"Yes, that's very likely," Rutledge agreed. "Scotland Yard has no prejudices."
The room faced the street rather than the yard, and it was large, airy, and comfortable. Rutledge set his valise in the wardrobe and went to the pitcher of cool water on the stand between the windows, where he washed his hands. As he was reaching for a towel to dry them, he heard a commotion in the street and looked out to see what was happening.
Constable Walker was speaking to an elderly man crippled by arthritis, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked tired, distraught, and very angry.
The man was repeating at the top of his lungs, "I want him buried, do you hear? Decently, next to his mother, where he belongs. I don't care what the police have to say about it, I want my son."
Walker tried to placate him, but there was nothing he could say that would satisfy the old man.
Hamish said, "Roper's father."
Very likely, Rutledge thought. Walker had described him as old and frail.
Pushing away from the window, Rutledge hurried out of the room and down the stairs. When he reached the street, Walker was still patiently trying to persuade the elder Roper to return to his farm.
Rutledge walked up to them, introduced himself to Roper, and with a nod to Walker, said, "I'm here from Scotland Yard. In fact I only arrived this morning. If you will give me three days, I'll see that your son's body is released to you. But I want to be sure that I know everything I need to know in order to find his murderer. Will you give me those three days?"
Roper turned to him, his eyes wet with tears. "Three days, you say?"
"Three days," Rutledge acknowledged.
"That's reasonable." Roper turned to go, finally satisfied.
Rutledge stopped him. "Did your son have any enemies, do you know? Someone who was jealous of him, who held a grudge of some sort, or had quarreled with him recently?"
Roper laughed, a harsh and breathless sound. "Jimmy had his hands full at the farm and caring for me. There was no time for jealousy or grudges or quarrels. Whoever it was should have killed me-I'm past being useful. But no, it was Jimmy was taken. Even the Germans had spared him, except for his damaged leg. I told him when he came home that he could give them the damned leg, it was his hands and his brain the farm needed. He was unhappy, then, moping about for weeks. I had to tell him, didn't I, that the leg was of no account? And to his credit, he came to his senses and set about making the farm pay again. And we'd have done it too, if he hadn't been killed! We'd have seen our way clear in another year, turned a profit even. That's gone with Jimmy, and I've put a father's curse on whoever killed him. I hope he suffers as I've suffered, and knows the fires of hell before ever he gets there." He gripped his cane fiercely, as if he could see himself bringing it down on the head of his son's murderer. But the outburst had exacted its toll, and Roper's face was drawn with the effort it had required.
"How did you get here?" Rutledge asked, taking note of that.
"I walked. No one would come and tell me what was happening."
Walker said, his eyes meeting Rutledge's over the stooped man's head, "It's no little distance to the farm."
Rutledge said, "My motorcar is just there, in the hotel yard. Drive him home."
"I'll do that, sir. Thank you." Walker touched Roper's arm. "This way, if you please, sir."
It was easy to see that Roper was torn between maintaining his dignity and allowing himself to be driven. After a moment, his aching bones made the decision for him. "I'd take that as a favor," he answered and let Walker lead him to where Rutledge had left his motorcar.
Rutledge watched him go.
It was easier for a policeman to consider the victim as another case until he met the family and friends of the deceased and began to learn to see the dead through their eyes. It was always a turning point. And now he had met first Pierce and then Roper.
It had also served to emphasize the difference in status between the first two victims-farmers both-and Anthony Pierce, the son of a man of position and wealth. What's more, one was married, two were not. What did those three have in common? The war? But two had served together and one had not. Was it the fact that all three had survived? But according to Walker, so had a number of others. Including his nephew.
What linked these three men?
Hamish said, "Yon identity discs in their mouths."
6
R utledge had eaten his meal and was finishing his tea when Walker came to take him to meet Dr. Gooding.
The doctor's surgery was within walking distance, a rambling house that had been divided into two halves, one for his practice and the other for his living quarters.
Three women were just leaving the surgery as the two men opened the gate and started up the flagstoned walk leading between borders in which flowers were blooming profusely. They noticed the man with Constable Walker straightaway, and Rutledge could all but hear the speculation racing through their minds. He could also imagine their conversation as soon as they were out of earshot.
Walker said, "The tallest of those women was married to one of the Eastfield Company that marched off together to fight the Kaiser. Mrs. Watson. Her husband was killed in the third week of the fighting after they reached the Front." He opened the surgery door for Rutledge, and added, "The rest led charmed lives for nearly five months before George Hopkins bought it."
"Roper had a bad leg?"
"Machine gun. He could hardly walk when he came home, but you'd not have known it now. Barely a limp. Pierce lost his to gangrene from a foot wound. He wasn't fitted with a new limb until last year. It took that long for the stump to heal. Jeffers was shot in the chest but lived."
The surgery door led into a cramped waiting room, empty now. Dr. Gooding was coming out of his office and looked up as the two men entered.
"Good afternoon, Constable," he said to Walker. "I was just going through to my luncheon. We're running late today." He was a man of slender build, with a receding hairline and a strong jaw.
"This is Inspector Rutledge, sir. From Scotland Yard. He'd like to speak to you about the dead men."
Gooding cast a glance at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece but said, "Yes, of course."
He took them into his office and gestured to the chairs opposite his desk. Sitting down again, he reached for a sheaf of papers set to one side of the blotter, passing them to Rutledge. "These are my reports on the bodies. Constable Walker has copies."
Rutledge glanced through them. "All three men were garroted? And all three had the army discs in their mouths?"
"Yes, that's correct. To tell you the truth, I'd never seen a case of garroting before, but of course I had no difficulty in recognizing at once what had been done when I examined Jeffers. My guess is that something like piano wire must have been used. It was strong, strong enough to cut through the flesh of the throat in each case, causing bleeding. I should think a man wielded it. Jeffers was inebriated, but he would not have been easy to kill. And the same goes for Roper, despite his leg. A woman couldn't have held on to the garrote, given the struggles of the three men. It was well after dark when they were attacked. And each was in a place where his death wasn't likely to be witnessed. Jeffers along the road on the outskirts of Eastfield, Roper in his barn, and of course Pierce in the main brewery."
"Were they stalked, do you think?"
Gooding shook his head. "They weren't prepared. That wire came over their heads, and there was an end to it. If they had believed they were in any danger, they might have got a hand up in time to try to defend themselves. It wouldn't have changed the outcome, they might have lost a finger, or at least their hands would have been noticeably damaged. And this wasn't the case."