Todd, Charles - Ian Rutledge 18 - No Shred of Evidence by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, United States, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, British Detectives, Thrillers & Suspense, Suspense, Historical fiction
ISBN: 0062386182
Amazon: B00WR12KU8
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2016-02-16T06:00:00+00:00

13

The vicar was still in the cell, although his housekeeper or someone had brought down pillows and bedding, in an attempt to make him more comfortable. Dr. Carrick was worried about moving him again—being transported from Half Acre Farm had been difficult enough for someone in his condition. And that had not changed for the better.

The first of the searchers came in several hours later, reporting to Pendennis that they had found no one who was likely to have attacked the vicar. More to the point, they had seen no strangers, nor had those they’d questioned.

“But it’s fairly open ground, where they were looking. A stranger would have stood out for some distance,” Pendennis explained to Rutledge after he had thanked the men and sent them to the pub for something to eat.

Still, there was the occasional wind-twisted tree that broke the horizon in some places, and if a walker could gain that before he was spotted, he might not be seen.

He waited until three more search parties returned with no news before walking down to the inn and his motorcar.

Driving on to Chough Hall, he discovered that Mr. St. Ives himself was at home, and in a far from friendly mood.

“Rutledge,” he said, when he strode into the sitting room where Rutledge had been taken by the maid who answered the door. “I hope you have better news than on your last visit to Grenville’s house.”

“I’m afraid not. I wonder if I might speak to your son.”

“To George?” St. Ives repeated blankly. “What the devil for?”

“I understand from your daughter that the four women rowed as far as the back garden of this house, and called to your son, who happened to be on the terrace at that moment.”

“And what if they did?”

“I’d like to verify that by speaking to him,” Rutledge replied blandly.

“My daughter doesn’t lie,” he said harshly. “And George is resting just now. He had a bad night.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. But I must speak with him. I will gladly go to his room, if that would be more comfortable for him.”

“I tell you he’s not receiving visitors today. Including the police.”

“What precisely happened to your son in France, St. Ives?”

His face twisted in a grimace. “He was badly wounded,” he said evasively after a moment. “And before he could be sent back to an aid station, he was taken prisoner by the Germans. He didn’t receive the medical treatment he should have done. Not their fault, possibly. He tells me they did their best. Still, there you are.”

“Can he walk?”

Affronted, St. Ives snapped, “Of course he can walk.” But the bitterness in his eyes belied that.

“How far can he walk, if he leaves this house?”

“I thought you had come about the man on the terrace.”

“And so I did. But you refused to allow me to speak to him. And I must know why.”

“I have told you, he’s resting.”

“And I have a witness who saw him walking near Half Acre Farm quite early this morning.”

St. Ives gawked at him.

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