“Look here, Seward, between ourselves, who looks after the young lady in No. 12, Miss Leslie? She must have some sort of a maid surely.”
The Boots lit his cigar appreciatively.
“Well, I don't want to get anyone into trouble, I don't, and of course I don't know anything about it”—he paused dramatically, but the police-officer said nothing—“and the housekeeper she really doesn't know anything about it; but I have heard the other girls say that Maggie earns a good many half-crowns from the lady for doing odd bits of mending and hooking her in her dresses, and then waiting up for her and hooking her out of them. But I don't want to get the girl into trouble, and the housekeeper has put her foot down more than once about the maids waiting on the ladies.”
“You won't get her into any trouble”; and when the Boots had gone Pointer rang for Maggie the chamber-maid.
“Look here, Maggie, you were the greatest help yesterday, and now I'm trying to find out more about Saturday afternoon itself. I can promise you that anything you say to me won't get to the housekeeper's ears; but were you ironing all Saturday afternoon? Come, now, I know that you do act as maid to Miss Leslie.”
“Oh! she promised me not to tell—” began Maggie in a frightened voice.
“Weren't you part of the time in No. 12? It's your duty to speak up, you know, and I've told you that it shan't get you into any trouble.”
She hesitated, then she began to cry.
“Oh, I know I ought to've told. I would have—I would have, reely, only for that dragon. You see, sir, I got the housekeeper to let me off part of the ironing on Saturday because of a headache, but after I'd laid down a bit it passed off, and I remembered a dress Miss Leslie particular wanted mended. So I didn't see why I shouldn't do it instead. What I mean to say, sewing isn't like ironing, is it, sir?”
Pointer said it sounded to him like a totally distinct form of occupation.