Proof of Guilt by Charles Todd Page B

her.
    “Did you find Henry Jessup? Was Lewis there?”
    “I located Jessup,” Rutledge answered, “but he hadn’t seen your brother in several weeks.”
    “He must be lying. I can’t think why, except that Lewis was angry with me when he left, and he has probably told Mr. Jessup not to let on that he was there.”
    “I rather thought he was telling the truth.”
    She sighed. “It’s so typical. He’s left me to make all the decisions about our cousin’s visit. I don’t even know when to expect him or how long he’s to stay with us. It’s really unfair.”
    Just then the waiter returned with her Scotch eggs. She inspected them closely and then nodded in resignation, as if she couldn’t expect any better of the cook.
    Rutledge waited until the man had left and then asked, “Is there anyone else he might have visited?”
    “How can I know? I told you, I haven’t met most of his friends. Michael at least wasn’t so selfish, he’d bring friends home from Cambridge sometimes.” That brought a shadow to her eyes, and she said sharply, “My breakfast is getting cold. Please leave me alone.”
    He thanked her and was turning away when she added, “It’s not a friend, is it? He— There’s a woman somewhere. He jilted Miss Whitman for Miss Townsend. Not surprising, of course. Miss Townsend is the daughter of a doctor, after all. But he can’t seem to settle.” She viciously stabbed her Scotch eggs. “There must be someone else, and he doesn’t want anyone to know!”
    “What will become of you, if he marries and brings a bride home?”
    Tears stood in her eyes. “He’s not that mean. I’ll have a home. He’s told me so. For as long as I live.”
    Rutledge left then, walking out of the dining room, through Reception and out to the motorcar.
    Telling Miss French that she would have a home as long as she lived was tantamount to telling her she would very likely spend those years as a spinster, with no hope of marriage. And who would she meet if her brother never brought home any eligible men?
    The information he was gathering about Lewis French did not paint a pleasant picture.
    If there was indeed a third woman involved in the man’s disappearance, it would be impossible to track her down unless she was related to one of Lewis’s friends. She couldn’t be in St. Hilary, or in Dedham, surely, where gossip would quickly have found her out by this time. Lewis French was too well known.
    Essex was wide, as was England. Rutledge sighed. Whatever Markham would have to say about progress, this inquiry wouldn’t be closed very soon.
    There was nothing more to be gained by staying here. The Yard was patient, it could wait until Lewis French surfaced. Markham permitting.
    Still, there was one more thing Rutledge wanted to do before he left.
    The local man. He hadn’t spoken to him, and it would be just as well to have eyes here after he’d returned to London.
    He went back to St. Hilary and the narrow little building that housed the police station.
    This time the door was open, and Rutledge walked from the sunshine into the dim interior, almost colliding with a man coming out.
    The man apologized and went on his way. Behind him at an old wooden desk that must have served the first constable here in St. Hilary was a man in uniform. The small board in front of him read CONSTABLE BROOKS . It was neatly hand-lettered in black.
    “Good morning, sir. How can I help you? Directions, most likely.”
    He smiled, an affable man with a black patch over one eye.
    Rutledge presented his credentials. “Not directions, precisely. Information.”
    He went on to outline the circumstances that had brought him here. Brooks listened carefully until he’d finished.
    “I can’t tell you much about Mr. French. He’s hardly been here often enough for me to get to know him. And then I was gone for most of the war. He was a man when I got back, and generally in London. A well-spoken gentleman, polite, his main interest his