the Yard would have no further business with the family. I’m told you’ve found your murderer. I’m glad. A pity Peter couldn’t hear that as well.”

“Indeed,” Rutledge agreed. “I’m leaving this afternoon for London, there’s something there I must do. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know why you should return at all.”

“There are loose ends.”

He was about to walk on when Edwin said, “Do you mean Susannah? Peter’s wife—widow?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“Look, I’m just concerned, I wanted to know if you’re expecting to speak to Susannah. She’s grieving, and in great distress. This was such an—no one can prepare for these things, can they? Peter should have lived to a great age, like my grandmother. Give her time to come to grips with her loss.”

“Are you afraid she might decide, finally, to tell the truth? To clear her husband’s name?”

“She hasn’t been told that he’s no longer under suspicion. I tried to telephone her just now, and Iris says she’s not taking calls. For God’s sake, let her alone.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, shall I?”

Leticia came out of the study. “Has anyone asked Walter if he’d like a tray? Edwin, try to persuade Gran to eat something. She says she doesn’t care for Mollie’s cooking, that Jenny knew what she liked.”

“I’ll try.” Edwin excused himself and walked off.

Leticia said, “I’ll see to Walter then. He ought to have something.” Rutledge, looking after her as she went up the stairs, decided to start out for London. He could hear her now knocking on Teller’s door and calling to him. Turning away, he found his hat and left the house. The constable nodded to him.

“I have to return to London. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Tell Inspector Jessup I’ll give him a clear answer then.”

The constable came forward to crank the motorcar for him. And then he was on the road. Clearing his mind of everything else, he concentrated on Billy and what might be waiting for him on Westminster Bridge.

Chapter 31

Rutledge made good time to London and went to his sister’s house before reporting to the Yard.

She was surprised to see him, saying as he walked through the door, “Are you coming for Jake?”

“Not yet. How is he?”

“I don’t want him to grow more attached to me than he is,” she said. “He likes to sit on my shoulder and walk around the house. I dare not take him outside, for fear he’ll fly away. But he wants to go to every window and look out, then he searches for roses.”

“His owner grew them. Bring a few inside. That might cheer him up.”

“A very good idea.”

“Any news of Meredith Channing?”

“I haven’t seen her since she returned to London. But I’m told she’s back and feeling much better. Oh, speaking of injuries and recoveries, did you hear that Chief Inspector Cummins was viciously attacked last night? I ran into his sister coming from the hotel in Marin Street. She was sent for. He was badly hurt, loss of blood, stitches. I hope they find whoever did such a vile thing.”

“I’m sure the Yard has every possible man searching.”

“What brought you here, if it wasn’t Jake?” she asked.

He smiled. “No further word from Scotland?”

“All’s well. Ian had his pick of the pups. He’s excited because Fiona is allowing him to sleep with it. I don’t think there’s any lasting harm from the horror of the train crash.”

“The resilience of youth.”

Leaving, he trolled the streets toward St. Paul’s, looking for Charlie Hood. But there was no sign of the man. Another loop, he thought, and then, six blocks from the cathedral, he spotted Hood.

This time Rutledge caught up with him and called, “Hood?”

The man turned, recognized Rutledge, and started toward an alley where the motorcar couldn’t follow. And then he thought better of it and came forward slowly, stopping about five feet from the vehicle.

People were swarming around them at this hour of the day, weaving in and out and making any sort of conversation nearly impossible.

“What do you want?” Hood asked. And Rutledge read his lips rather than heard his words in the noisy intersection.

“A drink. A few words,” Rutledge said to him.

“I don’t have the time,” Hood replied. Then, coming nearer, he asked, “You haven’t caught your murderer, have you?”

“Not yet. He came close to killing another man last night.”

Hood nodded. “Word gets about on the street.” He made to go.

Rutledge said, “Have you ever had trouble with the police?”

Hood laughed harshly. “Not since