A False Mirror - Charles Todd [79]
“It’s likely that Hamilton is dead. I went out to the landslip. And this was caught on the back of a chair that had been splintered by the fall.” He held out the wet bandage, and Bennett stared at it as if it could bite him.
“Good God!”
“I can’t think of anyone else who might have left it there. We must show it to Granville, to see if he recognizes his handiwork. Then we should have a talk with Mr. Reston.”
“Reston couldn’t have killed the doctor’s wife, whatever you’re suggesting. There’s no sound reason for it.”
“Unless she got in his way when he came for Hamilton.”
“But why should he want to harm Hamilton? You won’t make me believe it’s because of some bits of clay on a shelf at the man’s house. Mr. Reston may be a fanatic for religion, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“There was a man in London he assaulted. Reston’s victim didn’t press charges, so there’s no record of it. And he’s got a violent nature.”
“Still—” Bennett was already fitting his crutch under his shoulder and getting to his feet. “Have it your way then, but you’ll be proved wrong. I won’t walk there. I can’t.”
“I’ll fetch my motorcar. Give me five minutes.”
It was twenty minutes before he was back again, having taken the time to clean himself up. He carried his trousers down to the kitchen to be dried and pressed, asked for a length of oiled cloth for the bandages, and persuaded the young girl in the pantry to make him a sandwich from pickle, last night’s beef, and a little cheese, though she protested that the luncheon ham would be ready in no more than a quarter of an hour.
Bennett came out and climbed into the passenger’s side just as a strong beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and swept the rooftops and wet streets with a warm and brilliant light.
Bennett looked up at it and said, “We could do with a shift in the weather. I smell pickle.”
Rutledge didn’t answer. He put the motorcar into gear and drove to the Reston house.
Mr. Reston was at home, they were told by the maid, but was feeling a touch of dyspepsia.
“Please tell him Inspector Rutledge and Inspector Bennett are here on police business and require a word with him. We’ll wait until he can join us.”
She still appeared to be doubtful, and Rutledge could see that she was on the point of refusing them admittance. He stepped forward and she retreated a step. He moved into the entry.
“Where does Mr. Reston receive his business acquaintances? We’ll wait for him there.”
The maid reluctantly showed them to a small study where books on law and finance lined the shelves behind the broad, polished desk, and other calf-bound titles stood in orderly rows across the room, considerably older works on the Romans, the kingdom of Wessex, and the history of the southwest of England. On one of the spines the name RESTON was set out in gold lettering. Rutledge took it from the shelf and opened it.
The title was Great Sermons for the Mind, and the Reston who had written it was either the father or grandfather of the present owner. From what he could see the sermons were long and ponderous, their heavy Victorian righteous ness apparent in their arguments for ser vice and duty as a gentleman’s responsibility to God and England and his less fortunate fellow men.
Rutledge turned pages at random, reading a line here and there. The strong Victorian voice spoke through words that stared up at him.
An upright man, whatever his calling, will address his business affairs with the same honesty he will show his family. To do other is to be guilty of a grievous fault that will lead him down the road to corrupt practices….
God resides in the heart, and a cruel heart is godless, a man to be feared for the harm he will do to others in his wickedness….
Servants must be led to the path of godliness, and it is the duty of the head of every household to see to their training up in faith and to provide the guidance and example that will set their feet