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In a few words Crewe described the scene which he had witnessed in the Albemarle flat.
“Impossible!” said Pinto; “are you suggesting that Maisie is Jack o’ Judgment?”
Crewe shrugged.
“I know nothing about it,” he said; “there are the facts.”
Pinto looked up at the light again.
“I’m going across to see her,” he said, and Crewe made a grimace.
“Is that wise?” he asked; “she doesn’t know we have followed her home. Won’t she be suspicious?”
Pinto shrugged.
“She’s a pretty clever girl that,” he said, “and if she doesn’t know we’re outside, there’s nothing of Solomon White in her composition.”
He crossed the road and struck a match to discover which was her bell. He guessed right the first time. Maisie heard the tinkle and knew what it portended. She had not started to disrobe, and after a few moments’ hesitation she went down the stairs and opened the door.
“It is rather a late hour to call on you,” said Pinto pleasantly, “but we saw you going away from Albemarle Place, and could not overtake you.”
There was a question in his voice, though he did not give it actual words.
“It is rather late for small talk,” she said coolly. “Is there any reason for your call?”
“Well, Miss White, there were several things I wanted to talk to you about,” said Pinto, taken aback by her calm. “Have you heard from your father?”
“Don’t you think,” she said, “it would be better if you came at a more conventional hour? I don’t feel inclined to gossip on the doorstep and I’m afraid I can’t ask you in.”
“The colonel is worrying,” Pinto hastened to explain. “You see, Solly’s one of his best friends.”
The girl laughed softly.

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