The attendant helped Rutledge off with his outer coat, then took scissors from his pocket and cut away his tweed coat and the shirtsleeve beneath it. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Rutledge was trying to make himself clear to Gibson. “Dr. Mason found it. There are statements in there as well. For God’s sake, don’t lose them.”
Gibson carried the knife to where Murray was standing, and the men compared the two.
The attendant was wrapping the wound on Rutledge’s arm, saying something about a doctor and stitches.
With his good arm, Rutledge reached out to Gibson. “Keep that safe. Both of the knives. They’re evidence. And don’t let her leave.”
“Trust me,” Gibson said harshly. “Until we know what’s happened here. Who cut you?”
“She did. Markham as well.” The attendant was urging him to stand up. Rutledge did, and felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him. Markham was on the stretcher now, facedown, clearly unconscious, being carried toward the waiting ambulance. His back and shoulders had been roughly bandaged, to stop the bleeding, but the pristine white was already turning dark red in blotches, and the broken blade protruded obscenely.
“Mrs. Leslie?” Gibson asked, staring first at her as she sat up and then at Rutledge. “There’s no blood on her.”
Murray was speaking to the two men who had held on to Rutledge earlier, telling them they would need to give a statement. He sent them upstairs with a Sergeant who had appeared at some point, giving him instructions. They followed the man, carefully not looking in Mrs. Leslie’s direction. No one seemed to know what to do with her.
The stretcher was in the ambulance, the motor already running. The second attendant came hurrying back inside. “We can’t wait any longer. He needs surgery. And you’re losing too much blood.”
“I’m needed here,” Rutledge protested. But Gibson was nodding to the attendant, who reached out for Rutledge’s good arm to urge him toward the door.
“Not now, I tell you,” Rutledge said harshly.
Harris, looking at Rutledge, said, “Go on. You’re white as a bedsheet, man.”
Stumbling over the threshold, Rutledge twisted around in the attendant’s grip, turning toward Murray, the ranking officer. “Keep her in custody. Do you hear me? Those knives match. The initials. How could I have come by one of them?”
The last thing he saw as he stepped out into the night was Mrs. Leslie’s flushed and angry face.
Rutledge’s arm was painful the next morning, but he overrode Matron’s protests, dressed, and went to look in on Chief Superintendent Markham. His room was filled with flowers, but the man himself looked gloomy, even in his sleep.
“He’s sedated,” the Ward Sister told Rutledge. She was an older woman, capable and gentle as she checked Markham’s bandaging without disturbing him. “The wound required quite a number of stitches. It’s best for him to stay quiet for a bit.”
“The broken blade. Did they save it, when they removed it?”
“I’m told a Sergeant Gibson took charge of it. Evidence, he said.”
“And the Chief Superintendent can expect a full recovery?”
“Unless infection sets in. But there will be an ugly scar at first.” She looked keenly at him. “You shouldn’t be up and about, much less dressed.”
He gave her his best smile. “I must give a statement. It won’t take long. I’ll rest, then, I promise.”
“See that you do,” she told him firmly.
He left then. His motorcar was still at the Yard, but he took a cab home to change, looking ruefully at his torn, blood-soaked shirt and coat. The cabbie had stared at him as well, as if wondering if his passenger was going to be trouble. The bandaging was cumbersome, but Rutledge had also required stitches to close the wound, and the padding was thick. He managed to get a shirt and a coat over it, then found another cab to take him to the Yard. He felt a little light-headed still, but the Ward Sister had assured him that it would pass as he replaced the lost blood. But not, he thought wryly, in time to face the Yard.
Sergeant Gibson was surprised to see him. And wary. “They told me at the hospital that you’d be staying for a day or two.”
“I’ve come to settle what happened last night.”
“I sent Mrs. Leslie home with a police Matron to keep an eye on her. Her sister was frantic, she didn’t know where Mrs. Leslie had gone. When she saw all the blood on the coat Chief Inspector Murray discovered outside, she nearly fainted. Matron had to assure her it wasn’t Mrs. Leslie’s.” He took a deep breath. “What the hell was going on, sir? Did news of her husband’s arrest turn her mind? She kept telling anyone who would listen that you’d killed a woman and attacked the Chief Superintendent. When I questioned her about how you were also wounded, she told me to ask you. But you were right, the two knives came from the same set. When Matron was relieved this morning, and came back to the Yard, she confirmed that. What’s more, I found the statements in the wrapping paper. Dr. Mason’s and Constable Henderson’s. It suggests that someone in that house is guilty.”
Rutledge pulled out the chair by Gibson’s desk. “I had all night to think about it. I wouldn’t let them give me anything for the pain, because I needed a clear head. I couldn’t make sense of it, I thought she was trying to make Markham release her husband. But she never spoke to him, she just attacked. Right now, I’m not sure what to believe.” He sat down, suddenly weak.
Gibson said, “Her sister has asked to have a doctor look at her. Matron told me she was still sitting there in those men’s clothes, not speaking, not moving. Refusing to change or go to her bed.”
Rutledge ran his good hand through his hair.
“The lapis beads were hers,” he said.
“What lapis beads?”
“They were in the house that burned. Why hadn’t he put them back where they belonged? It would have been easy enough. Had she found out that they were gone, that he’d given them to Karina, knowing he’d have them back? Was she that angry?” He put a hand on his arm, trying to dull the pain so that he could think. “But she wasn’t at the inquest, was she? Did she visit him in prison, and did he tell her? No, I’d stake my life on it that he didn’t. Although she probably was out for vengeance when she came here. I’d arrested Leslie, Markham had officially charged him. She hadn’t counted on the fact that I’d be here. But she acted, as soon as she recognized me, getting out of the motorcar. In her eyes, we’d taken her husband from her.”
Gibson was staring at him as if he too had run mad. “Sir. I think you ought to go home and rest. You shouldn’t have left the hospital. I’ll find a Constable to drive you.”
Rutledge shook his head irritably. “No, I need to speak to Chief Inspector Murray.”
“I don’t know that he’s in—”
Rutledge got to his feet, his gaze locking on Gibson’s. “Do you think that I stabbed Markham?”
Gibson looked down at his desk. After a moment he said, “The thing is, two inspectors heard you shouting at him. You’ve had words before. And I can’t quite see how she managed to cut you both. Two experienced men? She’s not a big woman.”