“She’s in Brooks’s boatyard. Planks need recalking. He told me to go and get her, but she’s not seaworthy, she’ll take on water faster than I could bail. He was angry, I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  “Where did he go from here?”

  “I don’t know. I was glad to be shut of him. I locked the door and turned out the lights.”

  “Just now? I saw the light go out just now.”

  “Sally come over to ask what the yelling was about. I’d just come finished locking the doors. I didn’t want her to see the bloody towels, but she lit the lamp before I could stop her.” He sighed. “I tried to keep her out of it. For a bit there, I thought he was going to take her with him. To be sure I didn’t tell anyone he’d been here. I’ve never seen him like that,” he said again.

  “All this time—when we were searching—you must have known what your brother was.” Rutledge was angry now.

  “But I didn’t know,” he retorted. “He came to my door four or five weeks back, telling me he was down on his luck, asking me to find him work. I didn’t even recognize him at first.”

  That fit the timing that Rutledge knew. Franklin had left France after trying to kill Vermuelen, and then made his way to Essex somehow. Without attracting attention.

  “And he’s not my brother,” Johnson was saying, aggrieved. “He’s my half-brother. Ma took me back to Essex when my father died. Miles was left in Wiltshire with his grandmother—his mother’s mother. When she died—the first wife—my father married again, and I was born. I hadn’t seen Miles since he was ten.”

  “He was here—at the airfield—through the entire bloody war!” Rutledge snapped.

  The surprise on Johnson’s face was genuine. “He couldn’t have been—you’re wrong. I’d have known.”

  That was very likely true—Franklin hadn’t used his own name. There was no reason why a grown man in uniform, by the name of Reed, would have meant anything to Johnson. But how did Franklin know where Johnson lived?

  He was still talking. “I tell you, he knocked at my door, told me he’d just come back from Australia, and said he wanted to find work so that he could move on to Staffordshire, where he had friends. He said he’d had to leave the village where he’d been living, that the woman’s husband had turned up and brought his brothers with him. I didn’t know whether it was true or not, any of it, but I told him they were looking for work at the Home Farm. He said he’d go there and ask. I was glad to be rid of him, I was afraid he’d want to work at the pub. When he pounded on my door tonight, I tried to persuade him to go to Dr. Wister. He told me then he’d killed a dozen people, and I’d be next if I didn’t help him. Sally too.” He wiped his face with his hand, still shaken. “He was always strange. I never liked him.”

  “And yet when he came to you, asking your help, you found him work at the Home Farm. How did he find you, if you’d lost touch with him?”

  “His grandmother must have known where my mother was going. Or they corresponded. How the hell do I know? I was only six when my mother took me and left.”

  Rutledge, watching his face, couldn’t be sure whether Johnson was lying for his daughter’s sake, because she’d known nothing about this half-brother until now, or if Johnson was telling the truth. And it didn’t matter.

  “Stay here, keep the doors locked, the lights off. And pray we find him before he has nowhere else to run.”

  Rutledge tracked down the Constable by the harbor, searching among the boats anchored there. “Any luck?” he called as he approached.

  “None, sir. And no one answers in the shops and either of the pubs. I don’t know where else to look.”

  “House to house, then. Test the locks on all the shop doors as well. The outbuildings. He’s armed, he’s killed before. Don’t take any chances.”

  Another Constable came running down the hill, sent to join them.

  Rutledge was growing restless. There was no sign of Franklin, but more urgently, no sign of the horse. Had he turned back after luring the hunt to Walmer? Had Johnson bandaged his wound, and afterward Franklin had set off toward the Abbey?

  He turned to the newly arrived Constable, told him where, so far, he and Brown had searched, and told him he would be back shortly.

  As he retrieved his motorcar and drove up the hill toward the High, Rutledge felt a compelling need to hurry. But Hamilton stopped him at the other end of the village, flagging him down. “I thought you were searching the harbor.”

