A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [75]
Sergeant Gibson had left a message at The Plough. It read, “In regard to the man you want: he’s not in London. Rumor has it he’s dead. My guess is that he’s in hiding. No one is prepared to say where.”
Rutledge’s reaction was, I’m not surprised. . . .
Hamish said, “Aye. It stands to reason he’d go to ground, if there’s someone looking for him. And the man searching for Ridger may be a step ahead of you. He may ken that Ridger is in Kent . . .”
“Yes, it makes sense.” Rutledge took the stairs two at a time and spent the next half an hour finishing his notes about the conversation with Grimes in Seelyham. He debated driving to Canterbury to look up Miss Whelkin, and then decided against it. She would be home again in a few days.
Closing the notebook, he sought out Sergeant Burke and asked the man to draw a rough map of Marling.
IT WAS NEARLY TEATIME when Rutledge pulled into the drive at the home of Lawrence Hamilton and his wife, Lydia. They had been his hosts when he met Raleigh Masters, and Rutledge was certain they would know as much about this part of Kent as Richard Mayhew had done.
He was surprised to find that Bella Masters was already there. She looked tired, unhappy, but her face brightened as Lydia Hamilton welcomed the newcomer and offered him a cup of tea.
Mrs. Masters said, after the courtesies had been observed, “I’ve come to invite Lydia and her husband to dine with us tonight. But they have another engagement. Could I persuade you to join us, Mr. Rutledge? There will be only six, I’m afraid. Tom Brereton, Mrs. Crawford, Elizabeth Mayhew, and you, but I can promise you a fine dinner and lively conversation.”
Lydia’s face, turned away from Mrs. Masters, pleaded with Rutledge to accept.
It was not common for a policeman to be invited to dine. It was, indeed, a measure of Mrs. Masters’s desperation that a stranger and a lowly inspector would be acceptable at her table.
For his own reasons, Rutledge agreed. “I’ll call for Elizabeth, if you like,” he said.
“That would be lovely!”
Lydia put in, “I think I hear Lawrence—”
Rutledge said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet him in the hall. There are a few questions I’d like to put to him.”
She nodded, and then a look of alarm spread over her face. As if his words had touched a wellspring of concern that was swiftly hidden.
He thought ironically that it was the policeman she dreaded. . . .
Lawrence was coming down the stairs when Rutledge stepped into the hall and shut the sitting room door behind him.
Hamilton held out his hand and greeted him with a smile. “I hear we have another guest.”
“Mrs. Masters. I’ve accepted a dinner invitation in your stead,” Rutledge answered lightly. “In return, I need a favor.”
“I hope to heaven Bella’s made peace with her cook! Or you’ll be back demanding my firstborn,” Hamilton retorted humorously, leading Rutledge into a small study. Closing the door, he said in a more serious tone, “What’s this about? The murders? I’d heard you’d come down to help the local people. Any progress?”
“None.” He took the chair that Hamilton indicated and looked around the room. It was a study-cum-office, where open law books and stacks of paper indicated an ongoing brief.
Hamilton gestured wryly and said, “I can’t find a reference. It’s there somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it. I asked Raleigh if he recalled it, but he said I’d earn my keep if I find it on my own.”
Rutledge said, “He may have forgotten it himself.”
Hamilton laughed. “The man’s memory is famous. Matthew Sunderland taught him that, early on. To cultivate a good memory. I sometimes think that Raleigh would be pleased to discover that Sunderland was his father. It would be the crowning moment of his life.”
“Tell me about Sunderland.”
“He was one of the best men of his day. Toward the end there was something that wasn’t noticeable early on. An arrogance. A certainty that he was never wrong. It persuaded judges, sometimes. I never discovered whether this was a pretense or if Sunderland actually believed strongly in his own judgment. Needless to say,