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As soon as they had settled, Ruth cleared her throat and said, “I keep the family accounts, and I noticed that Gibson had been spending money and buying things—expenditures I couldn’t account for based on his allowance.

I mentioned the matter to Thomas, and he looked at the accounts as well, and we both concluded that Gibson had some source of funds other than his allowance.

But who was paying him and for what were mysteries, and we weren’t sure what to make of it. Thomas told me he’d look into it.”

“When was that?” Stokes had hauled out his notebook.

“Last Saturday. But,” Ruth said, “I don’t know if Thomas had, in fact, made any attempt to discover where Gibson was getting the extra cash.”

“However,” Barnaby said, “Thomas might have gone searching and, while doing so, stumbled across something that was sufficiently concerning to make him ask Roscoe for advice.”

Penelope read Ruth’s expression easily enough; that she was torn was obvious.

“Regardless,” Penelope declared, “we shouldn’t leap to conclusions, such as that the something Thomas stumbled upon had anything to do with Gibson and his unexplained income.

The connection might have been purely incidental. ”

“Alternatively,” Stokes countered, “the something Thomas uncovered was related to Gibson’s newfound source of wealth.

” He met Ruth’s gaze. “We’ve searched through Thomas’s ledgers and accounts and found no hint of any misdeed among his clients.

Nothing that would explain him appealing to Roscoe.

However, if Gibson was dabbling in some area that gave Thomas serious concern…

” He paused, and Penelope felt they all followed that train of thought to the inescapable conclusion.

After a moment, Stokes asked Ruth, “Do you think Thomas would have gone to the authorities over what he described as nefarious activities even if Gibson was in some way, however tangentially, involved?”

Ruth frowned. After a long moment, she confessed, “I really can’t say.”

Jordan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Perhaps that’s why Thomas asked Roscoe for advice.” He glanced at Penelope and Barnaby. “If Thomas was looking for a route via which to alert the authorities to some illegal enterprise in a way that would keep his brother out of jail…”

Penelope nodded. “Yes. That would make eminent sense.”

“And,” Barnaby added, “very likely, Roscoe was the only one with the sort of experience Thomas needed that Thomas knew sufficiently well to ask.”

They all looked at Ruth and saw her chin firm.

She raised her head, met their gazes, and nodded.

“Yes. That sounds like something Thomas would do.” She paused, then went on, “If Thomas had discovered something illegal—nefarious, to use his word—he wouldn’t have been able to let it rest. He would have felt compelled to put it right—to notify the authorities—but if Gibson was involved, then yes, Thomas would have gone looking for some way to alert the authorities while simultaneously hauling Gibson from the mire. ”

Ruth looked around the circle of faces. “As I’ve said before, Thomas and Gibson would have defended each other against the world.”

Barnaby uncrossed his legs. “From all we’ve learned of both brothers, protecting Gibson while informing the authorities sounds a much more viable reason for Thomas to contact Roscoe.”

Stokes was frowning. “If we ask Gibson where his extra money comes from?—”

Penelope leapt in with “Explaining that we believe that uncovering that source might be what got Thomas killed.”

“—do you think Gibson will tell us?” Stokes arched a brow at Ruth.

She frowned, clearly uncertain. “That will be a horrible shock, given Gibson has no idea Thomas even knew about his extra funds.”

“But,” Barnaby said, “asking Gibson will be the most direct route to learning the answer. And if what we now believe is true and Thomas’s investigation of the unknown source led to his murder, then we need that answer and as soon as possible.”

Penelope glanced at Stokes and Barnaby. “When we interviewed Gibson, once we’d got past his guard, he proved to be a reasonable man.”

Stokes and Barnaby inclined their heads, and everyone looked at Ruth, who was plainly still weighing their best course.

Then she raised her head and met their gazes.

“You’re right. We need to ask Gibson from where he’s getting his extra funds.

Once he understands that Thomas knew of those funds and that learning of their source might have led to his murder, Gibson will tell us.

” Her expression set, and her voice strengthened.

“I’ll come with you and make sure he does and that what he tells us is the truth. ”

Barnaby assisted Penelope to the pavement opposite Number 15, Falcon Street. Stokes had climbed down first, and Jordan and Ruth were descending from a hackney that had followed the Adairs’ carriage from Mayfair.

As the others joined them, Barnaby stood beside Penelope and surveyed the building across the cobbles.

