her, had ministered to her when she needed him most-was she failing him now by not being at his side?
Maisie tried to shake off the chill that had enveloped her, and walked on along the path, so consumed by her powerlessness against the march of time and sickness that she did not hear the steps behind her, nor had she considered that the earlier sensation had been anything more than a physical manifestation of her fear. The attack was sudden, the shove between her shoulder blades sending her lurching forward and crashing to the ground. She felt her cheek strike the path, and as she fell forward, she released her grip on her document case to break the impact of her fall.
Maisie gathered her thoughts within seconds, pushed down on the ground with her hands, and came to her feet. The document case was gone, and in the distance she could see a man running towards the gate. She gave chase, shouting, 'Stop! Thief! Stop that man-stop that thief!'
As she ran, Maisie felt the air scratch her throat and her chest began to burn, but she did not relinquish speed to discomfort. She ran out through the gate in time to see the man dodge through Marble Arch traffic; then he was gone.
'Damn!' She looked down at her hands, the deep grazes and scrapes along the base of her palms, and as a policeman came towards her, she brushed the back of her hand against her cheek and felt the wetness of blood where gravel had torn at her skin. 'Oh, that's just lovely!' she said to herself.
'Are you all right, Miss?'
'I think so. Did you see him, the man who attacked me? He took my document case-black, leather-and ran off towards the tube.'
'I'll take the particulars, Miss. We'll see if we can nab him along the line. Tricky, though-these thieves are light on their feet, you know. And there's more of it now, what with people being out of work.'
'Yes, I know, Constable.' She reached into her pocket for a clean handkerchief and wiped blood from her cheek and hands.
'I'll just put out the call,' said the policeman after noting Maisie's description of the man. He ran to a nearby police telephone kiosk, and returned after a few minutes.
'There, they'll do what they can along the line, though I think you might have seen the last of your case, miss. Just as well he didn't take your handbag, though it would have been hard to get it off your shoulder-it's easier to just grab the case.'
'I don't think he was after my bag,' said Maisie.
'Oh, I don't know, miss, what with your money in there.'
Maisie shook her head. 'No. He was after the case. I'm fairly sure of that.' She paused, touching her face again. 'Now, if you would be so kind as to call me a taxi-cab, Constable, I think I might go to get this cheek sorted out.'
The constable hailed a taxi-cab, and soon Maisie was on her way to St. George's Hospital. She'd had worse scrapes as a child, playing in the streets of Lambeth, and the attack had signaled that she had no time to lose, no time to read Michael Clifton's journal and letters as if they were a novel, no time to indulge herself in grief over events that might not yet come to pass. She knew her assailant had been waiting for her, had in all likelihood seen her enter, then leave The Dorchester Hotel. It was good fortune that the document case contained only a folder with a few sheets of notes unrelated to the Clifton case, along with her Victorinox knife, a pair of rubber gloves, a surgical mask, and a very small set of tools in a drawstring bag. She suspected that the thief might well be disappointed with his haul.
At the hospital, Maisie went straight to the ladies' lavatory and filled a washbasin with hot water. The cuts on her hands began to sting again as soon as she steeped them in the steaming water, and she winced as she leaned forward, rested her forearms on the basin, and closed her eyes for a few seconds while she absorbed the pain. She rubbed her palms together to loosen the dirt and grit embedded in her skin, then pulled the plug to release the bloodstained water, refilling the basin again to rinse away more debris before shaking her hands and pulling a clean white handkerchief from her shoulder bag. Maisie moistened the cloth and began to dab around the deep abrasion to her right cheek, then inspected the wound in a mirror above the basin.
'That's a picture,' she said aloud, before continuing to apply pressure around the outside of the graze. She knew she should have added disinfectant to the water, but at the same time, she wouldn't think of bothering nurses in a busy hospital, and they would likely point her in the direction of the casualty department. No, she had been a nurse, she could take care of her own medical problems.
Having done the best she could to diminish bruising and inflammation with a final few splashes of cold water, Maisie made her way up to the floor where Edward Clifton was recovering. As she walked along the corridor, she noticed that the same policeman was on duty, and there were no medical staff in the immediate vicinity of Clifton's private ward. She lost no time in taking advantage of the situation.
'Good afternoon, Constable. Having a good day?'
'Afternoon, madam. I wasn't told to expect you.'
'Oh, I expect that because we've met before, Detective Inspector Caldwell probably thought it unnecessary. Do you know how Mr. Clifton's progressing?'
'The doctors are pleased, that's all I know really. It'll be better when his son gets here, I would imagine. Not very nice when no one comes to see you of a visiting hour.'
'No visitors? Not even his son-in-law?'
'Son-in-law?'
'What news of Mrs. Clifton?' asked Maisie, without responding to the constable's question.
'According to the nurses, there's been some improvement-her breathing's stronger, though they think that if she comes around, she might not be all there.' He tapped the side of his head. 'Upstairs.'
'Oh, dear-they are such a close couple, it would be devastating for Mr. Clifton to lose her.'
Maisie knew the policeman was warming to the conversation. His present task was, at best, boring, so Maisie's presence was a welcome interlude in an otherwise tedious shift-unless of course he was called upon to protect his charge from an interloper.
'What did you walk into this morning, madam? That's a nasty scrape you've got there.'
Maisie smiled. 'To tell you the truth, I fell over my own feet while rushing across the park. I should have known better than to run. Serves me right for waiting until the last minute to leave for work. By the way, speaking of being in a bit of a hurry-it is visiting time, so I wonder if I might just pop in and see Mr. Clifton?'
'I should have prior permission, but-' He looked to the left and right along the corridor. 'Go on. I'll knock in ten minutes, earlier if someone comes along.'
Maisie smiled as the policeman opened the door. 'Thank you, Constable. Very kind of you.' She slipped into Edward Clifton's private ward.
Edward Clifton was lying back on his pillows, awake, yet gazing out of the window to his left. He turned as Maisie entered, and gave a brief nod in her direction by way of greeting.
'How are you, Mr. Clifton?' Maisie came to his bedside, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
Clifton regarded Maisie in a way that reminded her of Frankie. It was the look of a father of children now grown. 'I think I might be doing better than you today, Miss Dobbs.'
Maisie laughed and touched her cheek. 'Oh, this? No, it's nothing. Your wounds are much deeper and more worrisome for the doctors.' She quickly changed the subject to make the most of the next few minutes. 'I understand that Mrs. Clifton has shown some improvement.'
Clifton nodded. 'That's what they say.' He shrugged. 'I'll clutch at any straws out there, but to me progress would be my dear wife recognizing me, talking to me.'
'There is cause for optimism, Mr. Clifton.'
He nodded in a sage manner, staring out of the window once more, but said nothing.
'Mr. Clifton, may I ask one or two more questions?' she went on, without waiting for a response. 'Has your son-in-law been in to see you yet?'
Clifton turned to her. 'I think he came before I regained consciousness-I remember the nurse saying he'd been
