wouldn’t just—vanish again, would he?” Mary asked Rutledge.

But he could offer her only cold comfort. “I don’t know.”

“Call the Belvedere Clinic, Amy,” Mary suggested.

“He couldn’t have reached London this soon,” Amy protested.

Mollie came in to ask if anyone would care for tea, and they asked her again if she knew where Teller might be.

But Mollie hadn’t seen him since the first mourners had departed.

Hamish said, “Ye’re worrying about the lass. It’s possible you were fearing for the wrong person.”

Chapter 32

It took them some time to discover how Teller had vanished so quickly.

Amy brought Rutledge the list of attendees. It took half the night to track them down. He and Jessup dealt with the local names, while Gibson at the Yard ran the others to ground.

The former missionary had been the hardest to locate, for he was traveling about England raising funds for various charities that helped support mission work and had no particular itinerary.

He told the constable who had tracked him down in the middle of Hampshire, “Yes, Walter asked if I was coming to London. I told him I was, and he asked for a lift. There was a meeting he had to attend in the morning. He didn’t want to put the family out, although Edwin had volunteered to take him. And I was happy to oblige, it was company on the road.”

The constable asked where the missionary had dropped Teller. “By Scotland Yard,” the constable told them.

“It was all a lie,” Edwin said, angry. “You were here. Why should he go to the Yard?”

“He’s going back to the field,” Leticia told them. “Leaving us to deal as best we can with the problems he left behind.”

Hamish said, “Lancashire.”

Through Sergeant Gibson, Rutledge had already sent a telegram to Hobson, asking Constable Satterthwaite to keep a watch on the house. But would Teller go there as penance for what he’d done to Florence Teller? Or to escape from his family? He could live as a recluse there as easily as he could in Africa.

Mary Brittingham said, “He might have gone to my house. There’s no one there. I’d given the staff a few days off. But Jenny still had her key. He could have taken it. I’ll have a look, at least.”

It was nearly dawn by that time. Rutledge said, “You should rest first.”

Mary, her eyes sunken with worry, laughed without humor. “I doubt I’d sleep at all. Someone ought to look and see if Peter’s revolver is here. I can’t sit still. Let me drive home and look. He may have turned back, to confuse us. I’ll stop at Leticia’s too. I’ll bring him back if I find him. If I don’t, I’ll take your advice and rest.” She held up a Thermos. “Mollie has given me tea to keep me awake on the road. I’ll be all right.”

There was a light breakfast in the dining room, but no one felt like eating. Rutledge said, “I have a feeling he’s not in London. He could have taken a train anywhere.”

Amy, who had gone looking for the revolver, said, “It isn’t there. He might well have shot himself this time. He was so depressed about Jenny. Although you’d think he would have a care for Harry.”

“He may have thought Susannah had reached her house. He could be there.” He went to put in yet another telephone call.

“Tiresome man,” Leticia said. “He’s thinking only of himself. I for one am going up to my bed.” She turned on her heel to leave.

The storm had gone with the night. A pale sunlight touched the windows.

Amy said, “Shouldn’t someone go to Portsmouth?”

Leticia said, “As I learned the last time, no one can simply arrive at a mission and announce his return. There are arrangements to make—travel for one, supplies, money, and so on. Details, like how long he’ll be expected to remain there, what comforts he can expect—or not. Whether Bibles have been translated into that particular dialect. What his expenses are, and who will sponsor him. Enthusiasm isn’t enough.”

“Which is why,” Hamish suggested, “he went with yon auld man.”

It was a strong possibility. Except that he’d left the missionary in London.

Rutledge said, “If there’s any news at the Yard, I’ll make certain you hear it right away. Meanwhile, I need to return to London. I can coordinate a search from there.”

“No, you aren’t,” Amy said. “You’re going along to Hobson. Aren’t you?”

It was true. He’d thought Hamish might be right, and in the silences of the house with the red door,