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those of a child in primary school, reflected an innocence she found endearing.
    “My only addition to this list, Billy, would be the newspaper offices. There’s probably a local rag, so see if there are any references to the family. I know it’s a tall order—after all, she’s thirteen years old—but some newspapers have a librarian to assist with deeper research. And in a place like this, I would say there are people who have been at the newspaper since the year dot; find out who they are. Mind you, be careful. This story is about to become big news. Don’t give anything away that might end up on the front page of the Express .”
    Billy made a notation in his book. “Right you are, Miss.”
    Maisie handed back the pages and smiled. “Good work, Billy. Now all you have to do is follow your plan, but you must allow room to add new possibilities for inquiry. And remember, leave no stone unturned. Keep an open mind and don’t jump to conclusions. Be vigilant for coincidences. Every detail, even one that is seemingly unimportant, could be vital.”
    “Yes, Miss.”
    “Now.” Maisie walked to her desk, took a key from her black case, and unlocked a drawer on the right-hand side. “Here you are.” She handed Billy a brown envelope. “You should have plenty there for train, guesthouse accommodation, dining requirements, and a bit left over for yourselves.”
    Billy looked at the envelope and pressed his lips together. “S’very kind of you, Miss. You know, not just this”—he flapped the envelope back and forth—“but for trustin’ me to go off on me own on a case. I won’t let you down, Miss.”
    Maisie allowed silence to linger before she spoke again. “It’s not for me, Billy. It’s for a young girl who is scared to death. Just one small detail in her favor may mean success or failure in defense of her case.”
    Billy nodded. “And D.I. Stratton doesn’t know what I’m up to?”
    “No. There’s no need to inform him at the moment. This is a private investigation, expenses paid for by the business.”
    “Well, like I said, I won’t let you down—or Miss Jarvis. Mind you, I read in the Daily Sketch that they don’t fancy the killer’s chances, not when it comes to trial, what with the victim bein’ a family man and all.”
    Maisie locked her desk and replaced the key in her case. “No jumping to conclusions. Leave the path open for the truth to make itself known; do not hamper the way with speculation. Questions, Billy, are at the heart of our success—the more questions you ask, the better equipped we will be to help the girl.”
    Billy nodded.
    “Right.” Maisie looked at the silver watch pinned to the breast pocket of her navy jacket. “I have to leave for the Inns of Court now for my appointment with Sir Cecil Lawton at his chambers. You’ll have left for the day by the time I’m back. Best of luck to you tomorrow.” Maisie held out a hand to her assistant.
    “Thank you, Miss.”
    She smiled, collected her hat, gloves, and bag, and quickly left the office.

    M AISIE TRAVELED BY underground to Holborn and from there walked to Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the chambers of Sir Cecil Lawton, which were in a building first constructed in the fifteenth century. Maisie was deliberately a few minutes early for the appointment and used the time to walk around Lincoln’s Inn, one of the first residential London squares. Maurice Blanche had instructed her time and time again that the solution to a problem or question was rarely to be found in sitting alone and that movement of the body also moved the mind. It was a crucial part of the pilgrimage, the journey toward truth.
    Though there remained reticence in her heart regarding the assignment, she was bound by her loyalty to Lady Rowan Compton and her husband, Lord Julian. And though Lord Julian would never have exacted an obligation to assist his friend, she felt compelled to take on the inquiry, given her association with the family and all