Charles Todd - The red door

The shop was not busy at that hour, and Rutledge had the full attention of the owner. Bolts of fine cloth, trays of buttons and collars, and an array of hats indicated a clientele with the resources and taste to dress well. Sammy Underwood had found himself a bargain.

Mr. Grantwell recognized his workmanship at once, though he deplored the missing labels and the condition of the items he was scrutinizing. After consulting his client book with its diagrams and lists and measurements, he identified the owner of the clothing.

Looking up, he asked quietly, "May I inquire why you are bringing these to me? Does it mean that some harm has come to Mr. Walter Teller?"

"We haven't spoken to Mr. Teller. These were found in the possession of a costermonger, and we are trying to discover who they belonged to and how they came into his hands," Rutledge answered him. It was the truth, as far as it went, and Mr. Grantwell could make of it what he chose.

The tailor nodded. "Indeed. Which of course explains their state. I must say, I've always admired Mr. Teller," he went on. "In his book, he described his years in the field. It was quite shocking. Accustomed as he was to the life of a gentleman, it was remarkable how well he coped with hardship and deprivation. It is a tribute to his upbringing that he had the resources of spirit to fall back on."

Rutledge was struck by Grantwell's remark. Jenny Teller had also mentioned the terrible conditions of her husband's fieldwork, but from a police point of view, Rutledge had considered them as a possible explanation for Teller's disappearance: events that could have preyed on his mind years afterward. But now he could see another point of view-that if Walter Teller had deliberately disappeared, for whatever reason, he was better prepared than most to deal with a completely different way of life. Sleeping rough, for one, and for another, disappearing into the London scene not as Walter Teller, Gentleman, but as an ordinary man of the streets, invisible to police eyes. And a first step would have been altering his appearance-including ridding himself of the clothing that would identify him.

Hamish, silent for some time, told him, "If ye're right, he's no' coming back."

Grantwell was saying, "My father had the pleasure of serving Mr. Teller's father before him, and I'd like to think we'll serve young Master Harry in the years to come."

He was fishing, an experienced angler in search of information.

And it occurred to Rutledge that a man's tailor knew nearly as much about him as his servants, tidbits garnered in fitting sessions or the type of cloth ordered. Military, funeral, wedding, baptism, riding, a weekend in the country or a shooting party in Scotland, receptions at the Palace or a day at Ascot. His own tailor, solicitous of the gaunt, haunted man who walked into his shop a year ago in need of new suits of clothing for his return to the Yard, had asked if his wounds were healing well and if there was to be a happy event in the near future.

Rutledge hadn't been able to tell him the truth, the words refusing to form in his mind, and so he had murmured something about no date had been set, and then barely heard what followed as the man prattled on about his own son's marriage in the winter.

He said now, "Mr. Teller's brothers are among your clients as well?"

"Yes, indeed. Mr. Edwin Teller has never enjoyed good health, but during the war he was engaged in work for the Admiralty, serving with distinction, I'm told. He was for many years a designer of boats and often traveled to Scotland to oversee their construction. He was given a private railway carriage. Captain Teller was severely wounded a few months before the Armistice. I understand there was some concern that he might never walk again."

The shop door opened and an elderly man stepped in. A clerk hurried from the back of the shop to greet him, and Mr. Grantwell said to Rutledge, "Is there any other way I can help you? My next appointment…" His voice trailed off, and Rutledge took the hint, thanking him and leaving.

Now came the unpleasant duty of showing the items of clothing to Mrs. Teller, to confirm what the tailor had said, that they did indeed belong to her husband.

Leaving the sergeant with the box, Rutledge looked first in Teller's private room, and then went to Matron's sitting room.

There he found Jenny Teller in conversation with another couple. The atmosphere was unexpectedly tense. And as he opened the door, he'd caught a fleeting expression of relief on Jenny's face, as if she were glad of the interruption.

Then her expression changed to alarm as she realized that it was Rutledge and not a member of Matron's staff.

"Is there news?" she asked quickly.

"We haven't found your husband, no," he answered her.

She nodded. She was beginning to cope with her shock and her fear. Her husband's disappearance, coming on the heels of his mysterious illness, had shaken her badly, her emotions raw, her tears not far below the surface. Now Rutledge could see changes in her face, a new strength and determination, an unwilling acceptance of the unacceptable: that her life had changed.

She turned to present her companions.

"My brother and sister-in-law. Edwin Teller and his wife, Amy."

Amy Teller came forward with her hand outstretched. "Yes, Jenny was just telling us that the Yard had joined in the search. We're very grateful."

Rutledge was struck by Edwin's wife. She was well dressed, attractive in the way she held herself, and had clear, intelligent eyes. But there was something behind that intelligence that spoke of worry, and a sleepless night.

Edwin, pale and showing signs of an even deeper fatigue, was a rather handsome man with an Edwardian beard. He stood to greet Rutledge and said, "We've just come back from searching, ourselves. I'm afraid we've had no better luck. I was hoping…" He shrugged eloquently, unwilling to finish the sentence in the presence of Walter's wife.

Rutledge said, "You were looking for your brother. May I ask where?"

"We've only just got back," Amy answered for her husband. "I thought he might have gone to the house in Essex. I know, Jenny disagreed, but I did look. Edwin and Peter went to Cambridge on the odd chance Walter had gone to see someone there. Edwin seemed to remember being told that a colleague had retired there."

Jenny said, "I didn't know that. Was it Percy? I thought he had gone back to Northumberland."

"As it turned out, Percy is there for the summer," Amy told her. "He wasn't at home when Edwin called, he was meeting with someone at the college."

Edwin said to Rutledge, "My brother was severely wounded in the war and is still recovering. He kept me company."

It was an unnecessary clarification, and Amy spoke quickly to cover it. Indeed, Amy Teller appeared to answer for her husband almost as if uncertain that he knew his lines on cue.

"Susannah-she's Peter's wife, Inspector-drove to Cornwall, where the family often went on holiday. And Leticia, Edwin's sister, was in Portsmouth, on the off chance that Walter might have"-she hesitated, glancing uncertainly toward Jenny-"where he might in his confusion have thought he was returning to the field."

Edwin said, "We didn't find him, but it was better than waiting for the police to get around to looking beyond London. And we might have got lucky. There's always that." He sounded defeated but smiled for Jenny's sake and added, "We could count on Jenny here at the clinic, if the police came through."

Jenny glanced from one to the other, and said, "Portsmouth was a waste of time. Leticia should have stayed here. Walter wouldn't have left the country without telling me. He wouldn't have left Harry without a word. No matter how confused he might be."

"Do you know for a fact that he didn't try to contact his son?" Rutledge asked.