Page 19

Subsiding into the armchair, Stokes directed a look at Barnaby that clearly stated, None of these three could possibly be our killer.

Barnaby hid a smile. He had to agree. Gibson Cardwell and his two school friends might be around thirty years old, but they’d lived largely sheltered, gentrified lives, and compared to many others Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes had met—and doubtless contrary to how the three men saw themselves—they were rather naive and gentle souls.

Once everyone else was seated, the three perched on the wooden chairs and, with every appearance of being entirely willing to assist in any way they could, all three fixed attentive gazes on Stokes, their attitudes highly reminiscent of students attending a tutorial.

Stokes undoubtedly saw that but managed to maintain an impassive mien.

He commenced by reiterating that it was their investigation into Thomas Cardwell’s murder that had brought them there.

He inclined his head toward Gibson, sitting beyond the end of the sofa to Barnaby’s right.

“We spoke at length with Gibson, and we see no reason to suspect him of the crime. At present, what we know of the murder is that some unknown gentleman, wearing a black top hat and a dun-colored coat, was waiting for Thomas at the door to his office when Thomas arrived at eight o’clock on Tuesday morning.

Thomas appeared to recognize the man and unlocked the office door and allowed the man to follow him inside.

Thomas sat in the chair behind his desk, and the unknown man sat in the chair facing him.

We have no idea what was discussed, but at some point, the unknown man seized Thomas’s letter knife from where it lay on the desk and stabbed Thomas through the heart. ”

They hadn’t discussed how to broach the matter they wanted to explore, but viewing the three friends’ ashen countenances, Barnaby could appreciate that Stokes’s tack was wiping out any lingering resistance.

Imperturbably, Stokes continued, “The unknown man then left the office via the rear door and the lane at the rear of the premises. We have subsequent sightings of that unknown man, but as of yet, none have been sufficient to identify him.”

Penelope underscored the point. “Not in the slightest.”

Stokes paused to regard the three friends, sitting in a line between his armchair and the sofa’s end, then went on, “What you might not be aware of is that Thomas had learned of Gibson’s new, undisclosed source of funds.”

Watching the three friends closely, Barnaby saw all three faces blank, then each of them blinked and blinked again.

Stokes continued, “Thomas had realized that you, Gibson, were flush with cash these past months, and Thomas was intent on learning who was paying you and for what. Consequently, from the Saturday just past, we believe Thomas was actively investigating your movements. He might well have been following you about.”

The three looked stunned. They glanced at each other in some consternation. Their expressions were open and ridiculously easy to read. All three were involved in whatever the caper was, and they hadn’t expected this and were entirely uncertain how to respond.

No doubt seeing the same, Stokes stated, “In the circumstances, it would be best if you simply told us the answers. Who is paying you and for what?”

All three stared at Stokes, then they shifted to exchange long and meaningful looks with each other.

No one else spoke.

Eventually, after apparently coming to some joint conclusion, still looking at his friends, Harrison shrugged. “I can’t see why we shouldn’t.”

Gibson swallowed. “We promised to keep our lips buttoned, but now someone’s murdered Thomas…”

“Exactly.” Harrison, who to some extent seemed to be the leader, faced the investigators and said, “We’re each getting paid a stipend because we led a gent who had need of a warehouse to one he could use on the cheap.”

Josh offered, “Like a finder’s fee, but an ongoing one, which as you might imagine, is rather useful to us.” He glanced at his friends. “None of us are exactly rolling in funds.”

Whatever Barnaby, let alone Penelope, Jordan, and Ruth, had imagined, it wasn’t that.

Similarly puzzled, Stokes recommended, “Start at the beginning. Where did you meet this gent, and what’s his name?”

Gibson sat forward, his hands between his knees. “We were at one of the pubs we sometimes stop at when we’ve gone for a drive out of town.”

Josh nodded. “The Fox Orsett, north of Tilbury.”

Harrison explained, “We were all at King Edward’s Grammar in Chelmsford—that was where we met—and sometimes, we drive out that way for the day. Our old turf, you might say.”

“We stop at the Fox Orsett on the way back for a bite,” Gibson concluded.

“We often stay for dinner and a few pints,” Josh elaborated, “before driving back to town.”

Gibson glanced at Harrison, somewhat expectantly.

Harrison caught the look, shrugged, and said, “One evening about two months back, we were sitting at our usual table and chatting over our pints when this gent—Cornelius Chesterton is his name—was going around asking if anyone knew of a warehouse available in the locality, somewhere in easy reach of Tilbury Dock.” Harrison focused on Stokes.

“As it happened, I knew of one. M’father’s into buying up land on the outskirts of towns and waiting for builders to come calling.

