'Constable Tilmer searched the gardens and the back lanes, and told the Harts that all was well, the excitement was over. But Michael wouldn't hear of it. He demanded that the constable ring up Scotland Yard and report the incident directly. And then we all went home to bed and that was the end of it.'
'Who could possibly want to shoot Lieutenant Hart?'
'That's what everyone is asking. Jason Markham claims it was a jealous husband.' She laughed at that. 'If so, he had very poor aim.'
The village was taking the incident very lightly, finding amusement in it.
'But why should Michael make up such a story?'
'Too many drugs, everyone says. Hearing things.' She shrugged.
'Is that true?'
'I don't know how the rumors got started. But they did. I imagine it was when Michael first came here to rest after they had worked on his shoulder. He wasn't himself at all-barely able to speak, and even when he did he didn't always make sense. Slept much of the day and paced his room at night-I could see for myself once or twice that his lights were on until the small hours. And his shadow passing between the lamp and the window, back and forth, back and forth. Even when he finally came outside where people could see him, he was pale and often sweating and his eyes looked right through you.'
'Such wounds can be terribly painful. And the shoulder is awkward-difficult to sit down, difficult to lie down, difficult to stand. So you don't rest. Even when you're so sleepy you can hardly stay awake.'
'I hadn't thought of it that way,' Alicia admitted. 'It sounds pretty grim, doesn't it?'
'It is grim,' I said. 'And something to help with the pain is necessary.'
'He told the rector when he first came here that the next surgery would be drastic. And he didn't want to survive it.'
I could understand. Michael was used to being noticed. He was handsome and charming and amusing. People enjoyed his company. But a man with only one arm was usually pitied, not admired. And amputation at the shoulder would be ugly.
Alicia suggested a walk, and I agreed, thinking that if Michael saw me with her, he might come out and speak to us, saving me from having to find a proper excuse for calling on him.
'It helps the day go by faster,' she admitted as we leisurely strolled by the Hart house. 'Walking, knitting, taking care of the gardens-anything is better than worrying about Gareth.'
And I was right, not five minutes later, as Alicia and I were retracing our steps, Michael Hart came out his door and moved purposefully in our direction. We were just by the churchyard when he caught us up.
Alicia hastily recalled that she must have a word with the rector about flowers for the coming Sunday services, and left me alone.
'You came back,' Michael said as soon as he was near enough.
I could see that he had taken his pain medication last night, for his eyes looked dull, and his hands shook a little.
'Alicia was just telling me about your narrow escape.'
'Hardly that,' he said, an edge to his voice. 'Since I imagined the entire incident. I'm surprised Scotland Yard didn't call to inform you of my delusions.'