  “The man was there—but I can’t find the mare. He may have doubled back when he discovered we were searching. And Lady Benton is alone in the house. With a broken door.”

  “Then go on. The Chief Constable will blame me if she comes to grief.”

  The road was empty—he made good time, but when he reached the gates to the stable yard, he left his motorcar outside, vaulting the gate, and then made his way around the house to the private garden.

  The doors were still broken but someone had pushed a bench across in front of it.

  Lady Benton, he thought. Waiting somewhere now with her late husband’s revolver? He wouldn’t have put it past her to go upstairs for it the minute his back was turned. He stopped at the bench, called to her, added his name and then called again.

  He was about to call a third time when he heard a low bark, and Bruce came dashing down the passage and through the door into the garden room, leaping over the bench in his eagerness to greet someone he knew. His momentum carried him through the doors and out onto the terrace, launching himself to hit Rutledge full in the chest. He had all he could do to stay on his feet as the dog tried to lick his face.

  Lady Benton appeared in the doorway to the room, the revolver in her hand. “He likes you. Where is Reed or Franklin or whatever that man’s real name is? Did you kill him? I thought I heard a gunshot.”

  “Clipped his shoulder. He got as far as Walmer, but I haven’t found the mare. I thought he might have decided to double back.”

  “Oh dear—I hope he hasn’t harmed her. I’ve sat in the library, on guard.”

  He saw that she had wrapped something around her left wrist. “There was no time to see if you were all right.”

  “I think I’ve strained it a little,” she said, lifting her arm. “I came down on it rather hard.”

  “I’ve got the motorcar by the stable gates. Come back with me. Until we know where he is.”

  “There’s the dog. He was terribly unhappy being locked away from all the excitement.”

  “We’ll take him with us.”

  “I won’t leave the house like this. I can’t.”

  “He uses a knife, Lady Benton. It won’t be pleasant if he finds you in his way. I don’t have the time to persuade you. I shouldn’t have left Walmer, as it is. I might not be able to get back to the Abbey tonight.”

  Something in his voice reached her. “You’re saying I’m a distraction. All right, let me collect a few things—”

  “Later. You must come as you are. There’s literally no time now.”

  She went into the library, found the lead for Bruce, and snapped it on his collar. “It seems we’re taking a ride, whether we care to or not,” she said to him, and Rutledge moved the bench far enough for the woman and the dog to leave.

  He had to unlock the gate, expecting to have to persuade Bruce into the motorcar, but the dog made short work of it, jumping in, settling into the rear seat, tongue lolling. Taking up most of it, crowding Hamish into a corner. As Lady Benton took her seat, Rutledge turned the crank and got in beside her.

  He drove fast, reached the outskirts of Walmer, and only slowed when he saw one of Hamilton’s Constables just coming out of a house. “Any news?”

  “Not yet, sir. We haven’t heard from the men down by the harbor.”

  “Tell Hamilton where I am.”

  The Constable tried to see who was in the motorcar with him, and leapt back when Bruce stood up and thrust his head out the window, over Rutledge’s shoulder.

  Rutledge drove on to the hotel. “I’ll give you my key. Stay there until I come for you. You’ll know it’s safe then.”

  “I’d rather go to Margaret. If she knows what’s happening, she’ll be worried for me. And I can get a cup of tea. I need it rather badly.” She smiled wryly. “In the war, I felt safe, with the squadron at my doorstep.”

  He wasn’t pleased, but he drove on, pulling up in front of Mrs. Hailey’s door.

  “I just remembered. We can’t take Bruce inside,” Lady Benton warned him. “Margaret has a cat. But we must keep him safe. He’s only borrowed.”

  He waited by the motorcar, watching as she went up the short walk and tapped at the door.

  Mrs. Hailey didn’t respond for a minute or two, and Lady Benton turned toward Rutledge, where he stood impatiently by the motorcar. There was a rueful expression on her face, and just then Mrs. Hailey opened the door. He could see that she was wearing a robe or her nightdress.

