A False Mirror - Charles Todd [24]
There were no lights that Rutledge could see. He hoped the household had gone to bed, where he wished he was now. But it would not be a peaceful sleep for the two women imprisoned there with a possible killer. And he was their only hope.
He tried to picture Mallory creeping up behind Hamilton as he walked along the strand, and striking him hard across the back of the head. He wanted to believe it was impossible that a man he’d known in the trenches could do such a thing. But then they’d been taught to kill by masters, and what was one more life in the long rolls of the dead? Bennett had been treated with equal callousness. There had to be a reason. And why, if he’d had the chance to run, had Mallory come here instead?
And that brought Rutledge to Hamilton’s wife. What was her relationship to Mallory? Or his to her?
Without warning Hamish said, “You should ken how he feels.”
Rutledge caught his breath on the realization. In spite of the promises they’d made to each other at the start of the war, Jean had left him, to marry a diplomat serving now in Canada.
Had Mallory been Mrs. Hamilton’s lover once? Was that the key?
Bennett was staring at him, waiting for him to act.
Rutledge forced himself back to the present.
“Stay here,” he said to Bennett, and left the motor turning over quietly as he went to lift the knocker.
After a time a male voice called warily, “Who’s there?”
He didn’t recognize it.
“Rutledge, from Scotland Yard,” he answered carefully. “It’s very late, I’m aware of that. I drove straight through, after the summons. I wanted you to know I’m here.”
“Stand in your headlamps, so that I can see you.”
Rutledge turned and did as he was asked. After nearly a minute, a curtain twitched in an upstairs room.
Then the voice was back at the door, calling, “You’ve changed. But then so have I. Come back in the morning. Alone. Keep Bennett out of this.” The tension behind the words was clear even through the door’s wooden panels.
“I told you,” Bennett jeered. “Wound like a spring.”
“I won’t leave until I’m certain the women are safe,” Rutledge responded, returning to the door himself to listen for whatever sounds he could hear from inside.
Someone had a candle, its brightness wavering as if in an unsteady hand. Had Mallory been drinking? That was a bad sign. Rutledge tried to recall what they’d talked about in the lines, and what the man’s weaknesses were. The problem was, they hadn’t been close. Mallory, like Rutledge himself, had had other things on his mind. Rutledge had had more in common with Hamish, though they had come from vastly different backgrounds. Both had possessed an instinctive understanding of tactics and strategy, and that had drawn them together.
Over his head the fanlight was elegant, reminding him of Georgian houses in London. It had been crafted, he thought, by a master hand. But all the candle’s golden light showed him was a shadowy flight of stairs and the lamp hanging in the hall. Venetian, he thought in one corner of his mind.
Hamish was saying, “He broke, Mallory did. Only you didna’ shoot him.” And that summed up more than Rutledge was prepared to deal with tonight.
The voice inside the house went on, “They’re safe. I had promised as much, if Bennett sent for you. They’ll be safe until the morning. I swear it.”
“I want to speak to Mrs. Hamilton myself.”
“Damn it, man, she’s asleep.”
“Nevertheless. I’ve kept my half of the bargain.”
There was a silence broken only by Bennett’s grumbling from the motorcar.
Finally a woman’s voice, nervous and uncertain, called, “Inspector? He hasn’t harmed us. Please do as he asks. We’ll be all right tonight.”
“Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Yes. Have you news of my husband? I’ve been so worried about him.”
“He’s resting, Mrs. Hamilton. So I’m told. But you need to be with him. If Mr. Mallory will allow it, I’ll take you to the surgery myself, so that you can be reassured your