desk.

“Walter Teller has gone missing,” he went on, as if the name should mean something to Rutledge. “Teller? Author of that book in 1914 on the reality of the missionary’s life in the field?”

But Rutledge had been on the point of joining his regiment in France when the book had come out to critical acclaim. There had been no time to read it. In fact, if asked, he would have been hard-pressed to supply the name of the author.

“Gone missing? In West Africa, was it?” he asked, dredging up a memory.

“No, thank the Lord God. Here in London. He was being treated in the Belvedere Clinic. Some sort of nervous condition, as far as I can judge from what Sergeant Biggin was saying. They’ve searched the place from top to bottom, and there’s no sign of him. They even searched among the cadavers. Ghoulish thing to have to do, but thorough.”

“Sergeant Biggin is a good man.”

“Yes, yes. But this is a matter for the Yard. Important man, shows we’re on top of it, results quickly, and all that. If you take my meaning.”

Rutledge did. He would not fail to bring in his man, this time.

“One other thing. See that you show the family every courtesy. They’ll be worried. Keep them informed.”

“Who made the initial report? The family or the clinic? And when?”

“The clinic. An hour ago. They sent someone around to the nearest station. When he saw the lay of the land, Sergeant Biggin contacted the Yard. And rightly so.”

Bowles stood up, pacing the narrow room. “The facts are these. The clinic contacted the London police, Sergeant Biggin went to have a look, and then he contacted us. It seems Teller had come into the city from his home in Essex to speak to his bankers—there’s a son off to Harrow, shortly—and took ill on the way home. His doctor—man by the name of Fielding—sent him directly to the Belvedere, hoping the medical men there could sort him out.”

Rutledge nodded. “They have a good reputation.”

“That was last week. And according to Biggin, Teller was not showing any improvement at all. In fact his paralysis was progressing. And then as quickly as it came on, it apparently disappeared, because in the middle of the afternoon, today, Teller dressed himself and walked out of the clinic on his own. The clinic’s porter never saw him leave. So they searched the place, then called the police and summoned Mrs. Teller. She’d been resting at the home of her brother-in-law in Marlborough Street, and the family came to the clinic at once.”

It was a measure of Bowles’s personal interest in the matter that he had briefed Rutledge so thoroughly.

“That’s all I can give you.” Bowles turned to leave. “My compliments to Mrs. Teller, and we’ll do everything in our power to bring this matter to a happy conclusion.” With a nod, he was out the door.

Rutledge sat where he was for a moment. Missing persons were seldom brought to the attention of the Yard, unless the search ended in a suspicious death. Or the person in question was important or well known. Many of the cases were closed by the recovery of the pitiful body downriver, others with a trial for kidnapping or murder. He had a feeling that none of these applied to Teller’s disappearance.

But something had caused the man to leave his sickbed. And it was the sort of puzzle that appealed to him.

“Ye ken,” Hamish was pointing out, “that yon puffed-up Chief Superintendent is looking for a scapegoat.”

Suddenly Bowles was there again, poking his head around Rutledge’s door.

“Good. You’re still here,” Bowles said. “Another thought to carry with you. Teller was in the field for quite a few years. For all we know, he may be walking around London suffering from a new plague. That would set the cat amongst the pigeons. It may be the reason why Teller’s doctors are closemouthed about his condition.”

The terrible epidemic of Spanish flu, as it was called at the time, that killed more people around the world in 1918 than the war had done, was still fresh in the public mind.

“I thought you said that he’d recovered—”

“Don’t confuse issues, Rutledge. There’s no telling how long these things might fester. Talk to his doctors and discover if you can what the risks are.”

“When was he last in the field?” Rutledge asked.

“What difference does that make?” Bowles demanded irritably. He pulled out his watch. “You should have been on your way a quarter of an hour