  “I’m not well—” the housekeeper began apologetically, just as Bruce began to bark frantically from the rear seat of the motorcar, his head and shoulders pushing against the rear door.

  And in the same instant, Mrs. Hailey was roughly shoved out of sight. Before Rutledge was halfway up the walk, a hand reached out, caught Lady Benton’s bad wrist, and pulled hard, dragging her into the house. He heard her cry out with the pain.

  She was already across the threshold and the door slammed shut before Rutledge, shouting her name, could reach her. Bruce was out of the motorcar, jumping down and bounding toward the door, then throwing himself against it. When it didn’t open he began to leap frantically up and down, barking madly, in his efforts to reach Lady Benton.

  Rutledge caught the dog’s lead and physically heaved him away from the door and across the front garden.

  But his mind wasn’t on Bruce.

  It was on the revolver Lady Benton was carrying with her.

  If Miles Franklin found it, he could hold off any effort to break into the house.

  18

  Rutledge ducked as the glazing in the window next to the door shattered, and a shot went just wide of his head. He heard someone scream as he moved clear as swiftly as he could, yanking the dog with him across the side of the house, in an effort to get both of them out of range.

  Another shot was fired, this time closer, as he reached the corner of the house and threw himself around it. The dog whimpered, and at first Rutledge thought he’d been hit, but Bruce’s foot was tangled in the lead.

  Relieved, he caught the lead and managed to tie it to a fruit tree well out of range.

  He heard men calling to his left, and the sound of running feet. Hamilton yelled something, and Rutledge realized he was shouting questions.

  “Who’s firing? Damn it, Rutledge, where are you?”

  Rutledge called, “I’m all right. But he’s got Lady Benton and Mrs. Hailey. And he’s armed.”

  Hamilton was giving orders as Rutledge, bending low, was running toward the rear of the house. But the kitchen door was locked, and as he hit it with his shoulder to break it down, he realized that it was blocked from the inside.

  The curtains had been drawn on all the windows, there was no way to look inside or even to hope for a good shot.

  He made his way around the next house as lights came on, people calling to each other. Reaching the street, he stopped just as Hamilton came running down the street.

  “I’ve been around to the kitchen door. It’s blocked. There’s no way in.”

  “He’ll kill those women if we try,” Hamilton told him. “And if he harms Lady Benton, I’ll be demoted to Constable in the Outer Hebrides. What the hell happened? And where did that hairy monster come from?”

  “She borrowed it from a neighbor.” They could hear Bruce barking again. “I wanted to take her to the hotel, where she would be reasonably safe, but she insisted that she would rather stay with Mrs. Hailey. And he was already there.”

  “Clever bastard. We’ve seen nothing of the damned horse. I was just going to look in on Dr. Wister, in the event the wounded man had gone there, when I heard the shots. Who the hell is he? Johnson was trying to tell me something about a half-brother.”

  “He’s many men. It’s a long story, but he’s wanted for a number of murders under different names.”

  “How did you find out about him? Why did Lady Benton come into the village? Did she know him?”

  “Not now, there isn’t time. It will be light soon. Clear out the houses on either side and across the street as soon as possible. Do you have anyone who can use a rifle?”

  “No. And it’s rather chancy, trying to hit him in that house, shooting blind.”

  “I was intending to draw him out.”

  “Constable Brown was in the war. But he’s no sniper. He has a German rifle, a souvenir.”

  “Does he have any ammunition for it?”

  “No idea. I’ll find out. But I tell you, it’s madness to use it.”

  “We might not have any choice.” He started to walk away.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “To move my motorcar. It’s in the way.”

  “He’ll shoot you.”

  “No, I don’t think he will. He’s got four shots left, and he’ll be as glad as I am to see it out of the line of fire.”

