'Very active socially, as Julia said. She's quite the philanthropist and supports several mother-and-baby homes for wayward girls. Hmmm, wonder why no one ever mentions the wayward boys who put them there? Her two adored daughters are grown up, as you know, and she has the much younger son, to whom she is devoted. While not exactly the merry widow, she hasn't let the grass grow under her feet either.'
'Thank you, Pris.'
'Anything else?'
'Can I come round later, for tea perhaps?'
'Darling, you know you don't have to ask-you're family! I would love to see you-part of the joy of being back in London is having you in the same town, though frankly I never know where you are, with all your gallivanting around.'
'See you this afternoon, then.'
'Au revoir, Maisie.'
Maisie had arrived at her desk early, and when Billy walked into the office, she was sitting at the table where the case map was pinned out, jotting notes on the length of paper. She stood back to see if any links or associations could be established where she might not have seen a connection before.
'Morning, Miss. I'm not late, am I?' He pulled up his sleeve to check the hour, always pleased with an opportunity to demonstrate that the timepiece she had bought for him was being used.
'No, I'm early, that's all.'
'Cuppa the old char for you?'
'That would be nice, Billy. Then let's talk about Edward Clifton-and the shoe business he left behind.'
Soon they were both seated alongside the table, mugs of tea in hand, and Maisie was ready to begin with a recap of information already gathered.
'I've found out a bit more about that Sydney Mullen.' Billy flicked through several pages in his notebook until he found the entry he was looking for. 'There we are. Right then, it turns out our Sydney might have got himself in over his head, as they say. As far as I can make out, he went about his business more or less like Caldwell told it; a bit of knowledge here, pass it on there, money changes hands with a contact; putting this person in touch with that one, being the middleman between people who would never have come across each other in the normal course of things.'
'Something of an ambassador crook then.'
'Ah,' said Billy, 'but no one plays fast and loose with Alfie Mantle.'
'Mantle? From the Old Nichol?' Maisie raised her eyebrows. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn.
'Yes, him. Born in the Old Nichol at the Shoreditch end. They tore down the slum to build the Boundary Estate, but not before Alfie had stepped on the first rung of the ne'er-do-well ladder. You had to be light-fingered to survive in that terrible place, and Alfie was a right Artful Dodger; he moved up to running some rackets, careful all the time not to tread on anyone else's turf. If you know anything about Mantle, Miss, you'll know he was sharp. There'd be a slap on the back for everyone and lots of making nice conversation with the hounds doing business across the water and them others who had the West End by the tail. After the war, when a lot of blokes he wanted out of the way were a few feet underground, he went for bigger fish-and that's where Caldwell would know more from his Flying Squad mates.'
'And Mullen was mixed up with him?'
'Here's how I reckon it happened: Mantle was once a bit of a loan shark, and he decided to spread his wings. Now, knowing he couldn't take on new business by working another man's manor, if you know what I mean, he decided to move up in the world, scout around for marks that were a bit better off-if someone wants money that bad, they don't care where it came from. So his blokes start watching the clubs and the hotels, they see who's spending money and who looks like they need a bit extra, and they make their move. Alfie Mantle had an in with more than a few of the more posh establishments, and as he moved up, so he looked more the part; he dresses in Savile Row suits, has his shirts and shoes handmade, and is loved by all who came from the Old Nichol. You'll hear people say, 'He's so good to his old mum.' Mantle looks after his own, but I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of him.'
'So Mullen was one of his runners.' Maisie paused. 'But he didn't work exclusively for Mantle, did he?'
'Probably not-and that could have been where he went wrong. I reckon he was a go-between, like I said. Someone who puts this person in touch with that person, the sort of fella who's always got another train of thought going on, you know, wondering what he can make out of knowing you.'
Maisie tapped her fingers on the desk, then looked up at her assistant. 'I wonder-'
'What, Miss?'
Maisie shook her head. 'Nothing. Just thinking. Thank you, Billy. This information has stirred up the river, no two ways about it. That was good work.' She penned a series of dots on the edge of the case map, first an inward spiral, then outward. She sighed, then spoke again. 'Now then, let's get back to Edward Clifton.'
Billy picked up a colored crayon as Maisie began.
'So, Edward Clifton left home at, what, nineteen? He could see only more shoes and whale oil to soften the leather in his future, and fled to the promise of America.'
'Lucky fella.'
'It would seem so,' said Maisie. 'And while he didn't exactly land on his feet, it didn't take him long to establish a life for himself, though I imagine he had to conquer more than a few mountains before he could rest on his laurels.'
'He married well,' said Billy.
'Of that there's no doubt. But what about the family in England? They must have been shocked at the loss of a son and brother-if someone emigrates, it's tantamount to having them taken from you in death. You assume you'll never see them again. People cannot conceive of the distance-I know I can't. And when I think of James Compton sailing back and forth once or twice a year to and from Canada-it's a long way.'
Billy sighed. 'I wish me and Doreen and the boys could sail
Maisie understood Billy's anxiety regarding his dream of emigrating to Canada, and realized the extent to which the story of Edward Clifton's journey as a young man must have added fuel to his desire to start anew in a land that held the promise of opportunity. It was as if Doreen's full recovery, together with accumulating enough money to gain a foothold on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, was his guiding light.
'I know how much you want to go, Billy. Doreen will get well in her own time, and while she's on the mend, you can make up the money you spent on the doctors.' She smiled, hoping to inspire some optimism on his part, a sense that all would be well. 'But in the meantime, we've got to get to the bottom of this case, so let's put our heads together. Now, where were we? Yes, the family Clifton left behind. Did you manage to find anything out about them?'
'I was talking to an old bloke who works in that big shoe shop down Regent Street,' said Billy. 'He remembered that when he was an errand boy for the shop, there was talk about young Edward Clifton, as he was then, leaving the country and the business behind him. There was a lot of wondering about what would happen to the company, being as he was the only heir. Apparently, his grandfather and father cut him off, and the family were forbidden to reply to any letters or telegrams; they said that nothing good would come of him, and good riddance.'
'That's more or less what he told me. No wonder he sets a lot of stock in keeping his family together and happy.'
'His sister-who was about twenty-one-stepped forward and began working with her father, and then she took over the business. Name of Veronica Clifton.'
'Did you find out anything about her marriage?'
Billy nodded. 'Yes. It was a bit unusual; she kept her maiden name, never became a missus until after her husband died-quite young he was, apparently. By that time the business was not doing very well, so she sold it and got herself hitched to a Mr. John Paynton. They say the strain of her brother leaving and then her having to step up in his place sent her to an early grave.'
'Did she have any children, do you know?'
