"I can understand why Wheeler's murder has remained fresh in your mind."

"That, and the fact that it was the only case I failed to solve to my own satisfaction." Cummins made a wry gesture and smiled. "Sheer arrogance, of course. I took pride in my record, all the same. The men used to call me Cautious Cummins. But it was always my way, to work out each detail until I could make a case out of the pieces. You remind me of myself as a young inspector, you know." The smile widened. "I bequeath you this albatross of a case. If you ever solve it, let me know." He went back to packing. "Don't let Bowles lay the blame for my going on you, Rutledge," he warned. "Because he will try. He has it in for you, he has from the day you returned to the Yard after the war. I don't know precisely why, but he's been instrumental in blocking promotions and failing to give you proper credit where it was due. He's mean and vindictive. I've never liked him, and I'm not about to pretend now."

"Warning taken," Rutledge said, surprised that Cummins would speak so bluntly.

"I should finish this," the Chief Inspector said, glancing around the room. "Two more boxes should do it, I think. I'm not one for prolonging the inevitable." He put out his hand, and Rutledge took it in a firm grip. "I wish you well, Ian."

"Thank you, sir. I hope your retirement will be a happy one."

Rutledge walked to the door and was on the point of opening it when Cummins said, "Inspector. I would have no objection to hearing from you from time to time." And then his attention returned to the half dozen books in his hands.

As Rutledge strode down the passage toward his own office, his footsteps loud on the bare boards, he wondered if he would look back at the end of his career and remember a case the way Cummins had lived with his.

"Aye, but first ye must survive long enough to leave the force on your ain twa feet," Hamish said, his voice seeming to follow Rutledge the short distance to his own room.