  He walked down the street openly. Hamish was thundering in his head, and he ignored the warnings. Franklin had been a mechanic, not a foot soldier. He would very likely worry about what Rutledge was up to. Trying to think what the logic behind such a move might be. Whether a trick was involved. The only difficulty was, this would put him on edge. And that would be dangerous for Mrs. Hailey and Lady Benton.

  Tensing as he came within range, he walked on, reached the motorcar, and as it shielded him, he took a deep breath. Then stepped out into the open to turn the crank.

  With any luck, he told himself, Franklin would be debating whether it was worth killing Rutledge and finding himself with only three shots left.

  The motor caught, he folded the crank back into its place, and walked back to the still open door.

  Without looking at the house, he got in, closed the door, and released the brake.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow at the broken window, and held his breath, driving away without hurry, ignoring the murderer and his two women shields.

  It worked. He got the motorcar well out of range, and as he walked back, he saw moving shadows as Hamilton got the closest families to safety. The two Constables from the harbor were running up the hill to help him.

  He was still watching when someone spoke behind him, making him jump.

  “I came to this village because nothing ever happens here. No gunshot wounds, no broken bodies.” It was Dr. Wister. “Do you always bring chaos wherever you go?”

  Rutledge, turning slightly, said, “Sometimes.”

  “He has hostages, doesn’t he? How do you expect to get them out of there safely?”

  “I don’t know yet. He’s wounded. The shoulder. But it’s bleeding rather badly. Or was, when someone cleaned and bandaged the wound.”

  “Now that’s the first bit of good news I’ve heard. But much can happen before he bleeds to death. Shall I offer my services as a doctor, and see what I can do to hasten the situation?”

  Rutledge considered him. “What about your oath? To do no harm?”

  Wister smiled. “There are a good many things I can do that won’t harm him but might render him incapable of fighting back.”

  “Then be ready. It might come to that.”

  Wister looked up at the sky. “It will be dawn soon enough. Have you had any sleep?”

  “No. But I’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll make you a cup of tea with a little whisky in it. That should help.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wister left, but Rutledge stayed where he was. For one thing, he had a better view of Mrs. Hailey’s house from here. And the villagers knew and trusted Hamilton and his men. If they told someone to leave, there would be less argument. He wasn’t absolutely certain it was necessary, but it was a precaution that was wise to take. If Franklin decided to make a break for it, there was less chance of someone being in the way.

  Suddenly there was shouting from Mrs. Hailey’s house.

  Rutledge moved closer.

  Franklin must have been standing beside the shattered window, because his voice carried clearly.

  “There are two women in here with me. I’ll kill them if I have to. But I know how to use a knife, and if you don’t listen, I’ll send you a few bits to get your attention.”

  Hamilton shouted, “It will go harder for you, if you harm them.”

  Rutledge heard Franklin laugh. “Will it now?”

  He let the two men bargain. If Franklin was convinced that Hamilton had the authority to give him what he wanted, then he, Rutledge, was free to do what had to be done.

  There was silence for several minutes. Behind him, someone called, “Mr. Rutledge? Sir?”

  Turning, he saw that Constable Brown had somehow circled around, gone to his house on Church Street, and brought him something wrapped in a sheet.

  It was the German rifle.

  “It was loaded when I found it. But nobody said anything. Even when I brought it back to England in my trunk. I was thinking that I might take my youngest brother out one day, and let him fire it. He’s only thirteen. Too young still.” He was starting to unwrap it.

  Rutledge said quickly, “Get it out of sight, man. He’s at the window, talking to Hamilton.”

  Brown backed away, the rifle behind him now. “It’s here. If you need it.”

  It was a last resort.

  Rutledge turned back as the shouted conversation resumed between Franklin and Inspector Hamilton.

  The problem was, while Franklin held the better hand with the two women he’d taken prisoner, what could he bargain for?

  Hamish said, “A chance to disappear.”

  That meant leaving the coast of Essex and traveling inland, walking until he felt safe enough to buy a ticket for the train or an omnibus. The other option was to be given a small boat that could carry him across the Channel, back to France or Belgium.