“I am afraid she is not in the office, Miss Dobbs. May I take a message?”
“I see. I wonder, could you tell me when she might be back?”
“I believe it was her intention to go straight home following a meeting this morning.”
“Right you are. Do you have her address, Mr. Lambert?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, Miss Dobbs. I am terribly sorry. But I will ensure she calls you.”
“Of course—I understand. Thank you very much. Good day, Mr. Lambert.”
Maisie replaced the receiver, though she did not take her hand away. She looked up. Billy was staring at her, already putting on his jacket. She lifted the receiver again and dialed the same number. A young woman answered in heavily accented English.
“May I speak to Mr. Lambert, please?” asked Maisie.
“I am very sorry, but you have just missed him. He left the office a minute ago—may I take a message?”
“No, thank you, that’s quite all right. I’ll call back later.” Maisie replaced the receiver to disconnect the call, picked it up again, and placed another call.
“Yes!” The answer was as intemperate as Maisie expected, but she was in no mood to banter.
“MacFarlane—Robbie—I need your help. Dr. Francesca Thomas—her address.”
“Maisie, you know very well we cannot allow anyone—even you—to have her address. She works on behalf of two governments in a highly confidential realm, and her living arrangements—”
“I know all that, Robbie, but we are on thin ice here—very thin ice. If you don’t let me have that address, I will not be able to prevent a murder.”
MacFarlane allowed a second’s silence to elapse. “Here it is—government property. Sixteen Aldred Mews, Kensington.” He proceeded to give directions, and then added. “I’ll see you there.”
“I’m on my way with Billy.”
“One more thing.”
“MacFarlane, I must go.”
“It’s important. Remember there are agreements between allies. It’s to do with diplomatic immunity, Maisie. Don’t put a foot wrong—we don’t want trouble, and we don’t need any more enemies.”
“See you there. And hurry.”
Billy hung on to the leather strap above the passenger seat as Maisie negotiated the London streets at speed. He was silent as Maisie swerved around vehicles, sounded her horn when approaching a junction, and raced past lagging traffic. At last, Maisie slowed the Alvis.
“I can’t risk driving into the mews—the sound will attract too much attention,” she said. “This will do—the mews is just around the corner.”
Having parked on Cromwell Road, Maisie and Billy alighted from the motor car and ran into Aldred Mews.
“It’s this one,” said Maisie. “Oh dear—”
The door was ajar. Had Francesca Thomas answered the door and deliberately left it unlatched, so the breeze might push it open? Or had a caller come to the house and inadvertently left the door open? Or was it a deliberate invitation to witness a murder?
“I’ll go first, miss,” said Billy.
“No,” said Maisie, her voice low. “No, you won’t. I want you to stay here, at the bottom of the step. You’ve been gravely injured before, and I cannot face Doreen if you’re hurt on my time again. Do not confront anyone who comes—and if there is someone, just pray it’s MacFarlane.”
“I don’t know—”
“No time to argue.” Maisie turned away and began to make her way up the carpeted staircase.
She had been in mews houses before, and knew there were limitations as to the possible design of a home converted from stabling for horses. At the top of the staircase, the door to the right was closed. One of the two voices inside was raised, the other lower, as if calming, playing for time. She listened for just a moment.
“It was your fault—you were to blame.”
“It was wartime. Xavier chose his path—we all chose our paths. And he knew the price and what the outcome might—”
“Stay down there—stay there with your hands behind your head. Do not move, or I swear I will use this.”
“What do you want from me? I cannot atone for something that happened so many years ago, and of which I was not a part.”
“But you were—you knew!”
“Not these boys, not Xavier. Not Frederick, or Albert. They were not my people.”
“You brought in others like them, though—and you’ll do it again, if I don’t stop you. The others paid for what they did—but you, you have to be stopped.”
Maisie knew she had little time. She placed her hands on her heart as if to modulate the rhythm, and having taken a deep breath, she placed one hand on the door handle. She opened the door and entered.
Francesca Thomas was kneeling on the floor, her hands clasped behind her head. Gervase Lambert was standing over her, his right hand holding a revolver. It looked like a Browning, but Maisie knew it was the very similar Ruby.
“Maisie, you’d better—”