Maisie smiled. "Ah. I see. Don't worry, Inspector-as I said, I think I may have something for you soon. Just give me time-and by the same token, this is a share-and-share-alike business."
Caldwell ignored Maisie's final comment, placed his hat on his head, touched the brim, and motioned to his sergeant to follow him. When the door closed behind them, Billy looked up at Maisie.
"He's gone on the turn again, eh? I thought we were all getting along."
"We were, but he's being leaned on, and I don't think he's as good at bearing the brunt of the higher-ups as Stratton was." She sighed. "There are times I miss Stratton."
Billy nodded. "Better than that miserable whatsit, eh?" He walked across to Maisie's desk. "Don't mind me saying so, Miss, but I reckon you've sorted it all out, you know, in your mind. I know that look."
"There's a missing link or two, but I'm almost there. Come over here." She took the case map from the filing cabinet, unfurled the roll of paper, pinned it out on the table by the window, and pointed to two names she had linked in red. "See?" she asked, and turned to Billy.
"That's a turnup for the books, ain't it? I mean, I don't know what will come of this."
"Neither do I." She turned to Billy. "But I do want to ask you a question, Billy-has something happened at home? Has Doreen relapsed? I know she coped very well with the odd overnight visit, but now she's at home full-time-are you all managing?"
Billy shrugged. "We're all right, Miss. Yes, nothing to worry about. Just the boys were a bit hard to settle last night-it was that wind howling over the rooftops, I think. Young Billy was scaring his brother with ghost stories, and that set him off. They are a pair at times." He turned away towards his desk, but not before Maisie had seen the color rise in his cheeks.
When Billy had left for the morning-he was planning to visit three of the women on Maisie's list-she picked up the telephone and dialed the home of Ella Casterman, but replaced the receiver before the call was answered, and leaned back in her chair. Was it really necessary to see her again? Could she close the case without involving the widow and her family? She decided to wait. Maurice had cautioned her, in the days of her apprenticeship, that if the way ahead is not clear, time is often the best editor of one's intentions. She reached for the telephone again, this time to place a call to Lord Julian Compton, and again she began to dial, only to replace the receiver when she realized that James might well have talked to his parents about his affection for her, and his intention to see more of her. What would she say to Lord Julian? How would she negotiate the new footing in what had, in recent years, been a pleasant professional relationship? It was one thing for a peer of the realm to have regard for her as a working woman with her own business, but quite another for him to accept his son's wish to enter into courtship with someone who had once been a maid in his house.
"Blast!" Maisie pushed back her chair and paced back and forth, then sat down at her desk again and aired her frustration to the empty room. "I've got a job to do, whether Lord Julian likes me or not!" She reached forward to grasp the telephone receiver, but was startled when it began to ring.
"This is-"
"The quite lovely Maisie Dobbs."
"James!"
"You sound surprised to hear my voice."
"Where are you?" She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Did you drive up to town this morning?"
"No, not yet, but I'm leaving Chelstone soon," replied James. "I thought I would telephone to see if I could stake a claim on your company for supper this evening."
"I'm a bit busy, and-"
"Bertorelli's? I happen to know you love Italian cooking."
Maisie laughed. "All right. I'll come."
"And let's dine early."
"About six o'clock, then?"
"Perfect. I'll collect you from your office."
"All right." Maisie chewed the inside of her lip.
"Maisie?"
"I-I was just wondering-do you think it's a good idea for me to telephone your father on a business matter?"
"Yes, of course it is. You've never worried about it before, have you?"
"No. Not at all. But-oh, never mind."
"See you at six."
"See you, James."
Maisie felt foolish. Lord Julian spent only two or three days each week in his London office now that James was more established at the helm of the Compton Corporation, so he would still have been at Chelstone anyway. She would wait to place her call until James had left to return to London. In the meantime, she wanted to see the Cliftons again.
She arrived at St. George's Hospital at eleven o'clock and made her way up to the private ward where Edward Clifton was resting. There was no longer a policeman at the door, but when she walked in, Charles Hayden was sitting with Michael Clifton's father.
"Good morning, Maisie." Hayden came to his feet and held out his hand to the vacated chair. "We were just talking about you."
"You were? I do hope it was all good." She stood at Clifton's bedside. "How are you feeling, Mr. Clifton?"
"Much better, my dear. Charles here says I can return to the hotel in a day or so, but they're moving Martha to the next room, so I'll stay here for now. It'll be easier to see her."
"How is she?" Maisie looked to Hayden for an answer.
"She's still bandaged, but she's conscious, though very tired. I've asked for more X-rays, and I'll be looking at them later today. She remains slow to respond verbally and cannot construct sentences-she can only give one-or two-word answers to questions. It will be some weeks before she can leave the hospital, however; the doctor there suggested she should be sent to the Atkinson-Morley convalescent hospital, and then perhaps to the country for a short while, but of course, Edward wants to be as close to her as possible, so we'll have to sort something out. Unfortunately, I can't see them returning to Boston until mid-June at the earliest."
"Oh, dear. You must ache to be back in the United States, Mr. Clifton."
The elderly man nodded. "The sooner the better. I cannot wait to see our house on Beacon Street again and to sleep in my own bed." He looked up at Maisie. "What news do you have for us?"
She sighed. "If you will bear with me, I believe I will have news for you in the next few days. I think it best to wait to give you my report at a time when I can recount my findings in such a way that all loose ends are tied-but rest assured, the person responsible for taking the life of you son will be brought to justice. You have my word."
Clifton nodded and leaned back on the pillows.
"I'd better leave now." Maisie looked at Hayden, who followed her as she left the room. He closed the door behind him.
"Do you really think you'll have an answer for the old man?"
"I do." She sighed. "Yes, I do."
They bid each other good-bye, and when Maisie stepped out into the spring sunshine, she thought about her response to Hayden's questions. Yes, I do think I'll have an answer-and probably more than you would want to hear.
Her next stop was the shoe department of Selfridges. Though it was rumored that the department store founded by the American Harry Selfridge might not survive the economic depression, she thought it was probably the best place to go to speak to a buyer in the shoe department. Buyers, she had discovered, understood much more about their suppliers than their suppliers had fathomed themselves; and they certainly knew more about those companies than they knew about the styles favored for the following season. Her visit to the store lasted only half an hour, with ten minutes spent winding her way through the different departments, and the remainder with a Mr. Buckingham, the shoe buyer. It was a fruitful encounter. Buckingham could not have known more about Clifton's Shoes had he founded it himself.