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“Did anyone see him strike the man down? Or whatever happened to him?”

“No,” Inspector McGregor had to admit. “The clerk was found in a strong room on the third floor of the bank, struck on the back of the head. Base of the skull. Probably with a paperweight or something similar, sometime in the early morning hours. It’s a little-used strong room, which needs keys to open, so no one found him until later in the day. Millburn was known to have been seen near the bank early this morning but arrived for work half an hour late, nervous and ill at ease, according to his colleagues.”

“Which does not make him a murderer,” I said.

Inspector McGregor shifted uncomfortably. “His prior arrest sheet conveys he’s familiar with violent crime. I grant you, that arrest sheet is twenty years old.”

“He has reformed from his youthful escapades and made himself a better man,” I said firmly. “Sam did not do any of this. I can guarantee it.”

“I never said I agreed with those accusing him,” InspectorMcGregor said without looking at me. “I am here to investigate, not send the first man thrust in front of me to Newgate.”

“Well, I am grateful to hear it.” I was truly grateful, my knees going weak with it. I was also grateful to him for giving me the details of the death, which he did not have to. Though I rather suspected he’d told me to keep me from turning up at Scotland Yard to pester him about it.

“On the other hand, I have no other suspects.” His declaration made me grow even more shaky. “Mr. Millburn will have to do for now.”

“Nonsense, Inspector.” I drew a breath. “There is an entire building full of possibilities for both the murder and the embezzlement.”

Inspector McGregor turned to me in exasperation. “You are not a detective, Mrs. Holloway.”

“That does not mean I cannot see things that are right in front of me. I would question Mr. Zachary, who seems to be high up in the company, and Miss Swann, who surreptitiously tells him what to do. She is related to the bank’s owners, by the way. Also, speak to a junior banker called Mr. Kearny, who knows Sam well. Anyone in the clerks’ rooms, upstairs or downstairs, could have killed Mr. Stockley. I’d say the only ones who could not have done the murder are the doorman and his assistant, as they’d be unlikely to know much about the building beyond their posts or have keys to a third-floor strong room. Although I suppose one of them could have managed it somehow.”

Inspector McGregor’s exasperation became near outrage. “Has Millburn’s wife been filling your ears?”

“Joanna knows absolutely nothing about what goes on at Daalman’s Bank,” I said. “Sam spoke little of it at home. You will not interrogate that poor woman about this, and especially not tonight. As I said, leave her be.”

“You are certain,” Inspector McGregor snapped.

“Very certain. Let Joanna at least have time to absorb what has happened. Question her tomorrow, or the day after, in the daylight. Preferably with me next to her to reassure her.”

Inspector McGregor made a sound like a growl. He straightened his hat, which sent an additional fall of water cascading from its brim.

“I understand your concern for her,” he said tightly. “Very well, I’ll let her alone—for now. If she legs it in the night with all the money her husband has stolen, I will holdyouaccountable.”

“I have no qualms about that,” I said. “Joanna is certainly not going to pack up all her children and flee to the Continent. Best you turn your attention to others at the bank and leave Joanna in peace.”

Inspector McGregor glanced briefly skyward. “I will return when I please. Then I will question her, whether you are present or not.”

He touched his hat brim one more time, letting down another trickle of water, then turned his back on me and marched down Cheapside in the direction of Fleet Street.

I let out a long breath of relief. I knew if that Inspector McGregor had truly believed Joanna would run off in the night, he’d never have walked away. He had his doubts about Sam’s guilt, mercifully.

I hastened back down the lane to Joanna’s front door and told Carrie that Inspector McGregor might return in the morning. I planned to return myself tonight and be there if Inspector McGregor arrived, but I wanted to warn Joanna, just in case.

Thoroughly soaked now, I hastened back to Cheapside and sacrificed a few coins for a hansom to take me to Mayfair.

* * *

Below stairs at the Mount Street house, where Tess sautéed chops on the stove, Elsie washed pots and pans, and Mr. Davis chivied footmen in the servants’ hall, seemed so normal I wondered if the previous hours had been a bad dream. I unbuttoned my coat with numb fingers and slid it from my arms. No one had greeted me, so absorbed in their tasks they hadn’t noted my return.

In the back of my mind this cheered me—evidence that the kitchen would not collapse without me. I could leave for a time without incident.

Tess was the first to spy me, having turned to snatch a bowl of dried herbs from the dresser. She ought to have had all the things next to her to prepare the dish, but I decided not to admonish her for it.

“There you are, Mrs. H.,” she sang. “Did you have a fine half day?”

I had no words to describe my afternoon, so I simply nodded as I moved through the hall to the stairs. I’d need to change to my work frock if I was to help get supper, but on the way, I would also approach Mrs. Bywater to obtain leave to stay with Joanna.

Mr. Davis had stormed back into the butler’s pantry and was decanting wine by the time I reached his door. He refused to look up, even when I bade him a good evening. I gave up and ascended the back stairs, which were shadowy dark.