Charles Todd - A test of wills

Bowles was saying, "-and I don't really care. What matters is that I've got the Palace off my back now. We can close the case, sweep it all under the rug, clear the Captain's good name-and we're all back where we started from."

Except for Colonel Harris, Rutledge thought.

And Maggie Sommers…

… and Lettice. He felt waves of black depression settling over him, swamping him.

No! he told himself fiercely.

No, I won't give into it. I'll fight. And by God, somehow I'll survive! I solved this murder. The skills are there, I've touched them-and I will use them again! Whatever else I've lost, this one triumph is mine.

"Ye'll no' triumph over me!" Hamish said. "I'm a scar on your bluidy soul."

"That may be," Rutledge told him harshly. "But I'll find out before it's finished what we're both made of!" Afterward, staring at the telephone, Bowles swore savagely. Somehow, against all expectation, Rutledge had pulled it off.

Scotland Yard would be overjoyed with the results, they'd bring the man home as a hero, and he, Bowles, would be left to bask in reflected glory once more. That nonsense about the dead woman-she'd probably committed suicide and Rutledge had been smart enough to see his chance. To put the blame on her, not Wilton. And no one in the Yard would dare to question it. Not when so many reputations had been saved…

Well. There's always a next time. Beginner's luck, that's what it was. And next time, no convenient scapegoat would spoil the game…