Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“It’s to stop there, Rutledge, do you hear me? I’ll not be greeted in the morning with more bad news. And heed me on this as well. If Hamilton isn’t right in his mind, you’re not to let Bennett clap him up in Hampton Regis. We’ll bring him to London and sort it out.”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that possibility.”

“Then see that it’s done. I’m not best pleased with this trap you’re so keen to lay. On the other hand, if there’s no other possible way to lure a killer into the open, then we’ve not got much choice. But I’ll thank you not to let that fool Mallory start shooting before we know what we’re about.”

Stratton was waiting for him by Reception, stepping out of the lounge with a glass of sherry in his hand.

“Well met, Rutledge. Can I offer you anything?”

“Thanks, but I’m still on duty.”

“A long day,” Stratton agreed. “There’s been another killing, they tell me. This time a maid working for Hamilton. And Matthew’s still missing.”

“We hope to have someone in custody shortly. Which reminds me, Stratton, where were you last night? Not wandering about Casa Miranda looking for diaries, by any chance.”

“God, no. I understand that the man who is holding Mrs. Hamilton a prisoner in her own house is an ex-officer armed to the teeth. I’m not that brave, I can tell you. What I’d like to know is if you found anything there.”

“How did you know I was at the house last evening?”

“Opening doors in a busy inn can lead to unpleasant surprises, but I found a room where the windows do look out toward the Hamilton house. Yours, in fact. And I saw you go there while I was surveying my options.”

“In future, I’d consider spending my evenings with the drapes drawn, if I were you,” Rutledge said pleasantly. “It would be wise.”

Stratton’s eyebrows rose. “Expecting more trouble, are you?”

“No. Just a friendly warning that people who meddle with a policeman going about his duties often come to grief.”

“You haven’t answered my question about the diaries. Do they exist, do you think?”

“If they do, they belong to Matthew Hamilton. If he’s dead, they belong to his estate. Neither you nor I have any right to them.”

“Do you think it fair for one man to hold the fate of many in his hands while he decides what to do with information he should have been sensible enough not to collect in the first place?”

“The peccadilloes were not his, Stratton, they were yours, whatever it is you’re living to regret now. You should have thought of that in good time.”

Stratton grimaced. “I can only plead youth.”

“Then you’d better pray that Matthew Hamilton has learned discretion as he aged. Or that his wife doesn’t wish to memorialize him-assuming he’s dead now-by publishing his life’s history.”

He turned to walk away. But Stratton said, “Gaming debts are not a disgrace. It’s just that I’d rather not have my fondness for playing the odds publicly acknowledged.”

In the reference to Stratton that Rutledge had seen, it wasn’t gaming debts that had been mentioned. But he didn’t stop, moving on toward the stairs.

“Then you’ve nothing to fear, have you?” he replied over his shoulder.

But he found himself agreeing with Hamish that Stratton was a very clever man, and so was the murderer he would soon be waiting for.

Twenty minutes later, Rutledge went to the inn’s kitchen and begged a box of sandwiches from the staff, with apples from a silver bowl in the dining room. Then he made certain that his torch was ready for use and added to the case the extra pair of field glasses that Bennett had found for him. Finally he dressed in dark clothing that was serviceable and warm.

Hamish was not best pleased. “Yon Mallory has told you-he killed you once before.”

“That was just a game his doctor played. It has no bearing on the present situation.”

“Oh, aye? Does the lieutenant ken it was a game?”

“He won’t shoot me.”

“I wouldna’ turn my back on him in the dark.”

It was nearly four o’clock when Rutledge walked up the hill to Casa Miranda. His motorcar stood in the yard at the inn, where he’d left it each night of his stay.

As a ruse, it wasn’t very successful, Hamish had pointed out. “No’ if Stratton is watching fra’ a window.”

“He’ll find a constable in my room tonight, if he ventures in there again. What’s more, I left orders for the constable to lock himself in, as an added precaution.”

He spoke to the man on duty under the swaying limbs of the evergreen, remarking on the wind’s force.

“I’d not like to be out on the water this evening,” the constable replied. “But I should be warm enough.”

“Stay in plain sight after dark.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

Rutledge went on to the door and knocked. Mallory answered quickly, smelling of whiskey.

“You’re a fool to drink tonight,” he said shortly.

“I’m not drinking. It was one glass, and I downed it with a sandwich. The house is cold. I built a fire in Felicity’s bedroom, and one in the back sitting room, to make it appear to be occupied. What’s in the case?”

Rutledge let him paw through it.

“And you’re not armed?”

He opened his coat and gave Mallory time to inspect him as he turned in front of him.

“All right, then. I accept your word.”

“There are more sandwiches in the bag. Fruit. I’m not sure anyone is in the mood to prepare dinner.”

“When do you think he’ll come? If he does.”

“Late. When we’re tired and not as alert.”

“Yes, that’s what I’d told myself.” A gust of wind shook the windows overlooking the sea. “Damned wind. And this house creaks like all the imps of hell are loose in it. Felicity is waiting. She’s not taken the powder that the doctor gave her. Hester, I mean. She wanted to see you were here first.”

They went up the stairs, and Rutledge could hear their footsteps echo through the silent house.

Felicity Hamilton unlocked her door at the sound of Rutledge’s voice.

He stepped into the room, feeling the warmth of the fire, and said, “Not to alarm you, just a precaution. Are you certain no one can reach your windows from the outside? If not, we’ll find a more suitable room.”

“I prefer to stay here. But I looked, before the light went. I’d thought about that too.”

He showed her the sandwiches, pointing out that there was a variety, chicken and ham and cheese with pickles. “And here’s enough tea to see us through the night. Is there anything else you require? Water for your powder?”

“I have water, Stephen saw to that. I’m not sure I want to be asleep if there’s any trouble.”

“We’re on the other side of the door.”

He went out. Mallory was dragging comfortable chairs from other bedrooms, with pillows and blankets and a pair of heavy quilts. “It will be drafty,” he said in explanation, then added a decanter of whiskey to their makeshift night camp. “As a blind for shooting lion, I think the lion has the advantage.”

“A lion can smell us before we see him. A man can’t. What about the back stairs?” Rutledge asked. “He could come from there rather than the main staircase.”

“I’ve got a chair braced against that door. If he tries the knob, we’ll hear him. If he intends to reach us, he’ll have to use the other stairs.”

While Mallory was collecting matches and lamps, Rutledge double-checked the servants’ door to the back stairs. It was solidly braced, and anyone attempting to come through would find himself making a considerable racket.

They settled down in the silent house, listening to the wind outside, and prepared to wait. Mallory brought out a small portable chess game, but they were evenly matched and it palled after a time.