Free Untitled by Unknown Author

to be gained by remarking on this. It will only look worse for her.
       She must wait. Mr. Cartwright will return, and Mr. Robert, and her fate will be decided. Now she wonders about the sort of man Mr. Robert might be. The sort to send her away without a character just because he suspects her? The sort who thinks too highly of himself to do such a thing, yet who will find fault with her from now on and soon, in a few weeks, or maybe a few months, dismiss her over some other small matter?
       The policeman sets his cup back down in its saucer. With a loud sniff he strokes his chin and stares towards the door.
       "Fancy a slice of pie?" asks Mrs. Johnson.
       "Meat pie?"
       "If you like."
       "Thank you kindly. We were just about to eat when we were called off on another case, and then what with this right when we got back to the station—" He looks across the table at Jane as though this is her fault.
       Mrs. Johnson fetches a pie from the pantry and cuts a generous slice. When she passes it to him he says, "Having a run of bad luck in this street, aren't you?"
       "Not more than anywhere else, I'm sure," Mrs. Johnson tells him tartly.
       He picks up a fork but holds it almost accusingly at her. "That maid that fell from the window—that was near here, wasn't it."
       It's not a question. Mrs. Johnson wipes her hands carefully on the cloth hanging from her apron. "A terrible accident," she says. "Those young girls—they step onto the ledge to clean the windows. I've seen them do it—mop in one hand and the other on the frame like it's nothing to them that they could slip."
       "That was the second in a week, that one was. Had another do the same thing just a few streets away. We had an awful job trying to get her off the railings. Stuck fast on them she was." He gives a low chuckle. "Thought we was going to have to cut her off."
       He's just about to put a forkful of pie into his mouth when the door opens. Mr. Cartwright. Even as he unbuttons his coat his eyes swing over them all—Elsie at the sink, Mrs. Johnson at the stove, the policeman with his pie, Jane sitting rigidly across the table from him. He looks back at the policeman. "What's all this then?" he says.
       "Keeping an eye on the young person here." He puts the piece of pie in his mouth and points his fork at Jane.
       Mr. Cartwright shrugs himself out of his coat. Jane watches him—the careful movements, the way he folds the coat over his arm, the way he catches Mrs. Johnson's eye and hands the coat to her like a man about to fight. "Well, now," he says, coming close. "In my experience"—he sits down at the end of the table—"and I've been in service now—oh, let me see, going on forty years—young maids straight up from the country aren't known for being part of criminal gangs. I'd say"—he rests one finger at the corner of his mouth, as though he is thinking—"that somebody had been watching this household and found out a new maid had just taken up a situation here."
       "Would you, now?"
       "Yes, I would. That wouldn't have been difficult, would it? We're a private household, but our affairs aren't secret."
       The policeman is now hard at work on his pie. "Sounds to me," he says, "as though you're in the wrong line of business, being in service." He chews. "Maybe you should think about a change. With all your experience "—he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand— "they'd be sure to take you on at Scotland Yard."
       Mr. Cartwright smiles. He leans forward in a friendly way. "Tell me—how did our young maid here know she'd be the one answering the door? After all, it was only by chance that I had to go out on an errand just when Sarah was at the shops. And seeing as Jane was in the kitchen doing the mending—right, Mrs. Johnson?"
       "Right, Mr. Cartwright."
       "—ever since she cleared away luncheon, even if she had known, how could she have given a signal to her accomplice?