With any luck, he told himself, Franklin would be debating whether it was worth killing Rutledge and finding himself with only three shots left.
The motor caught, he folded the crank back into its place, and walked back to the still open door.
Without looking at the house, he got in, closed the door, and released the brake.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow at the broken window, and held his breath, driving away without hurry, ignoring the murderer and his two women shields.
It worked. He got the motorcar well out of range, and as he walked back, he saw moving shadows as Hamilton got the closest families to safety. The two Constables from the harbor were running up the hill to help him.
He was still watching when someone spoke behind him, making him jump.
“I came to this village because nothing ever happens here. No gunshot wounds, no broken bodies.” It was Dr. Wister. “Do you always bring chaos wherever you go?”
Rutledge, turning slightly, said, “Sometimes.”
“He has hostages, doesn’t he? How do you expect to get them out of there safely?”
“I don’t know yet. He’s wounded. The shoulder. But it’s bleeding rather badly. Or was, when someone cleaned and bandaged the wound.”
“Now that’s the first bit of good news I’ve heard. But much can happen before he bleeds to death. Shall I offer my services as a doctor, and see what I can do to hasten the situation?”
Rutledge considered him. “What about your oath? To do no harm?”
Wister smiled. “There are a good many things I can do that won’t harm him but might render him incapable of fighting back.”
“Then be ready. It might come to that.”
Wister looked up at the sky. “It will be dawn soon enough. Have you had any sleep?”
“No. But I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea with a little whisky in it. That should help.”
“Thanks.”
Wister left, but Rutledge stayed where he was. For one thing, he had a better view of Mrs. Hailey’s house from here. And the villagers knew and trusted Hamilton and his men. If they told someone to leave, there would be less argument. He wasn’t absolutely certain it was necessary, but it was a precaution that was wise to take. If Franklin decided to make a break for it, there was less chance of someone being in the way.
Suddenly there was shouting from Mrs. Hailey’s house.
Rutledge moved closer.
Franklin must have been standing beside the shattered window, because his voice carried clearly.
“There are two women in here with me. I’ll kill them if I have to. But I know how to use a knife, and if you don’t listen, I’ll send you a few bits to get your attention.”
Hamilton shouted, “It will go harder for you, if you harm them.”
Rutledge heard Franklin laugh. “Will it now?”
He let the two men bargain. If Franklin was convinced that Hamilton had the authority to give him what he wanted, then he, Rutledge, was free to do what had to be done.
There was silence for several minutes. Behind him, someone called, “Mr. Rutledge? Sir?”
Turning, he saw that Constable Brown had somehow circled around, gone to his house on Church Street, and brought him something wrapped in a sheet.
It was the German rifle.
“It was loaded when I found it. But nobody said anything. Even when I brought it back to England in my trunk. I was thinking that I might take my youngest brother out one day, and let him fire it. He’s only thirteen. Too young still.” He was starting to unwrap it.
Rutledge said quickly, “Get it out of sight, man. He’s at the window, talking to Hamilton.”
Brown backed away, the rifle behind him now. “It’s here. If you need it.”
It was a last resort.
Rutledge turned back as the shouted conversation resumed between Franklin and Inspector Hamilton.
The problem was, while Franklin held the better hand with the two women he’d taken prisoner, what could he bargain for?
Hamish said, “A chance to disappear.”
That meant leaving the coast of Essex and traveling inland, walking until he felt safe enough to buy a ticket for the train or an omnibus. The other option was to be given a small boat that could carry him across the Channel, back to France or Belgium.
An idea began to form in Rutledge’s mind.
Farther up the street, Hamilton was at loggerheads with Franklin, his voice sharper as he tried to deal with the man.
The light was growing now.
Rutledge turned and raced down the hill toward the house where Bill Johnson lived.
He didn’t bang on the door, as he wanted to do. Instead he called, “Johnson? It’s Rutledge. I need your help.”
Several minutes passed, then the curtain in the front room twitched. He called again. “Open the door, Johnson. I need to talk to you.”
It finally opened. Johnson’s worried face appeared in the crack. “Is he dead? I heard gunshots—”
“No. He has two women shut up in a house with him. He’s threatening to harm them if he’s not allowed to leave. Hamilton’s talking with him, but it’s hopeless. I’m not sure Franklin knows that.”
“Here—I don’t want any part of him.” He tried to shut the door, but Rutledge had his boot in it.
“If you don’t help, people will die. Just as he threatened you and your daughter.”
He shook his head vehemently. “No, I tell you.” He backed away, turning to walk back down the passage, leaving Rutledge in possession of the door—and nothing else.
But Johnson kept shaking his head, refusing to listen. Or help.
Rutledge said, “Look. I want to help him escape. We’ll find him eventually, but I want those two women out of there and safe, before he decides to force Hamilton’s hand by sending out a finger—or God knows what.”
Johnson covered his ears.
Rutledge shoved the door back against the wall as he stepped into the passage. He went after the man, caught Johnson by the shoulders, turned him, and slammed him against the wall.
“Listen to me, damn you. All you have to do is walk to the harbor, find a boat, and with the backing of Scotland Yard, prepare it to sail. Not tonight—not tomorrow—now.”
“I won’t go with him—I refuse to be a party to this.”
“You found him work—you never reported him to Hamilton, or told the Home Farm that you wouldn’t want him working for you. You protected him, and that makes you an accomplice to the murder of Patricia Lowell. And if anything happens to those two women, the Chief Constable will personally see to it that you hang next to Franklin.”
“You can’t do that! I didn’t bring him here. I’m not responsible for him. I don’t want to be dragged into this any more than I already have been!”
“You’re a fool, Johnson. All I’m asking you to do is to find a boat. One that is seaworthy, and prepare it to sail. You own a boat, you know what needs to be done with this one. I’ll shoot you myself, if you don’t do as you’re told.”
“Scotland Yard isn’t armed—”
“I am.” He pulled the revolver free and held it up for Johnson to see. “I was in the trenches, I know how to use it.”