"I have the information I've been waiting for." She looked up at the clock. "If you can be here later on this afternoon, I will go through my findings with you, and we should be ready to make our move."
"We should be ready to make our move?"
"Yes, Detective Inspector. I daresay you can break down the door without me, but you won't get anything else. I'll tell you what I know and what I think we should do. We can be at the home of the person at the heart of the attacks on Edward and Martha Clifton by lunchtime tomorrow and have the laundry washed and dried, so to speak, by mid-afternoon. I'll leave you to put it away, if I may, as I have an appointment at half past three, but I'll come to the Yard afterward for a debriefing, if that suits you."
"And what if I don't agree to this plan you've been cooking up in your head?"
"Do you know another way to get the embassy chap off your back by teatime tomorrow?"
"I'll see you later, then."
"I'll be here, Inspector. Oh, and Inspector, the person we're planning to bring in is a murderer, of that I am sure."
Maisie set the receiver on the hook, picked up the dossier from Lord Julian's office, along with Billy's notes, and walked across the room to the case map. Billy joined her.
"Is it all falling into place, Miss?" asked Billy.
Maisie nodded, but said nothing.
"You all right, Miss?"
She swallowed back tears that could come all too easily if she allowed them to fall. "I was just thinking about Maurice, how we would always talk before a time such as this. He once said to me that it was my equivalent of going off into battle, you know, clambering out and into the no-man's-land where you don't know what might happen, what the outcome might be. You only know that you are marching off and trusting that it will all come right in the end."
Billy looked down, embarrassed by his employer's candor. "Don't mind me saying, Miss, but life's always a bit like that, ain't it? You never know what's going to happen. You just hope everything turns out for the best. And I reckon if Dr. Blanche were here, he'd just ask if you've taken all precautions to look after yourself. And he'd say to have a bit of time on your own today, you know, before the whistle blows." He turned away. "I'll go and put the kettle on, so you can have a quick five minutes to yourself. All right?"
She nodded. "Thank you, Billy."
When he had left the room, Maisie sat back in the armchair. She closed her eyes and tried to still her mind. But the vision that came to her was not one of nothingness, or even of an empty night sky. Instead the vision was that of a valley in a place far away, a fertile land rich with sycamores and oaks amid golden pastures, and earth kissed by the fragrance of blossom from plentiful orchards, and the salty warmth of air carried across mountains from the Pacific Ocean.
Maisie's first task the following morning was to make the appointment she hoped would lead to an arrest. At noon she left the office in Fitzroy Square to meet Detective Inspector Caldwell, as arranged during their meeting the previous afternoon. Billy walked her to her motor car.
"You reckon you'll be all right, Miss?"
"I'll have a lorry-load of burly policemen at my back. In any case, don't worry about me."
"What do I say if Viscount Compton calls here for you?"
Maisie looked at her assistant, her head to one side. "What made you say that?"
Billy shrugged. "I dunno, Miss. It's just the sort of thing that might happen, ain't it? I mean, there's you going off into your no-man's-land, and it'll be just my luck that if anyone's bound to get on the old dog and bone and put me on the spot, it's him."
"Why him?"
"Well, Miss, it's obvious he's taken a shine to you, and he won't want to know you're putting yourself in danger, will he?"
"Let's assume my life is far from being in danger, and I am just going about my work. If he telephones, tell him I am out-which is exactly what I am-and that I'm having tea with Lady Rowan this afternoon at half past three." She took her keys from her shoulder bag. "That should give him plenty to think about."
"Take care, Miss."
"Don't worry, Billy, I will be perfectly safe. And I will telephone you as soon as I can after the police have completed the arrest-I won't keep you waiting for news."
Maisie arrived at the designated meeting place-at the end of a street of grand terraced homes in Hampstead-and waited for the black Invicta police vehicle to arrive. She envisioned the conversation that would soon take place with Peter Whitting, running back through her planned lines as if she were rehearsing a play, and hoping her words would draw him out. He was a man whose anger seemed parasitic, as if it were eating away at him from a place deep inside his being. She knew the only way to achieve the confession she needed was to goad him.
A tap on the window interrupted her thoughts, causing her to start.
"Detective Inspector-did you park around the corner?"
"Better to be out of sight."
"Yes, of course." She stepped from her MG. "Ready?"
"My men are getting into position, so let's go along to the house."
"And Major Temple?"
"Military police have been briefed, and he should have been taken for questioning half an hour ago."
"Thomas Libbert?"
Caldwell looked at his watch. "Should be being picked up about now by the Flying Squad boys. I spoke to your old friend Detective Chief Inspector Stratton, now of Special Branch. He has contacts where I need them-at the American embassy-and we'll be questioning Libbert in the presence of a consular representative who also happens to be a lawyer trained here in England. As you will appreciate, because the man is the citizen of another country, there are certain channels to be respected."
"Yes, of course. So, we're ready to go then?"
"When you are."
Maisie nodded. "Good. Let's get on with it."
"And hope we're right."
Maisie turned to Caldwell. "I'll accept full responsibility if you're unable to bring charges, and-"
"Yes, I know all that, Miss Dobbs. Against my better judgment, I am confident that we won't need to do anything of the sort. Shall we?" He paused. "And one final word before the balloon goes up: As much as I can't abide a screaming woman, I expect you to let us have it with both lungs if that man poses a threat to you at any time."
She laughed. "I've a confession-he can do that simply by looking at me. Come on, let's get this over and done with."
Maisie walked up the steps and pulled the bell handle. A wait of one minute seemed to take an hour, but soon the butler answered the door.
"Ah, Miss Dobbs, on time again-"
Caldwell stepped in front of Maisie, and held out a search warrant. "If you don't mind, Mr. Dawson, my men will accompany you into the kitchen, Miss Dobbs will find her way from here."
Two policemen flanked the butler, who was now florid of face and stuttering his complaints as they moved him towards the stairs that led to the kitchens. Two additional policemen preceded them to ensure the cook was prevented from leaving.
"All right?" asked Caldwell.
Maisie nodded.
Caldwell and his assistant followed her up the stairs towards Peter Whitting's room, the makeshift battlefield where all manner of conflagrations and skirmishes were fought and refought day after day. At the door between artists' renditions of the battles of Trafalgar and Marston Moor, Maisie made a fist with her hand and knocked.
"Come!"
She nodded to Caldwell, opened the door, and stepped into the room, taking care to leave the door ajar as she entered alone.
"Why, Miss Dobbs, isn't Dawson with you? I apologize for our lack of manners." Whitting looked up from the table, where a mock Flanders battlefield had been set up, with model houses, forests, and armies laid out and ready to be moved at any moment, dependent upon the outcome of Whitting's alternative opening salvos.