The Return of Captain John Emmett

solid information that directly contradicted an account given to him by anyone involved in John's life.

However, Eleanor Bolitho was already so cross with him that it was hard to contemplate querying her story or any approach to her that might bear fruit. What if, by some coincidence, John had known two red-haired spitfires? He was grasping at straws, he knew.

'Wel, wil you be settling your poor lunatic brother there?' said Charles. 'I imagine it wil come as the greatest relief to the family to see him locked up.'

Laurence didn't answer. He was considering what it would be like to have a brother, even a mad one. Would he put him in Holmwood? Despite Mary, despite Charles, he thought he might. His reservations lay with the son—too glib, too wiling to generalise about the imagined experience of battle.

At one point they had been peering into the smal ward. The nearest man lay in bed with his eyes closed. There was a zinc bowl on the nightstand and a sour smel of vomit about him; a bottle of what looked like milk hanging above the bed was passing down the tube into his nose.

'FE again,' said George loudly. 'Flanders Effect.'

The man in bed was startled. His head on the pilow shook and his fingers clutched at the blanket. George made no attempt to soothe him. Laurence thought he detected a flicker of disdain in Chilvers' face but it was quickly replaced by a perfectly businesslike demeanour.

'Some of these people should never have been expected to fight in the first place,' he said.

Laurence agreed with the sentiment but found himself unable to answer. He suspected his reasons for believing it were quite different from Chilvers'. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the man about his own service but he kept silent, thinking that however delightful it might be to prick Chilvers' confidence, it was hardly worth provoking him.

'Do you know,' Laurence said now, 'I realise that I more or less forgot about Robert once I'd left Dr Chilvers' study. I don't think I mentioned him to George more than once or twice. Must have looked damned odd. He didn't ask me either, too busy seling the place. Stil, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Not likely to see him

—any of them—again.'

Charles gave a slow smile. If it hadn't been Charles, reliable, straightforward Charles, Laurence might have thought there was something devious in it.

'My man,' said Charles. 'I saw him again, last thing, as the lad was putting our bags in the car. He said Mrs Chilvers, Mrs George Chilvers, late resident of Holmwood, was a bit sweet on John Emmett. Or vice versa. Or mutualy. Can't have pleased George too much.' He attempted to look inscrutable but couldn't resist sounding pleased with himself. 'Now there's somebody it might be worth talking to, if we could ever get near her.'

He paused, but when Laurence didn't respond, added, 'Apparently everybody there thought that Emmett had been moved up to the top floor as a punishment for talking to George's wife. Not for some faling-out with a warder or trip out without a pass.'

Laurence felt faintly exasperated that Charles had come out with this only now.

'Did you find out where she—where they— live?'

'Used to live in a flat above the old stables near Holmwood but Dr Chilvers thought it better for her to live away from somewhere that had mixed memories for her. That was recently, though. After Emmett's death possibly? Now they live out of the vilage—in a biggish house; she was a wealthy woman, of course—in a rather isolated position. That was courtesy of our good host Cyril Trusty. He says George Chilvers has just about got her locked up. Some of the servants at Holmwood—

maid, cleaner, cook—do turns there. Not a great improvement on her original circumstances.'

'What a bloody odious man,' Laurence said, louder than he intended.

'Ah, Sir Laurence, knight-errant. Dragons skewered, enchanters foiled, moustache-twirling seducers thwarted, dungeons breached. Damsels in distress a speciality.' Charles's smile took the sting out of his words.

'I'm being ludicrous, aren't I?' Laurence said.

'Not at al, frankly. Though I'm not sure where it al goes from here.'

'I just can't think what to tel Mary. I had mixed impressions of Holmwood so I'm hardly likely to produce a coherent line for her. The firing squad link would horrify her and I can't tel her about Eleanor. She might go round there and God knows what scenes there'd be.'

'Laurence,' said Charles patiently, 'you're not a hero in one of Mr Drummond's books and she's no swooning maiden. She survived her brother's death—

whatever the cause. She asked you to look into it a bit. What did you think? That they were al going to be palpable vilains, keeping the deranged wretches chained up in the dripping celars? Then how on earth would they have taken in so many wealthy and often wel-connected families for so long? Or did you hope they were going to come clean and provide a tidy solution at your command? Yes, he did have a gun hidden away. Sorry, slipped the mind. Yes, we found a letter behind the wainscot only last week. Turns out he had some incurable wasting disease and wanted to save his loved ones the pain of watching his prolonged expiry.'

'But what if he didn't exactly kil himself?'

Charles looked incredulous.

'No, hear me out. Maybe someone didn't put a gun to his head but deliberately drove him to it. What then?' Laurence was astonished at his own recklessness.

'Wel, I'd ask who?' Charles said, surprisingly calmly. 'Who could have done? Who would have done? Why?'

Laurence thought for a few seconds before saying without great conviction, 'George Chilvers. He'd be top of my list.' He stopped, faced with Charles's look of astonishment. 'No, of course you're right. Is it more likely a depressed man kiled himself or that he was murdered by persons unknown? It never entered Mary's head and even Eleanor doesn't think that. Forget I said it.'

Reflecting on Charles's assessment the next day, back in London, Laurence was stil surprised at the