Falcon Street lay off busy Aldersgate and had its fair share of through traffic, yet the three-storied town houses that lined the street managed to retain some semblance of quiet dignity.

Their red bricks might be darkened by city smoke, and the carved stone pediments and window embrasures, once ivory, were yellowed, yet by and large, the glass in the windows gleamed, and the paint on the front doors was still glossy.

Jordan halted beside Barnaby and looked up at the first-floor bay window. “Gibson said he lived at fifteen B.”

Stokes grunted and started across the street. “Presumably the first-floor flat.”

According to a small plaque beside the front door, that supposition was correct.

The door was unlocked, as was often the case in such shared residences.

A narrow stairway led upward, and they climbed to the first landing.

In the lead, Stokes rapped on the panel of the door that bore a small brass B .

Barnaby halted behind Stokes, with Penelope and Ruth crowding at his back and Jordan waiting on the last stair below the narrow landing.

Recalling that during Gibson’s interview, he’d stated that he and his flatmates rarely rose before noon, Barnaby wondered what state of deshabille the three might currently be in.

The door opened to reveal a gentleman of similar years to Gibson. He was tall, black-haired, and a touch heavier than Gibson, with clean-cut, rather aristocratic features in what was, overall, a handsome face. Although his hair was mussed, he was fully dressed.

On seeing their company, the gentleman’s eyes widened. “Yes?”

“I’m Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard,” Stokes declared. “And you are?”

“Harrison Moubray. I live here.”

Stokes nodded curtly. “We’re here to speak with Gibson Cardwell, as well as yourself, and I believe there’s another gentleman living here?”

“Josh—Joseph Keeble.” Harrison frowned. “Is this about Thomas’s murder?”

“Yes,” Stokes replied. “I’m in charge of the investigation into Thomas’s death.

” He glanced behind him. “Mr. and Mrs. Adair and Mr. Draper are consultants assisting me.” Stokes returned his gaze to Harrison and, from Harrison’s expression, saw that he’d spotted and recognized Ruth. “And I believe you know Miss Cardwell.”

“Yes, of course.” Harrison seemed slightly flustered. He bobbed a half bow, mostly directed Ruth’s way. “I say, Thomas getting killed is a deuced shocking thing. My condolences, Miss Cardwell.”

Ruth inclined her head. “Thank you, Harrison. I take it Gibson is in?”

When Harrison hesitated and his gaze returned to Stokes, Stokes informed him, “We have a few further questions for Gibson, and it would be helpful if you and Mr. Keeble could join us. If he’s in?”

Harrison nodded as he stepped back to allow them to enter. “Yes. Josh is here, too.” He waved them past him, through a tiny foyer and into the sitting room beyond. “Come in.”

Barnaby followed Stokes into a decent-sized parlor, with the bay window they’d seen from below filling most of the exterior wall.

Gray morning light streamed in and illuminated a large, well-worn leather sofa and matching armchair.

Low tables at the ends of the sofa and in the center of the space were littered with sporting magazines and similar fashionable periodicals, and a heavy sideboard stood against the side wall.

Gibson Cardwell sat on the sofa, slumped forward and looking rather the worse for wear, although judging by the clearness of his eyes as he raised his gaze to take in the newcomers, his drained expression wasn’t due to drink.

On seeing them, Gibson straightened, then noting the ladies, hurriedly stood.

Beside him, another gentleman of similar age, presumably the third of the friends, Joseph—Josh—Keeble, also got to his feet.

It appeared that Josh—and possibly Harrison before he came to the door—had been commiserating and comforting Gibson.

Gibson’s gaze had swung from Stokes to Barnaby, then to Penelope and Jordan and, finally, landed on Ruth. His eyes widened. “Ruthie?”

Barnaby glanced at Ruth in time to see her smile rather tightly at her brother. “Good morning, Gibson.” She nodded to Josh. “Joseph.”

For Josh’s benefit, Stokes repeated the introductions and added in explanation, “We simply have a few extra questions for Gibson and would appreciate Mr. Keeble’s and Mr. Moubray’s inputs as well.”

All three gentlemen looked confused and uncertain, but were too well brought up to question Stokes’s authority, let alone deny the likes of Barnaby and Penelope.

Instead, all three leapt to rather endearingly organize extra chairs, steering Barnaby, Penelope, Ruth, and Jordan to the oversized sofa and urging Stokes to avail himself of the well-padded armchair while they rushed to fetch straight-backed chairs from the kitchen for themselves.