"Matron very kindly had a cot put in my husband's room for me, so that I might stay with him. The night before he disappeared, I woke up because I could hear him talking. It was only a murmur, I couldn't make out the words, and at first I thought he must be talking in his sleep. But then I remembered another time when I'd heard him doing the same thing. It was when he was writing his book. And he had come to a chapter that disturbed him-he kept putting off working on it, and I told him that he should just write-you know, like getting back on a horse after it's thrown you. It might not be the best material, but it would be a start, and he could revise it when he was finished. And so he did. And it was that night I heard him talking to himself. Or to someone. I never knew for certain what it was."

"And you think there's a connection?"

"Yes. I think Walter has made his decision. I think he's decided he's going back into the field. There must be something that he feels he's left undone, and what's sent him away is that he doesn't know how to tell me. Edwin and Peter must have guessed. It's why they went looking for him where they did."

In the pa.s.sage, Rutledge met Matron coming toward him. "There is no news?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"What do you have there? May I know?"

"We've found Mr. Teller's clothing. I brought it here for Mrs. Teller to identify."

Matron was silent a moment, and then she said, "But you don't know yet that he's dead? You haven't found him him? Mr. Teller?"

"No. As I've just explained to his family, if he's wearing different clothes, it will make spotting him all that much more difficult. And we don't know what other changes he has made. Unless finding these by the river is an indication that he took his own life."

She said, "I think he wanted to die while he was here. But wanting something and having the opportunity to achieve it can be two very different things." She gazed down the pa.s.sage, the way she'd come. "I must tell you that I had the oddest feeling that Mr. Teller had lost his faith. Perhaps that's what he's trying so hard to find."

"His wife feels he's made the decision to return to mission work."

"Perhaps that's why," she said, and walked away.

Rutledge looked after her, considering her words. He was turning to go when he nearly collided with a well-dressed man just stepping out of one of the doctors' offices, pushing an invalid chair. The woman swathed in shawls and a motorcar rug looked up and smiled at Rutledge, her thin, illness-ravaged face still attractive and sweet. He smiled in return and held the door for the man.

From the clinic, Rutledge drove directly to Bolingbroke Street, intending to speak to Captain Teller before either Edwin or his wife could describe their conversation with Scotland Yard.

Hamish said, "Do you believe what yon missionary's wife told you?"

"It could be true. It would explain many of the loose ends. For instance, why Teller is so insistent that he enroll his son in Harrow."

"But why take the boy fra' his mother at sich a time?"

And that was the sticking point.

It might be well to have a word with the family solicitors.

The house in Bolingbroke Street was a corner property, trees overhanging the tall fence that enclosed the back gardens, giving it privacy.

When Rutledge knocked at the door, the maid who answered told him that Captain Teller was in the garden.

He noted as he pa.s.sed through the house to the study where French doors gave onto the garden, that it had been tastefully decorated, with an air of old money that was unmistakable. There were two or three landscape paintings of the Dutch school, and one portrait of a woman in a white gown with rich blue sleeves and ribbons. She was of another generation, and dressed for a ball, but her stance and her dark blue eyes, which matched her sleeves, suggested intelligence and humor. A half smile lurked at the corners of her mouth.

When Rutledge stepped out onto the terrace, he could see Peter Teller sitting in a chair by the small pond, his left leg pillowed on a ha.s.sock.

Captain Teller had stronger features than those shown in the photograph of his brother that Rutledge still carried. There was already a touch of gray at his temples, and his blue-gray eyes were bloodshot.

For the captain was very drunk.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I told Iris I wasn't at home today."

"Inspector Rutledge, Scotland Yard. I'm looking into the disappearance of your brother."

"Are you, indeed. Well, I hope you have better luck than we have had. Any news?"

"Nothing promising."

As Rutledge crossed the lawn, Teller indicated the chair opposite him. "Sit down. It strains my back when I have to look up at you."

Rutledge took the chair.

Teller went on, "I'm not usually drunk at this hour. The last three days have been h.e.l.lish. I do my best, but sometimes the medicines my doctor prescribes can't touch the pain. I'd have been better if I'd let them take the d.a.m.ned leg when they wanted to."

"Is there nothing more to be done?" Rutledge asked sympathetically.

