Rutledge rather thought she was right, on both counts. This was indeed a piece of jewelry that would have marked the possessor as a thief and murderer.

And it hadn’t been found in Ben Shaw’s possession-to his, Rutledge’s, certain knowledge. It had never come to light at all, and only a distant cousin’s memory of the locket had seen it included in the inevitable inventory of Mrs. Satterthwaite’s belongings. “One mourning locket, bearing name of deceased’s husband, and date of his death, set in gold, onyx profile. Missing.”

The investigating officer, Inspector Nettle-Rutledge had not been the first on the scene-had written in his notes the query “Very likely thrown into the river?”

“How did you find it?” Rutledge asked, leaning back in his chair. The locket was too difficult to fake-too expensive, for one thing. And for what purpose? “More to the point, where had your husband hidden it?”

“God save us, no!” she replied in a harsh, frustrated voice. “If he had, would I bring it to you? Now? To what end-I ask you, what good would it do?”

“Perhaps to put your mind at ease, in regard to your husband’s guilt?”

“I told you, the truth comes out with this, and too late to save Ben! No, this I took from my neighbor’s house yesterday. Henry Cutter, his name is. The old bitch, his wife, died last month, and he couldn’t bear to go through her clothes and such. Finally he asked me. And I found this in the back of the chest where she kept her corsets and drawers. Folded in that handkerchief.” The stubby finger stabbed at a bit of color in one corner. “See, it’s embroidered: JAC- for Janet Ann Cutter. And what I want from you, Inspector, is to find out what it was doing in her chest, and how it got there! I want to know if Henry Cutter stole it from a dead woman! And if my poor husband is innocent, I want you to clear his name. Do you hear me? My children deserve that-to have the shame taken away-even if you can’t bring Ben back to us!”