garden flat were at the back of the building. Nevertheless, it appeared that no one was home. She could not try a back door, as the front entrance was the only means of access to the house and garden. Why, then, did she have a pressing feeling that she was still being watched and that someone was at home. She knocked one more time, and when there was again no answer, she began to walk away towards her motor car. As she walked, she remembered the children and their dog, and the girl saying her mother could always see what they were up to from the top of the house. Perhaps it was this recollection that caused her to turn and look once again at Griffith’s somewhat shabby terrace home in time to catch a glimpse of movement on the roof. Could it have been a pigeon flapping its wings in upward flight? She shielded her eyes with her hand against the low light of late afternoon. At once she was tempted to wave, just to see if acknowledgment came in return. She waved, but did not wait for the gesture to be reciprocated. It was enough to know that if she were indeed being watched, the person keeping tabs on her knew she was aware of their presence. They would meet soon enough.
The office was quiet when she returned, though a tidy pile of papers had been left by Sandra. On top was a note with messages and information regarding each item of correspondence. She’d ended the communication by adding that she would be in the office early in the morning, as she wanted to discuss something with Maisie. “If that would be convenient,” she’d added.
There was a brief report on her visit to the other houses where Usha Pramal had been employed, with the conclusion that there was nothing out of the ordinary observed by the women, who she thought had hardly ever seen Usha anyway. The Indian woman had come to the houses, gone about her work, and left. Next came a note to the effect that Mr. Pramal had telephoned from a kiosk, and had had just enough time to inform her that he would pay a visit to the office of Miss Maisie Dobbs the following morning. Sandra had taken the liberty of suggesting ten o’clock. Maisie nodded her head in silent approval of the appointment. And another man had walked to his nearest telephone kiosk that afternoon, possibly at some point before Maisie left Camberwell to return to the West End. Mr. Paige had left a message that he had some information for Maisie, and would place another call to her office the following morning.
Not long before Maisie decided to leave for home, but prior to departing the office, she looked up the location of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company. In truth, it was easier to think and talk about leaving England than it was to take the first step. But with the address in Leadenhall Street scribbled on a piece of paper, it seemed as if her imaginings could become the reality she craved. After all, plans and dreams were just words and images in the mind until she did something concrete.
She arrived back at 15 Ebury Place before James, and following a hot bath took the opportunity to sit in her rooms in silence. An uncomfortable feeling of anticipation was rising up within her. She knew that this was due in part to the case and an overriding sense—increasing as the hours passed—that she was close to identifying the killer of the two Indian women. But there was something else, too. Over the course of the days spent at Chelstone, following the news that Frankie Dobbs and Mrs. Bromley were to be married, James—who had at first been enthusiastic about the match—seemed more distant. Maisie knew the news had unsettled him, and that the status quo they had achieved in a union outside the bounds of marriage was proving, to a greater degree, to be inadequate for him. James, as she knew only too well, was a man who wanted more from her. And they both accepted that, despite their ages—she was now thirty-six years of age, James almost thirty-nine—Maisie was far from ready to take that particular leap. But was it a case of readiness? Or simply that the idea of marriage did not suit her? She rested her head in her hands, running her fingers through her hair.
James