"The doctors have washed their hands of me. After two or three surgeries and endless treatments with heat and ma.s.sage and the like, they can't think of anything else to do. I'm told that I'm fortunate. The sort of treatments now available didn't exist in the past. They took your leg, and you went home on crutches or a wooden limb. And that was that. But you haven't come to discuss my leg, I take it."

"I'm hoping that you can shed some light on your brother's disappearance, or if not, on his state of mind the last time you saw him."

Peter Teller was very still for a moment. Then he said, "His state of mind the last time I spoke with him was worrying. I said something to my brother Edwin about it. Walter seemed to have lost the will to live. I expect it was the thought of being paralyzed for the rest of his life. And I couldn't blame him there. The doctors were doing d.a.m.n all. Well, to be fair, they couldn't tell what should be done. I think the consensus was some unknown disease. Or else Walter was losing his mind."

"Do you know how his will stands, by any chance?"

"His will? d.a.m.ned if I know. But I should think there would be the usual bequests to Mollie-his housekeeper-and the church, and the rest left to Jenny in trust for Harry." He frowned, trying to clear his head. "Are you suggesting that we ought to be prepared?"

"We found your brother's clothing early this morning, in possession of a costermonger who claimed he'd found them neatly folded close by the river just south of the Tower."

"Good G.o.d," Peter said blankly. "Is the man telling the truth? Or do you think something has happened to Walter? Did you speak to Edwin? What did he have to say?"

"We're not sure what to think," Rutledge said. "That's why I'm here. Why did your brother walk out of the clinic without a word to anyone? Why has he made no effort to rea.s.sure his wife that he's alive and well? Has the marriage been a happy one? Or is it troubled?"

"I-I have no answer to give you. There's been a disagreement over Harry's future, but it was bound to come at some point. In my opinion, Walter is wrong on that subject, but Jenny is Jenny-she'll be angry for a time, and then find a way to cope."

"Where did you go when you left London to look for your brother?"

"Where?" For an instant Peter Teller seemed to be at a loss. And then he asked, "Didn't Edwin tell you?"

"I had rather hear your version of events."

"d.a.m.n it, I've nothing to add to what he said. We went looking for Walter's old adviser. He'd left Cambridge and moved to Scotland. It was a wild goose chase."

Which wasn't what Amy Teller had told Rutledge.

"Can you give me the direction of Walter's solicitors? I'd like to speak to them."

Peter Teller moved so quickly he knocked his gla.s.s from the table at his elbow, and he swore, as the sudden movement hurt his back. "The man is still alive as far as we know. I think it's obscene to read his will before he's dead. I've told you, as far as I know, it's straightforward. When you find his body, come to me and I'll give you the name of the firm."

There was nothing more to be gained from Peter Teller. Rutledge thanked him and left.

Walking back through the house, he encountered an attractive young woman with hair the color of honey and dark brown eyes. She started, and said, "Oh-I didn't know we had guests."

Rutledge apologized, then identified himself.

"Scotland Yard?" Her gaze shifted to the pa.s.sage behind him, then back again. "You've-were you speaking to my husband?"

Susannah Teller, then. He said, "I've just come from the garden."

"He's a little-under the weather," she told him. "I hope you'll consider anything he said with that in mind."

What, he wondered, had she thought her husband might have said?

"I would like to ask you the same questions, if you don't mind. I've been put in charge of the search for your brother-in-law. Apparently you went to Cornwall on the off chance that he might be there."

"It was hardly an off chance, as you put it. His family had a summer cottage just north of St. Ives, and they often spent holidays there. The cottage was sold at his father's death, but he might not have remembered that. He might have wanted a quiet sanctuary."

"Why? Why leave his wife to worry? If he'd recovered, why not take her with him?"

She was watching his face. "We were trying to think where he might have gone. That's all. Cornwall was a place of happy memories."

"What would you have done if you'd found him in Cornwall, confused and difficult to handle?"

"I-I don't believe I considered that possibility. I thought he might be grateful that someone was there, and come back with me without fuss."

Rutledge let it go. Whatever motivations the Teller family had had for going off on their own, they weren't about to confide in the police. Until Walter Teller was found dead, there was no way to persuade his family otherwise.

"Has Teller had a history of such disappearances?"

