“What you’re saying is that my word isn’t good enough-”

“What I’m saying is that you took the locket from its hiding place. If I send forty men there in an hour’s time, and nothing else turns up-if there’s no more evidence to be found-then it’s your word against Mr. Cutter’s that the locket was in Mrs. Cutter’s belongings. Now or ever.”

She said stubbornly, “I left the chain where I found it. To mark the place!”

Rutledge nodded. “I understand that. But the chain could belong to any locket that Mrs. Cutter owned. There’s no one who can say with authority that the chain my men discover actually belongs to the Satterthwaite locket. Mrs. Satterthwaite, I remind you, is dead-”

“There’s another side to this coin, Inspector. That I’m telling the truth.” Her eyes met his squarely. “And you’re unwilling to hear it.”

She had backed him around again to his own possible guilt.

He had always taken a certain pride in his knowledge of people. He knew how to watch for the small movements of the body or shifts in expression that supported or contradicted what he was told. Only a very few people lied well.

And either Nell Shaw was among them-or she believed implicitly in what she was saying.

Hamish said, “Aye. If you canna’ satisfy her, she’ll go o’wer your head.”

And there were sound reasons why that must not happen. Rutledge was not the only officer who would be brought down if the Shaw case was shown to be flawed. Even if her accusations bore only a semblance of truth, the Yard was not immune from politics or personal vendettas.

“I’m not sending you away,” he told her. “I’m searching for a practical way of getting around the rules I have to follow. I’ll give you a chit for the locket-”

“No, never!” she declared, shoving it back in her purse and clutching that to her bosom with both arms. “It’s all I’ve got.”