The Red Door

“Try the zoo,” Rutledge suggested. “And look to see if we have any information on a Peter Teller, other than the one related to Walter Teller.” And he was gone.

Traveling through Dorset in search of Peter Teller’s family would take time. But there was a possible shortcut. Edwin Teller might know of a connection there, a distant cousin or an unrelated family of the same name.

It was late in the evening when Rutledge found himself in Marlborough Street, drawing up in front of the Teller residence.

The house, white and three storied, stood among others very like it, a street speaking of old money and long bloodlines. It was quiet, almost no one about, and Rutledge was prepared to find that it was too late for him to speak to anyone.

He lifted the brass knocker and let it fall.

The maid who opened the door informed him that Mr. Teller had left for the country.

“And Mrs. Teller?”

“She accompanied him.”

“Will you tell him on his return that Inspector Rutledge from Scotland Yard has called, and I’d like to speak to him at his earliest convenience.”

Uncertain, she said, “You may call on Mrs. Teller in the morning. If it’s important?”

“I thought she was in the country as well.”

“This Mrs. Teller is Mr. Edwin Teller’s grandmother.”

“Then I’ll speak to her tonight, if I may.”

“I’ll inquire, sir.”

The maid returned very quickly and showed him into the parlor overlooking the street.

The woman sitting there in a brocade-covered chair looked up as he came into the room. Her hair was completely white, her face deeply lined, but her blue eyes swept him as she greeted him with a smile. “You’re the handsome young man who just passed my window.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Teller, for the lateness of my call. I’ve just returned to London, and this is a matter of some urgency.”

“I’m told you’re from Scotland Yard.”

“Yes, that’s true.” He realized she was the woman in the portrait in Captain Teller’s house.

“You haven’t come to tell me that Walter is missing again, have you? It’s really entirely too much. I’ve been in the country visiting, and I arrived here to find everything at sixes and sevens. In fact, I’m hardly in the door before Edwin and Amy were out of it on their way to Essex.”

“As far as I know, Mr. Teller is with his wife and son, recovering.”

“Recovering from what, I’d like to know? Nice people don’t disappear without a word and upset the entire family. I hardly knew what to say to George when I was asked to stay a week longer with him. It was thoughtless of Walter, that’s all I have to say. Do sit down, young man. You’re quite tall, and it hurts my neck to look up at you.”

He took the chair across from hers.

“Now tell me why you are here, if it isn’t Walter you’re looking for.”

“I’m here to ask about another member of the family. I’m aware that you have a grandson called Peter, but I wonder if perhaps you have a nephew by the same name.”

“Not that I know of. Why should I?”

“We’re trying to find a Lieutenant Peter Teller who served in France, and was reported missing around the end of the war.”

“Our Peter did come home. He was a captain, you know.”

“The Peter Teller I’m looking for apparently came from Dorset, although he lived in Lancashire after his marriage. His wife’s name was Florence.”

“What is this catechism in aid of?” she demanded irritably. “I don’t care to be questioned in this way.”

“We are trying to locate members of Lieutenant Teller’s family.”

“Peter’s wife was a Darley before her marriage. Susannah Darley. My grandniece.”

“Yes, I understand that. How long have they been married?”

She frowned. “I’m not quite sure. Twelve years? Yes, that sounds about right. Now, young man, I’ve answered your questions. You must answer mine.”

“Willingly,” he told her.

“Did you know that my grandson Walter went missing?”

They had already spoken of that. But he humored her. “Yes. I was at the clinic shortly after he returned.”

“Then explain to me, if you will, why he disappeared. It’s bothering me, and no one will satisfy my curiosity. It’s not something our family does, you know. Causing a scandal. It was really selfish of Walter, in my view. I wish I could understand it.”

“Perhaps you should ask him,” Rutledge answered gently. “The police were pleased that he was safe and unharmed. Now I’m trying to find one Peter Teller, whose wife Florence lived in Lancashire.”

“Is he missing as well? Such a pity. When did he go missing?”

“I’m told he never returned from the war.”

“How sad. Walter was in the war, of course. A chaplain. Peter was with the Army, and he still has shrapnel in his hip and leg. Nearly died of his wounds. Edwin couldn’t be in the fighting, of course, but he was in charge of shipping and materiel. I couldn’t sleep at night, worrying about Peter. And then the Zeppelins came, and I was sent to the country to stay with George and Annie. But I still couldn’t sleep.”

Hamish said, “She doesna’ ken what you’re asking.”

Rutledge asked, “Who are George and Annie?”