why aren’t you in the north? It makes no sense to be frittering your time away in London. She wasn’t murdered here, this Teller woman, and there must be a dozen Peter Tellers out there. Find him.”

“Gibson has given me a list of those he found. Not one of them is of the same age as we believe Teller would have been now.”

“Then tell Sergeant Gibson to look again.”

Rutledge went in search of Gibson.

The sergeant said in resignation, “I’ll be bound I found every one there is. But I’ll look again.”

Rutledge left him muttering to himself about time wasted.

He headed north, picking up rain showers halfway. And then it cleared as he turned toward Thielwald and Hobson.

Constable Satterthwaite had nothing to report when Rutledge walked into the station and greeted him.

“But I’m that glad to see you again. Any luck in the south?”

“The Yard is still searching for Lieutenant Peter Teller’s family. I’m beginning to think we have already found it. The Chief Superintendent disagrees. Here are the facts. There’s a Teller family in London. Three brothers, one of them presently a captain in the Army. There’s no reason they should even know Florence Teller’s name, but her death came as a shock to them. I’m beginning to wonder if her killer realized she was dead.”

“He made no effort to find it out,” Satterthwaite responded angrily. “Which in my book is still murder. What brought him here?”

Rutledge said, “That’s why I’ve come back. That and the funeral. Do you think Mrs. Greeley will have a room for me again?”

“Indeed, sir. She was asking just yesterday if I was expecting to see you.”

“No sign of the murder weapon?”

“As to that, he must have taken it with him.”

“The services for Florence Teller?”

“They’re tomorrow,” Satterthwaite told him. “I’m glad you’ll be here for them.”

“So am I,” Rutledge said, and went to find Mrs. Greeley.

To his surprise, the next morning Edwin and Amy Teller arrived in good time for the service.

They found Rutledge just coming out of the police station and asked if he could give them directions to the house where Florence Teller had lived.

“You can’t go inside,” he warned them. “This is still an active murder inquiry.” What he wanted to say was that it wasn’t a spectacle for the Teller family. How Florence Teller had lived and died was now police business.

“I understand,” Edwin said. And Rutledge was surprised to realize that the man did. “It just seemed—the right thing to do.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

He could tell it wasn’t what they wanted, but he got into the motorcar and told Edwin to follow the High Street out of Hobson.

As they went, Amy commented on how empty the landscape was, and how lonely. Rutledge thought it was a reflection of someone brought up in the south, where the roads seldom lacked some form of habitation for very long.

Edwin was silent, concentrating on driving. When at last they began to crest the rise before the house, Rutledge said, “Ahead you’ll see a hedge. Stop at the gate.”

He could feel the tension in the two people in the front seat. And he thought, Is this how Hamish knows what’s on my mind?

But there was no time to consider that as Edwin came to a halt in front of the house.

“Sunrise Cottage,” Amy read, then looking up the path to the house, she said, “A red door. Once.”

Rutledge said, “Mrs. Teller painted it to celebrate her husband’s homecoming. Only he never returned. She left it, perhaps in the hope that someday he would. Or because she couldn’t bear to give up all hope.”

Edwin sat there, looking up at the house. “It’s not a very pleasing house, is it?” he mused aloud. “Small and plain and isolated. She lived here alone? That’s sad. He could have done better by her.”

“Perhaps it was what she wanted,” Amy said after a moment. “What she was used to. She took pride in it—you can see that.”

“Still . . .”

The silence lengthened. Finally Edwin let in the clutch and said, “I must find somewhere to turn around.”

“There’s a farmyard just down the road,” Rutledge told them.

Edwin found it and was soon headed back into Hobson.

When they reached the police station, Rutledge said, “Mrs. Greeley’s house is just there. I’m sure she will let you have a room to freshen up. She needs the money.”

Edwin thanked him and drove on.

Rutledge could see them speaking together, but not even Hamish’s sharp hearing could discern what was being said.

Satterthwaite had come out