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matter of some urgency.” She looked along the lines of the motor car. “And the old girl in question doesn’t look so old to me.”
    James grinned as if he were a boy. “She’s only on loan—extended loan—from a company called Aston Martin. They’re in a bit of a financial bind, actually, so I may buy this one. It’s for racing, thought I might take it to Brooklands.”
    “Oh….” Maisie was not sure what the appropriate response might be to a prospective racing driver, but another thought occurred to her. “Might that not be a bit risky for someone who has responsibility for the smooth running of a large company?”
    “Oh, the jungle drums, they are a-beating.”
    “’Fraid so, James.” Maisie slipped the MG into gear, the change in engine sound signaling that she was ready to leave.
    “Back soon?”
    “Saturday afternoon, I would imagine.”
    “Good—I’ll take you for a spin.”
    Maisie smiled and waved. “I’ll think about it. ’Bye, James.” And before James Compton could reply in kind, Maisie was on her way.
     
    D etective Inspector Caldwell?” Maisie was sitting at her desk, with Billy seated opposite. “Caldwell has been promoted?”
    “Yes, and full of himself, he is.”
    “Oh, why did Stratton have to move to Special Branch?”
    “I thought the same thing. And Caldwell isn’t any nicer for movingup, either. Throwing his weight around even when he’s asking a few questions. He’s what my old mum would call a bombastic little nit of a man.”
    “I’ll remember that every time I see him now.”
    “Anyway, he wants the contents of the parcel sent by the Cliftons.” Billy looked up at the mantelpiece clock. “And he’ll be here in a minute.”
    “Well, let’s see what we’ve got for him to take away.” Maisie scraped back her chair and stepped across to the table by the window where the Clifton case map was laid out. “We’ll fold this and put it away for a start—don’t want him snooping. Have you worked through the letters from the claimants?”
    “Yes. Every name noted, and I’ve put them in batches, just like you said. They’re listed from the believable to the downright loony.”
    “Then let’s give him the letters. Shame I have the correspondence sent to Michael Clifton by his ladylove safe at home, isn’t it?”
    Billy grinned. “I didn’t hear that, Miss.”
    “I’d like to keep the photographs, but Caldwell will probably want them. Luckily, I brought them with me. There are some other odds and ends here, but nothing of note as far as I can see.” Maisie reached into the box and took out an oblong leather case which, when opened, revealed a collection of pens. She lifted the red pen from the case and removed the cap. Where there might have been a nib, had this been a fountain pen, there was instead a point rather like that of a needle, and when she drew the pen back and forth across the paper case map, the ink ran in a hair-thin red line that reminded her of blood. “These must have cost a pretty penny—and I cannot believe they still work, after all this time!”
    “Being underground, buried, kept in the dark, that’s what must have stopped the ink from evaporating. Amazing, really, but that’s what you get when you spend good money on something,” said Billy.
    Maisie nodded, replaced the top on the pen, and put the pen in thecase, which she slipped into the drawer on the underside of the table. “Right, let’s put this box aside ready for Caldwell. He should be content with his find.”
    The doorbell rang, announcing a caller.
    “Better go and let them in, Billy. I’ll fold and file the case map.”
     
    A nd the purpose of Mr. and Mrs. Clifton’s visit to you, Miss Dobbs?” “They wanted to find a woman they believed their deceased son to have had a liaison with in the war. An advertisement had been placed in several newspapers and they were overwhelmed with inquiries, so they came to me to wade through them, investigate each individual,