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re-bound it, this time with more finesse than he d used in Elizabeth
Mayhew s house.  That should do. I ve brought something besides the
whisky, if the pain keeps you from sleeping.
 Or to keep me from wandering? I could drive away in that motor-
car. I wasn t able to do it today, but by tomorrow 
 Yes, you could do that, Rutledge agreed impassively. He found a
kitchen bowl that would hold the broth, and a spoon. Handing both to
Hauser, he said conversationally,  All things considered, what will you
do now that Ridger is dead?
 There s no choice but to go home. I haven t the money to waste on
wishful thinking.
The crows flew up in noisy protest, and Rutledge stepped to the
door to look out. But there was no one there, only a prowling cat.
He came back to the kitchen, satisfied.  Tell me, why do you think
a fearsome doubt 227
these ex-soldiers were killed? Seating himself on the edge of the heavy
wooden table, he said,  You must have known about them. Did you
think that because you were whole, no one would touch you?
 I didn t have the luxury of waiting the killer out. I told you. Money
is short. When it s gone, I have nothing, and nowhere to turn. He ate
the soup with relish.  Men kill for passion, and they kill for money. And
they kill to keep a secret. Take your pick.
 They kill for revenge.
Hauser regarded him for a moment, spoon in midair.  So. You have
been asking questions about me!
Concealing his surprise, Rutledge said,  The old Frenchman shot
you for revenge. It s common enough in wartime.
 Still. You must know about my brother. A pause.  Did you bring
the laudanum so that when the police come, they will find it in my pos-
session? Oh, yes, I looked in the sack while you were seeing to the crows.
I m a suspicious man.
 I told you. It was brought to help you sleep. I want the hangman to
find you healthy enough to break your neck as you fall through the trap-
door.
Hauser put the cap on the Thermos of broth, leaving half of it for
later. As if he d lost his appetite.
Rutledge said,  Tell me about your brother.
 There s nothing to tell. Except that after the cup was stolen, my
brother Erich was killed. He looked away. The wound was still rawer
than the slash on his chest.  Perhaps if we had had the cup, he would
still be alive. Call it superstition, if you will. So. I had every reason to
kill Jimsy Ridger. But no one else.
 And yet you claim you ll sell the cup, if you find it.
 If we stay in Germany, my son will be old enough to fight in the
next war. There s always a next war. If I take him away from Europe,
he won t need the protection of the cup. He ll be safe.
Hamish cautioned,  He would make a verra fine chess player. But
I wouldna turn my back on him!
Rutledge, rising from the table s edge, conceded the point.
228 charles todd
Rutledge was walking down the passage to his room when the
maid, her arms full of brooms and mops, a bucket clutched in one hand,
smiled at him.  Mr. Rutledge? Mr. Haskins at the desk asked me earlier
if I d seen you. There s a telephone message for you!
It was from Chief Superintendent Bowles. When he had been lo-
cated, his voice came down the line affably.  I ve had no word on the
situation in Marling. No progress to report, eh?
 So far, there s nothing new. But the killing has stopped. For the
present.
 The Chief Constable will be grateful for that blessing. But it s not
good enough. There s bound to be something to point in the murderer s
direction! What does the local man have to say? Dowling.
 Murder at night on a deserted road leaves very little to be going on
with. By the time police reached the scene, morning traffic had already
obliterated any tracks or other evidence.
 Not good enough, Bowles repeated. There was a pause.  The
Chief Constable informs me you ve dined with the great Raleigh
Masters. Rumor says the man s dying.
Rumor, Hamish was pointing out, had clearly said a great deal
more.
 He seemed lively enough, Rutledge replied, trodding carefully.
 He was reminiscing about Matthew Sunderland. I remember him from
the Shaw case.
 Ah! So that s why you were looking at the files! Indeed.
 It was a matter of luck, Rutledge agreed,  to hear someone of
Masters s caliber discuss the legal implications of a crime. Particularly
one I d worked on.
Wary, Bowles s voice changed.  And what did he have to say?
 He s of the opinion that Sunderland was one of the most brilliant
legal minds of our age.
 I would have to agree with him. Dining out is all well and good,
you know, but you re there to find a cold-blooded murderer. I d prefer
to see more progress made on that front!
 Indeed, sir!
Bowles rang off, and Rutledge hung up the telephone with unusual
care.
a fearsome doubt 229
Hamish said,  He went through your desk. Or someone reported
to him.
 But he isn t quite sure what brought Mrs. Shaw to the Yard. . .
 Else, he s waiting for your heid to be well into the noose 
Rutledge went to call on Mrs. Bartlett and Mrs. Webber. Alone
and overworked, the widows looked older than their years.
Hamish said distastefully,  I d no want to be a policeman. I d no
want to question the grieving.
 It s the only way to find a killer. Sometimes.
 Oh, aye? And ye d be happy telling your ain secrets?
Susan Webber, brushing her auburn hair back from her forehead
with one hand, was holding on to the shy little girl burrowing into her
mother s skirts with the other. Peter s sister . . . [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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