A Test of Wills Read Free Page B

Harris, in itself.”
    “In Mavers’s case, it is. He’s been annoying the Colonel since long before the war, nothing we’ve ever been able to prove, you understand, but there’ve been fires and dead livestock and the like, vindictive acts all of them. The last time, when one of the dogs was poisoned, the Colonel threatened to have Mavers committed if it happened again. He’s got a very sound alibi—Inspector Forrest talked to him straightaway. All the same, I’d not put murder past him.”
    Rutledge heard the hope in Davies’ voice, but said only, “I’ll keep that in mind. All right, then, if that’s the lot, we’ll start with Miss Wood. She may be able to give us a better picture of this quarrel, what it was about and whether it might have had anything to do with her guardian’s death. I’ll want you there. Inspector Forrest can spare you?” He capped his pen, stowed the notebook in his pocket, and reached for his cup.
    Davies looked stunned. “You didn’t bring a Sergeant with you, then?”
    “We’re shorthanded at the Yard at the moment. You’ll do.”
    “But—,” Davies began, panic sweeping through him. Then he thought better of what he had been on the verge of saying. The man to speak to was Forrest, not this gaunt-faced stranger from London with his clipped voice and bleak eyes.
    Then he bethought himself of the one fact he’d avoided so far, the one bit of evidence no one wanted to accept. He had been told to wait until Rutledge brought it up, but the man hadn’t mentioned it. Because he discounted it? That would be too much to hope for! More than likely, the Inspector intended to rub the Sergeant’s nose in it, now that he had his chance. But Davies knew it had to be dragged into the open, like it or not. You couldn’t just ignore it, pretend it didn’t exist—
    He cleared his throat. “There’s more, sir, though I don’t know what it’s worth. Surely they told you in London?” Staring at Rutledge, waiting for some indication that the man knew, that he didn’t need to go into embarrassing detail, Sergeant Davies read only impatience in the face before him as the Inspector folded his napkin and laid it neatly beside his plate.
    “A possible witness, sir. He claims he saw the Colonel on Monday morning.” No, the man didn’t know; it was hard to believe, but for some reason he hadn’t been told! Davies hurried on. “In the lane that cuts between Seven Brothers Field and the orchard. And he saw Captain Wilton standing there beside the horse, holding on to the bridle and talking to the Colonel, who was shaking his head as if he didn’t like what he was hearing. This must have been about seven-thirty, maybe even a quarter to eight. Then the Captain suddenly stepped back, his face very red, and the Colonel rode off, leaving the Captain standing there with his fists clenched.”
    Rutledge silently cursed London for ineptitude. He pulled out his notebook again and asked curtly, “How far is this place from where the Colonel was found dead? And why didn’t you mention this witness sooner?”
    The Sergeant’s face flushed. “As to how far, sir, it’s at most two miles east of the meadow,” he answered stiffly. “And I was sure they’d have told you in London—You see, the problem is that the witness is unreliable, sir. He was drunk. He often is, these days.”
    “Even an habitual drunk has been known to tell the truth.” Rutledge added another line, then looked up. “We can’t discount what he says on those grounds alone.”
    “No, sir. But there’s more, you see. He’s—well, he’s shell-shocked, sir, doesn’t know where he is half the time, thinks he’s still at the Front, hears voices, that kind of thing. Lost his nerve on the Somme and went to pieces. Lack of moral fiber, that’s what it was. It seems a shame for a fine man like the Captain to be under suspicion of murder on the evidence of an acknowledged coward like Daniel Hickam, doesn’t it? It isn’t