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the point where they suspected Lieutenant Wade?”
    “Apparently someone in the village remembered seeing him that same day. On the road out to the house. Later it was discovered he’d taken the train on to Southampton where his ship was waiting to sail with the tide. But sail it had. And so there was nothing for it but to send word to India that he was wanted for questioning. The upshot of that was, his own parents were found dead, and so it was assumed that Lieutenant Wade must have killed the family in Petersfield as well.”
    “But why should he do such a thing? Was there a reason for him even to know them? Had he just walked in an open door and murdered three people?”
    “It was said he’d known them before. Before he joined the regiment. But I never heard just how.”
    “It’s horrifying,” I said. “And I find it very hard to square that with the man I knew in India.”
    “That’s what everyone seemed to be saying. Scotland Yard came here to interview us and Mrs. Standish, but we couldn’t tell them anything useful. And so they went away. What distressed us both was the fact that the man had been in our house twice, and not very long after he’d left it that last time, he killed. Dolly couldn’t sleep for a fortnight, thinking about it. It could have been us, she said. But not by the hand of Lieutenant Wade. Surely not.” He frowned, and I could see that he was trying to convince himself that he believed wholeheartedly in what he’d said, that the Lieutenant would never have harmed them.
    We could hear Dolly Middleton calling from the dining room, and the Captain rose to escort me to the table, tacitly bringing the conversation to an end.
    Over the meal, no mention was made of murder or the Lieutenant. Instead I told them about Captain Saunders, and Captain Middleton shook his head.
    “We’ve lost so many of the officers and men we knew,” he said, sadness in his voice. “War’s a terrible thing. It’s been my profession since I was a lad, being a soldier. But watching the young ones die is hard.”
    Mrs. Middleton changed the subject, and we enjoyed our lunch. I was sorry to leave them, but I had a long drive back to Somerset and I needed to start out as soon as possible. They offered to put me up for the night, which was kind of them, but I knew the roads I’d be driving as I neared home, even though it would be well after dark by then. And so I thanked them for their hospitality and their offer, and set out.
    With me I carried the scent of Captain Middleton’s pipe tobacco and the disturbing thought he’d left with me. That one of our own had killed before, and might well kill again.
    Thinking about what might drive such a man to murder, I drew a blank.
    That was when I decided to go to Petersfield myself and see what I could learn that would explain his conduct.
    How had he managed to conceal his deeds from us? From my mother and from me, and most of all from Simon and my father?
    Was it a cold-bloodedness that he kept so well hidden we had no inkling it was there? Or something else none of us had ever fathomed?
    Driving along in the gathering dark, I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the balmy night air.
    I was glad to pull up in the drive and leave my motorcar where it was, hurrying into the lighted hall and hearing Iris’s voice calling, as she came out of the kitchen passage, “Oh, Miss, is it you? And have you had your dinner?” And then as she reached me, she frowned. “You look unhappy, Miss. Is anything wrong?”
    I couldn’t tell her how sane and safe the lighted hall seemed, and how familiar and comforting her plain, concerned face was.
    “I’m a little tired, that’s all. I think I’ll have a little soup or a sandwich, then go up to bed.”
    “Yes, Miss, and Cook has set aside a nice chop for your dinner. You’ll come and eat it, won’t you, and make her happy?”
    And so I did, putting aside everything else that was on my mind.

Chapter Six
    T he next morning