The constable sitting at the desk across from the door looked up, his attention sharp and questioning, as if dreading to hear what this new arrival had to say.

The look of a man, Hamish was noting, who expected more trouble than he was prepared to deal with.

Rutledge gave his name and added, "Scotland Yard." The constable's expression changed to intense relief.

"Constable Walker, sir. I wasn't expecting you, sir, not for another hour or more," he responded, coming around the desk to meet him. "The Yard told us you were in Gloucestershire and hoped to leave shortly. You made good time." A wry grin spread across the man's plain face. "I'm more than happy to turn this inquiry over to you. In all my experience I've seen nothing like it. Nor has Inspector Norman, in Hastings, I'll be bound. A shocking business. We never expected one murder, sir, much less three. Sergeant Gibson told us he was sending one of the Yard's most experienced men. Whatever I can do to help, you can count on me, sir."

Rutledge was surprised to hear Gibson singing his praises. He found himself wondering why. They had always had a guarded relationship, drawn together more because of their mutual dislike of Chief Superintendent Bowles than because of any friendship between them.

"Thank you, Constable," Rutledge began, hoping to cut short Walker's effusive welcome, but the man was already moving past him to the door.

"If you'll just follow me, sir? I promised to take you to Mr. Pierce as soon as you arrived. He'll tell you what you need to know. His son was the third victim."

"I don't think it's wise to speak to Mr. Pierce until you've given me a picture of what's happened, why I'm here." Rutledge followed him as far as his motorcar and stopped there, facing Walker.