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investigation of thematter and concluded that Will was nothing of the kind. So there are no witches.” He wondered what good any of this was doing.
    Lamb held out his hand to the youngest girl and softly said to her, “I’ll take that stick, love. That’s nothing for a pretty little girl like you to be carrying around.”
    The girl tossed the stick in Lamb’s direction. He picked it up and handed it to Wallace.
    â€œNow then,” he said to the group. “Where do you belong?”
    The boy pointed toward the path beyond the stone bridge, which led to the mill ruins.
    â€œWell, time for you to be off home now,” Lamb said. “Time for bed.”
    He wondered what awaited them at home—likely nothing as wholesome as a proper putting-to-bed. If the Blitzkrieg reached England, little ones such as these would be consumed like so much underbrush in a forest fire, he thought.
    The boy broke into a run, heading in the direction of the path. The girls followed. Lamb watched them cross the bridge and disappear.
    Harris met Lamb and Wallace at the front door of Blackwell’s cottage. “No one has gone in or come out,” Harris said. “Miss Blackwell is still awake.”
    â€œThank you, Harris,” Lamb said. “Please stay until we’re finished with Miss Blackwell. Then I think you can call it a night.”
    A large black car crossed the stone bridge and pulled to a stop near the cottage. Lamb and Wallace recognized the saloon as police Superintendent Anthony Harding’s.
    â€œA bit late for the old man, isn’t it?” Wallace asked.
    Lamb sighed. “I don’t think it’s ever too late for him.” He turned to Harris. “Wait here, please, Constable.”
    Harding stepped from the rear seat of the car with a man Lamb recognized immediately, although he had not seen the man—nor had he wanted to—in more than twenty years. The sight of Harry Rivers so stunned Lamb that he literally stopped. He immediately understood what was happening—Harry Rivers was to be Dick Walters’s replacement.
    â€œGood evening, gentlemen,” Harding said. “It sounds as if we’ve rather a mess here.”
    â€œNothing we can’t handle, sir,” Wallace said.
    Harding glanced at Wallace; the super considered Wallace a good detective, though volatile and potentially unreliable; Wallace secretly loathed Harding as pompous. Lamb, though, trusted and respected Harding’s blunt honesty.
    Harry Rivers moved next to Harding, who was unaware of the past that Rivers and Lamb shared. “This is DI Harry Rivers,” Harding said. “He’ll be replacing Dick Walters, at least for the time being. He comes to us from Warwickshire, where, as we’re all aware, the Germans aren’t dropping as many bloody bombs.” Harding nodded at Lamb and Wallace. “DCI Tom Lamb and DS David Wallace.”
    Wallace offered Rivers his hand. “Rivers,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”
    â€œThanks,” Rivers said, shaking Wallace’s hand.
    Rivers turned to face Lamb. “Lieutenant,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
    â€œYes,” Lamb said. “Quite a long time, Harry.”
    â€œYou two know each other, then?” Harding asked, looking from Lamb to Rivers, genuinely surprised.
    â€œSecond Somme,” Rivers said. “Fourth London. DCI Lamb was my direct commanding officer.” Rivers smiled slightly, a smile lacking warmth. “He was Second Lieutenant Lamb then. I was Sergeant Rivers.”
    â€œOld comrades, then,” Harding said, bringing his hands together, pleased. “All the better.”
    The four men stood close together for a couple of seconds in silence. Wallace sensed Lamb’s discomfort.
    â€œRivers arrived a few hours ago,” Harding said. “Given that we have a bit of a juicy situation here, I thought it best that he jump right in.