"Good heavens, no! Nor has he ever been this ill, except of course for his bouts of malaria. That's what was so worrying."

Was, not is is.

As if the solution was already known to them.

Rutledge said, "Early this morning, the police discovered Teller's clothing in the possession of a man who claims he found them beside the Thames."

"But he couldn't have-" She caught herself and added, "Surely you don't believe Walter drowned himself? I won't, for one."

"Mrs. Teller, the man's been missing for several days. Half of London is searching for him. And he's nowhere to be found. Suicide, to put it bluntly, remains an option."

With that he thanked her and wished her a good day. But he had the strongest feeling that a good day was not in the cards for the Teller family.

It had been a long morning. He changed his mind about going on to the Yard and instead turned toward Frances's house.

Rutledge had spent as much time as he could spare from the Yard with his G.o.dfather. During the day, Trevor entertained the boy with the swans in St. James's Park, the ravens at the Tower, and the giraffes at the Regent's Park Zoo. And in the evenings, after the child had been put to bed, the two men sat in the garden, talking as they had once done before the war and the loss it had brought in its wake.

Trevor had been a very fine architect before the death of his son had sent him into early retirement. He said one night, "I remember when your parents lived here in this house, and the parties they gave. Nothing elaborate, you understand, but we always enjoyed those evenings. Sometimes your mother would sit in the drawing room and play the piano while your father and I took our brandy out here after dinner. She was such a fine pianist. Your father was very proud of that."

Rutledge said, "I remember her playing. I wish Frances would use the piano from time to time. But it sits closed from one year to the next."

"Yes." Trevor sighed. "Tell me about Frances. She hasn't married. Was there someone in particular?"

"I always thought she might marry Ross. But there was someone else she loved for a time. Nothing came of it. Nothing could. Lately there was another man who seemed to take her fancy. I thought she was in love with him him. But she hasn't mentioned him for some weeks."

"And what about you?"

Rutledge moved uneasily in his chair. "I don't think I've healed sufficiently from the war to think about marrying anyone."

"You aren't still grieving for Jean, are you?"

Rutledge looked away, watching the twilight fade to night. "No. I grieve for her, but not out of love. Out of sadness that her life wasn't filled with the happiness she was searching for so hard."

"Yes, the war to end all war hasn't turned out to be the blessing they promised us it would be. I look back at King Edward's reign, and I think to myself, we were blissfully unaware of what was to come. Although there had been some talk about the Kaiser's ambitions, no one took it seriously. I remember those days as sunlit and untrammeled by shadows."

Rutledge replied, "At a guess, half of Britain feels the same."

They laughed quietly in the darkness, and Frances said, as she stepped out into the garden, "Have I missed something?"

Trevor held out a hand. "We were longing for the past. A sign we're growing old. Come and sit here, next to me. What time do we leave tomorrow to drive down to Kent?"

And she told him as she came to join them.

In the back of Rutledge's mind, Hamish said softly, the Scots accent p.r.o.nounced, "And the day after, they leave. Are ye no' glad of that?"

Rutledge found that he wasn't.

Chapter 12

The next morning Constable Evans ran Rutledge to ground at his sister's house just as he was seeing his G.o.dfather and Frances off on their excursion to Kent to call on Melinda Crawford. They were trying to persuade Rutledge to join them after all, when Evans appeared.

Rutledge was not loathe to miss the journey, and the reminder of pressing business at the Yard was timely. While he was very fond of Melinda, Rutledge wasn't comfortable spending so many hours in the company of three people who knew him entirely too well. Melinda, who had survived the Lucknow ma.s.sacre during the Great Mutiny in India, knew more than most about the scars war could leave behind, and for far too long now, he'd been hard-pressed to avoid her sharp questions about the shadows under his eyes and the thinness that came from tension and long sleepless nights.

Expecting to be told that there was fresh information about Walter Teller, he went to his office, summoned Sergeant Gibson, and said, "Evans told me it was urgent. What do you have for me?"

"The Chief Superintendent sent Evans along to fetch you. You'd best hear it from him."

Rutledge went along the pa.s.sage to find Bowles fuming in his office. He looked up as Rutledge appeared in the open doorway and said, "What kept you?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I came as quickly as I could."

"There's been another stabbing. Are you quite sure there's nothing more you can tell us about this man you call Billy?"