“It leaves us in no doubt. Very likely a gift from his father or his wife. Such things often are. We can find the maker—there should be a record of such an expensive item.” The knob winked as he turned it again in the light. “And there’s still a little blood pooled at the edge of the enamel.”

“Yes.” Satterthwaite stirred. “I didn’t like to look at it. Put it away.” He took a deep breath, then said, “It’s what you wanted. I wouldn’t have given any odds that it would ever turn up.”

Rutledge rewrapped it and set it aside, then finished his tea.

“I should be heading back to London. There’s a small problem. Peter Teller fell down the stairs early this morning at his brother’s house and died on the spot. We’ll never know now why he came north or why he killed her.”

“Accident or suicide?” Satterthwaite asked, watching Rutledge’s face closely.

“Hard to say.”

“Yes, well, in that case, perhaps you ought to hear where this came from.”

Rutledge realized that with his mind already on Peter Teller and the problems he faced resolving the issues of the man’s guilt and the cause of his death, he’d accepted this last bit of evidence without the enthusiasm it deserved.

Good police work on Satterthwaite’s part, even though the cane’s head was almost moot now. Still, there must be an inquest into Florence Teller’s death. And her killer must be identified. She deserved that.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present. “Well done. Finding this.” He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering Satterthwaite—the blood on the cane’s knob or something else. He thrust the handkerchief holding the knob into his pocket, out of sight. As he did, his gaze locked with the constable’s.

He didn’t need Hamish’s soft warning. Fully alert now, he waited.

Satterthwaite spun the cap back onto the neck of the Thermos and set it aside. “First, to give you a little news. I don’t think you were here when it happened.”

“All right.”

“After an altercation with a cooking pan, Lawrence Cobb walked out on his wife, Betsy, and took your old room at Mrs. Greeley’s for the time being.”

“Yes, I met him coming into town just as I was leaving that day. I tried to persuade him to rethink his decision. To see if the marriage could be saved. I don’t think Florence Teller would have liked being the root cause of the breakup. Although having seen Betsy Cobb, I could understand the battle ahead. She appears to be as domineering as her mother.”

“Worse, from all reports. She likes her way. Well, Lawrence Cobb would have done better to listen to you.”

Rutledge saw that the conversation wasn’t taking the direction he’d expected. “What happened?”

“Betsy Cobb came in to see me very early this morning. She couldn’t sleep after their quarrel on Friday, she said. So she began clearing out her husband’s belongings, putting them in a pile in the passage—tools, clothes, watch, everything she could lay hand to that he’d not had time to snatch up in his haste to go. This morning before first light she even went out into the barn, where he’d been working. And she tossed the contents of the tool chest into a wooden crate. She said the chest had belonged to her father.”

Rutledge knew now where this was heading. He waited for Satterthwaite’s strained voice to finish the account.

“To make a long story short, as she was sorting through to make sure he got only his things, she shifted a pair of working gloves, and this knob fell to the barn floor. She didn’t know what it was at first. And then she realized it was gold and that Lawrence had purposely hidden it where she wouldn’t find it. So to make trouble for him, she brought it in to me. She was still furious with him, you could see it in her face.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her I’d look into it. And after she left for the farm, I went to Mrs. Greeley’s, rousted Lawrence Cobb out of his bed, and confronted him. He swore he knew nothing about the knob, but you could read in his eyes that he knew how it had been used. He’s not slow, is Cobb. I told him to dress and come with me to the station. He argued, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Some of Betsy’s anger had rubbed off on me. I was looking for an opening, so to speak.”

He started to get