end of next week. He'll be joining his sister's husband, who's been in England on company business.'
A theodolite? Sounds like something you'd find in a church.' Billy came back into the room after escorting the policemen to the door.
'And it actually looks a bit like something you'd see in a church, too, because it's a hefty piece of equipment- and could do a lot of damage if used to clout someone over the head.'
'What's it used for?'
'I know it's used in surveying and engineering work, and obviously by cartographers. I think it's for measuring the angles-up and down, and across-of a given landscape, and I think it's particularly useful when assessing ground that is not easily negotiated. A battlefield, for instance.'
'So it was buried with him all this time, and now they've got it?'
'Yes, seems like it.'
'Bet a tool like that could tell a few stories if it could talk.' Billy was looking out of the window, as if pondering the life of the object under discussion.
'You've been reading the penny dreadfuls again, haven't you, Billy?' Maisie's tone was light as she teased her assistant, though the same thought had occurred to her.
'Funny that the Cliftons never told us about the son-in-law being over here too, don't you think, Miss?'
'Yes and no. There was no need for them to tell us, and I think that perhaps they were more concerned with meeting us and knowing that someone had taken the load of seeking out the source of the wartime letters to Michael.'
Soon the case map was situated on the table once more. Maisie had begun to read through the list of names from the letters weeded out by Billy as most promising. He had made notes on each letter.
'I didn't have time to put down more about the others, just the ones with a bit of a ring of truth to them. Mind you, can't all be the one, can they? And that means there are some good storytellers out there.'
'The whiff of wealth can make even the most dull eloquent.'
'It's certainly made me learn a new word or two, make no mistake!' Billy smiled, then appeared more serious. 'Miss, what happens if the lady in question didn't even see the advertisement? Or what if she saw it and didn't want to be found? How will we find her then?'
Maisie tapped a pencil against the palm of her left hand. 'To tell you the truth, I think that's a distinct possibility. But there's more to consider here. I don't think the attack on the Cliftons was as simple as their encountering a burglar who happened to choose their room to break into. And though the letters are important, the search that Mr. Clifton really wanted me to take on was not for a woman, but for a murderer-the man who killed his son. So, first of all, I have to educate myself in the practices of the surveying party. I need to find out who they were, how they worked, and anything anyone can tell me about them.'
'That's going to be nigh on impossible. It was a long time ago, and it sounds like they're probably all dead.'
'We'll see…'
'You know, Miss, I've been thinking about maps, what with Michael Clifton being a cartographer and him being fascinated with maps since he was a nipper. I've always wondered why you call this a case map, where you got the idea from.' He tapped the edge of the paper. 'After all, it don't look much like a map.'
She looked up from her work. 'It was what we did when I worked for Maurice. The idea was to lay out all your suspicions, facts, clues, ideas, and you look for patterns. In this way you can see everything before you, rather than simply a notebook filled with scribble. It's the difference between seeing the land laid out on paper like a picture, and someone describing it in words.'
'And then trying to make sense of it all.' Billy sighed. 'I can't get that Michael Clifton out of my mind. I mean, he seems to have been a good sort of bloke, someone you'd want as a mucker. So who would want to kill him? It was bad enough when the enemy had it in for you, let alone the men you shared the dugout with.'
Maisie nodded. 'And that's exactly what we have to find out.' She stood up and moved to her desk, where she picked up the telephone. 'There's a few people I need to talk to-and with a bit of luck, someone in the army who knows something about cartographers in the war would be a good start.'
'You going to have a word with Lord Julian?'
'He's my source for all things military. He can usually help me out, though I am sure he'll begin charging me soon.'
'I always thought they were brave, them blokes who went out there surveying. Sappers, they were, like me, though they did a lot of work with the artillery-because without them, who would have known where to fire a gun? And then there was all that work with trench maps and what have you.'
'Do you know anyone I could talk to?'
Billy shook his head and looked down at the list of names before him. 'Nah, Miss. Them I've kept up with were like me, the ones out there laying wire, telephone lines and the like. I reckon I did most of my work underground- like a rat I was, tunneling away down there.'
Maisie placed a call to Lord Julian Compton. Ten minutes after she replaced the receiver, the telephone rang and Lord Julian suggested Colonel John Bartley as the man who might be able to assist her in her inquiries.
'Shame about Maurice, isn't it?' Lord Julian added, having given her the information she sought.
'Yes, I hadn't realized he'd been so ill.'
'He likes to keep himself to himself, as you know, but we're making sure he's kept an eye on. Will you be at Chelstone this Saturday or Sunday?'
'I hope so, Lord Julian. I'll see Maurice again then.'
'Good. Yes, that's very good. Now then, I must be off.'
'Of course.' Maisie replaced the receiver and sighed deeply. Though she had become used to her position at Chelstone-years ago she had been an employee in a lowly position, her education sponsored by Lady Rowan Compton, and now she was a professional woman of some standing who was as welcome in the servants' quarters as she was in the drawing room-she was never completely comfortable when speaking to Lord Julian. He had always accorded her respect, and had even recommended her services to both business and personal associates, yet she remained in some awe of him. Due to his position at the War Office during the years of the Great War, however, he was often the only person who could assist her when it came to making military contacts crucial to a case.
'Got someone for you, has he?' Billy looked up from his notes.
'A Colonel John Bartley.'
'Oh, I remember hearing about him,' said Billy. 'A soldier's soldier, that one. He was spoken of very highly, if I'm remembering right.'
'That's the sort of man I need to see-and I hope he can help me understand the cartographer's job. I'll telephone him now.'
Maisie placed a call to Bartley, who came to the telephone with little delay.
'Bartley here. I understand Julian has sent you to me.'
Maisie introduced herself and explained the reason for her call, though she gave only sufficient details to describe her need to speak to someone who might have known Michael Clifton.
'Well, m'dear, let me see. I don't think I can be of any help myself-I remember the faces, but not the names, even if the young man was an officer. Now, I'll have to think.' There was silence on the line for a few seconds; then Bartley cleared his throat and began speaking once more. 'I could name a few, but to get to the nub of the matter sooner rather than later, I suggest you speak to Lieutenant Colonel Archibald Davidson. Mind you, you'll have to jump to it because he's off to India any day now. In any case, he was in the artillery at the time-very young for the job, made a bit of a hash of it, I'm afraid, though he learned from his errors-anyway, you know what my chaps used to call the cartographers, don't you?' He did not wait for Maisie to guess. 'They called them the artillery's astrologers. Not sure it was particularly complimentary, but a good mapmaker had to be something of an expert in divination, as well as the more formal aspects of his profession. In any case, I'll get in touch with Archie Davidson and make the introduction for you; collar him before he shoves off to endless gin and tonics on a hot veranda.'
'Thank you, Colonel Bartley.'
'Not at all. Here's the number you can reach him on; temporary, you know. He's at a relative's house while he winds things up here. Heaven knows where he's packed his wife off to. Anyway-' Bartley gave a number in Chelsea, then repeated it for good measure, though Maisie had transcribed it the first time. 'You know, I must owe Julian
