Libbert cleared his throat. 'Eleven it is. I'll meet you in the foyer.'
'Very good.'
'How will I know you?'
'I think I'll know you, so don't worry-I'll find you.'
Billy Beale walked into the office as Maisie replaced the receiver.
'Morning, Miss.' He stopped before removing his cap. 'Bad news?'
'No, not bad news. That was Thomas Libbert. I've just arranged to see him this morning.'
'What was he like?
Maisie shrugged and began removing her raincoat. 'I'm not sure.'
'I know that look, Miss. You think he's up to something.' Billy reached out to take Maisie's coat as he spoke.
'I don't want to jump to conclusions, Billy.' She passed her coat to him, took two manila folders from her document case, set them on the desk, then sat down, placing the case alongside her chair. She looked up at her assistant. 'How have you been getting on? How's Doreen?'
'As well as can be expected, Miss.' Billy turned away. 'We went for a nice bus ride with the boys yesterday, got out of Shoreditch for a bit, you know. It's early days yet, eh?' He placed their coats on hooks behind the door and went to his desk. 'I did some more work on that list, and I think I've whittled down them names again for you- you know, the women who wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Clifton.'
Maisie nodded, noting the quick change of subject. 'I should call Caldwell and find out how they are, but first I must telephone Mrs. Partridge.' She lifted the receiver and proceeded to make two quick calls, first to leave a message at Scotland Yard for Detective Inspector Caldwell, then a brief conversation with Priscilla, asking if she could use her connections to put her in touch with Lady Petronella Casterman.
'Should be a piece of cake, darling. Ella loves new people, according to Julia. I'm amazed I haven't met her myself, though we Partridges do tend to scramble out of London on Friday evenings, so we miss quite a few social goings-on, and while I'm at it, you must come out to the country with us again.'
'That's lovely of you, Pris, and I will, soon. Look, I must go now, lots to do. I'll talk to you later.'
'Has Ben telephoned you?'
'Oh, Pris, I doubt very much if he will.'
'Don't be too surprised.'
Maisie promised to telephone again later in the day, and had just reached out to take Billy's list from his hands when the telephone rang. This time she gave only the number.
'Maisie, it's Ben Sutton here. How are you?'
'Mr. Sutton, good morning.' Maisie smiled and nodded at Billy, who returned to his desk to continue working. 'What can I do for you?'
'I think it's what I can do for you that's of the essence here. I've been talking to my friend Henry Gilbert this morning.'
'Oh yes, the man with the cine film.' Maisie looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Sutton had been in touch with his friend at an early hour.
'That's right. He's busy throughout most of the week, unfortunately. He's out at the Twickenham Film Studios until Friday, when he said we could come to his house to view the old cine films you were interested in.'
'Oh, that is excellent news. Thank you very much, Mr. Sutton.'
'Please, let's not stand on ceremony again, Maisie-do call me Ben.'
'Of course, Ben-and I am most grateful to you for talking to your friend.'
'I thought we could meet at eleven at his home in Notting Hill-and, um, how about a bite to eat afterward?'
Maisie's reply was not immediate. 'Yes, a lovely idea-though I am afraid I might not be able to stay long.'
Sutton replied as if he had heard only her acceptance, rather than the limitation of time. He gave her the address and then said. 'Excellent, see you at eleven on Friday.'
'Eleven it is.'
As Maisie set down the telephone receiver once again, Billy pulled two chairs up to the table by the window, ready to go through the list of names and make notations on the case map, as was their practice when they worked together on a given assignment.
Maisie joined him and reached for his notes, at first trying to avoid eye contact. Then she gave a half-smile and shrugged. 'Oh well, sometimes you have to meet with eligible men just to get on in a case.' She felt almost like Priscilla.
Soon Maisie and Billy had eliminated more names from the list of respondents to the Cliftons' advertisement.
'So, we've arrived at ten women who might be telling the truth.' Maisie set the notes on the table and looked at Billy.
'Yes.'
'All right, as our friends at Scotland Yard might say, it's down to shoe-leather detective work. Fortunately, apart from one in Harrogate and one in Chester, these women are all from London and the immediate home counties, so at least we won't be incurring great travel expenses. Let's start close to home first and concentrate on the ones either in or within striking distance of London, then move out. You take the first five, and I'll take the rest. And if I am to see Lady Petronella Casterman-'
'Lady who?'
'Casterman.'
'I mean the first bit.'
'Petronella?'
'I know her.'
'You know her?'
'Certainly do,' said Billy. 'I did a bit of private work for her, few years ago now, not long after I came home from the war. She'd had a telephone put in and wanted it all wired so she had one in her bedroom and one somewhere else, and what with one thing and another, she wanted it done on the quick and a mate of mine knew the butler. Next thing you know, I was asked to see him, and I put a dog and bone in about three rooms for her. Took me a couple of days, it did, what with all that old plaster to look after, and them high ceilings, and of course, the rooms she wanted rigged up weren't exactly next to each other. Not that I saw her, mind, but she came into the library while I was working one day. Had what they call the common touch. Her youngest, the boy, must have been only about three years old at the time-they had two older girls, if I remember rightly. And while I was there, reckon it must've been the second day, a couple of young women came to visit. They'd worked with her during the war. Apparently she took care of them who worked for her.' Billy's eyes widened. 'Now I see what you're getting at-she had something to do with nurses in the war, didn't she? Here, you don't reckon-'
'No, I don't reckon, not definitely,' said Maisie. 'But it's a pretty strong lead, given that she sponsored a nursing unit in the war.' Maisie went on to recount her conversation with Priscilla, and what she had gleaned thus far from reading the letters from the young woman for whom Michael Clifton had great affection.
By the time she left the office to meet with Thomas Libbert at the Dorchester, Billy's list was divided, and she was in possession of the names of five women, now in their early thirties: Ivy Acton, Sybil Bates, Anne Callan, Harriet Evans, and Barbara Harte. Billy took those whose surnames beginning with letters from the second half of the alphabet: Ethel Jempson, Sylvia Lance, Elizabeth Peterson, Rose Stephens, and Theresa Tolliver.
A top-hatted and uniformed doorman welcomed Maisie to the Dorchester with a smile and 'Good morning, madam,' as he drew back the doors to allow her to enter. Though there were a few men in the foyer, she knew straightaway which one was Thomas Libbert, but did not approach him-she wanted to observe him first, to judge his mood and gather information about his frame of mind before they met. She stood to one side behind a flower arrangement. Libbert was dressed in a suit of light brown wool, with an open-collared shirt and a cravat at his neck. His brown hair was combed back and oiled in place, and his otherwise polished shoes were scuffed with mud at the heel and sides-she surmised he had likely taken a walk in Hyde Park before returning to meet her at the assigned hour. The American paced back and forth, his eyes on the ground in front of him, then looking towards the entrance. His left hand was pushed into his trouser pocket, and in his right he held a cigarette, which he smoked not as a man relaxed and enjoying his tobacco, but as if it were vital that he inhale as much
