“’Ware!”
A motorcar’s horn blew in his face, jolting him into the realization that he and the dog were in the middle of the street, vehicles swerving to miss them.
Rutledge swore, pulled the dog’s lead closer, and managed to get them to the far side of the road as Hamish told him roundly to mind what he was about.
And what would Chief Inspector Phipps think of half of London staring at the madman and dog intent on getting themselves killed on The Mall? If that didn’t attract the attention of the murderer, nothing Phipps had planned would distract him.
But the shock of what had just happened reminded Rutledge that it was cowardly to ask another man, even his godfather, to hear what no one should have to hear, just to buy a little peace for himself. He’d managed on his own thus far. He could manage a little longer. But dear God, it was lonely!
Round and round it went, the circle that had nowhere to end.
They had reached Green Park, he and the dog, and Rutledge could see Bevins courting the police matron in her demure nanny’s uniform. The hardness of her face betrayed her, but Bevins was the epitome of a lovesick young clerk, leaning earnestly toward the woman, as if pleading with her. His Welsh charm was evident.
Thrusting his wretched mood aside, Rutledge slowly walked the dog through the park, giving the animal time to explore the smells frozen in the grass. The very image of a man with time on his hands, an ex-soldier, perhaps, down on his luck, the greatcoat and an old hat betraying his reduced circumstances. He made himself stoop a little, to change his appearance and fit his role.