The train puffed through the slums of Bethnal Green, the suburbs of Walthamstow and the snow-covered fields of Woodford, stopping every few minutes. Although it was twice as fast as a horse-drawn carriage it seemed slow to Maisie as she bit her fingernails and wondered if Hugh was all right.
When she got off the train at Chingford she was stopped by the police and asked to step into the waiting room. A detective asked her if she had been in the locality that morning. Obviously they were looking for witnesses to the murder. She told him she had never been to Chingford before. On impulse she said: "Was anyone else hurt, other than Antonio Silva?"
"Two people received minor cuts and bruises in the fracas," the detective replied.
"I'm worried about a friend of mine who knew Mr. Silva. His name is Hugh Pilaster."
"Mr. Pilaster grappled with the assailant and was struck on the head," the man said. "His injuries are not serious."
"Oh, thank God," said Maisie. "Can you direct me to his house?"
The detective told her where to go. "Mr. Pilaster was at Scotland Yard earlier in the day--whether he has returned yet, I couldn't say."
Maisie wondered whether she should go back to London right away, now that she was fairly sure Hugh was all right. It would avoid a meeting with the ghastly Nora. But she would feel happier if she saw him. And she was not afraid of Nora. She set off for his house, trudging through two or three inches of snow.
Chingford was a brutal contrast to Kensington, she thought as she walked down the new street of cheap houses with their raw front gardens. Hugh would be stoical about his comedown, she guessed, but she was not so sure of Nora. The bitch had married Hugh for his money and she would not like being poor again.
Maisie could hear a child crying inside when she knocked on the door of Hugh's house. It was opened by a boy of about eleven years. "You're Toby, aren't you," Maisie said. "I've come to see your father. My name is Mrs. Greenbourne."
"I'm afraid Father's not at home," the boy said, politely.
"When do you expect him back?"
"I don't know."
Maisie felt let down. She had been looking forward to seeing Hugh. Disappointed, she said: "Perhaps you would just say that I saw the newspaper and I called to make sure he was all right."
"Very well, I'll tell him."
There was no more to be said. She might as well go back to the station and wait for the next train into London. She turned away, disappointed. At least she had escaped an altercation with Nora.