He’s been doing it for years, quite successfully.

I knew he’d bought this big old warehouse out on Brennan Road, just along from Fort Road, which runs straight to the docks, and I knew he’d left it empty.

He said he couldn’t be bothered renting it out—said it wasn’t worth his time organizing that.

So there seemed no reason Chesterton couldn’t use the space and pay me, rather than Papa.

” Harrison glanced at the others on the sofa. “All in the family, as it were.”

Barnaby inclined his head. “Quite enterprising of you.”

Harrison flashed a grin. “We thought so.” He glanced at Josh and Gibson.

Josh cleared his throat and earnestly explained, “Chesterton pays Harrison for using the warehouse, and he pays all three of us an extra stipend, a regular payment every fortnight, because he doesn’t want us telling anyone that he’s getting the warehouse on the cheap.”

The three friends looked at the investigators as if what they’d just said was in no way remarkable.

Jordan broke the momentary silence. “What’s Chesterton’s business?”

When all three blinked owlishly, Stokes asked, “What is he using the warehouse to store?”

Harrison turned to Gibson and Josh, but from their expressions, neither had any idea. Harrison returned his gaze to the investigators and admitted, “We didn’t think to ask, not at first, and then later, we felt…well, we got the impression, at least, that Chesterton thought it best we didn’t know.”

“I bet he did,” Jordan muttered.

Josh blinked, then offered, “Corny—that’s what he told us to call him—once, early on, mentioned that he dealt in machinery, and it was all hush-hush because he feared his competitors might come looking and learn of his new designs.”

Harrison looked a mite sheepish. “It was a bit of a lark to us, but it didn’t seem all that risky. It wasn’t as if we had to do anything for Corny.”

“And,” Gibson added, “the arrangement gave us funds we didn’t otherwise have, and Corny using an empty warehouse didn’t hurt anyone, it seemed.”

“Well,” Harrison temporized, “perhaps Papa not getting a cut, but he doesn’t care one jot about that warehouse, so it seemed perfectly all right that I got some benefit from it.”

Barnaby glanced at Penelope and could tell that she was thinking the same as he—that these three were babes in the woods with very poor survival instincts.

Stokes, who was also regarding the three with faint disbelief, asked, “Did you ever tell anyone about Chesterton and the warehouse?”

All three shook their heads decisively.

“We took Chesterton’s money to keep silent,” Harrison said. “So we did.”

Josh was nodding. “We keep our promises.”

Clearly unable to keep silent any longer, Jordan asked, “Didn’t it occur to you that Chesterton’s payments were, in effect, bribes to ensure your silence?”

From the look on the three friends’ faces, that possibility hadn’t entered their brains until that moment.

That said, judging by their subsequent expressions, it seemed that the trio were finally starting to connect the dots.

An expression of enlightenment breaking across his face, Harrison said, “Oh! I say…”

Similarly, Josh’s expression was one of dawning comprehension—an understanding that was not at all comfortable.

As for Gibson, as the reinterpreted facts slid into place in his mind, he looked increasingly ill.

Deciding it was time to refocus the trio’s minds, Stokes asked, “When did you last meet this Chesterton?”

In a dead tone, Gibson replied, “On Monday night.”

In stunned fashion, Josh nodded. “At the Fox, as usual.”

Harrison hauled in a breath, then said, “We’d actually met him on Sunday evening. That was his usual night to pay us, but this time, he said his shipment had been split, and half of it delayed, and we’d need to come back the next night for our money. So we did—that was Monday night.”

Barnaby caught the glance Stokes shot him, then Stokes looked at the three and asked, “Is it possible that on Sunday night, Thomas followed you to the Fox and saw you speaking with Chesterton?”

When all three frowned, plainly trying to imagine the scene, Barnaby added, “Would you necessarily have seen Thomas if he had?”

Penelope put in, “Was the place crowded?”

“And,” Ruth added, “it’s likely he wore a disguise—like a cap pulled low and an old coat and slouched so he didn’t look as tall.” She caught Gibson’s eyes. “You know how good he was at passing in a crowd.”

Gibson sighed. He looked at his friends, then returned his gaze to Stokes.

“The Fox of an evening is always crowded. It has one of the best beers in the area and is on the road between Tilbury and town. You can imagine the clientele, and they’re always jostling and noisy.

If Thomas had been there…if he hadn’t wanted us to see him, then we wouldn’t have.

” He tipped his head toward Ruth. “As Ruthie said, he had a knack for passing among others unremarked.”

Josh was looking troubled. “We hadn’t imagined anyone would be following us, so we really weren’t looking about at all.”

That was understandable. Taking note of the changes in expressions and attitudes, Barnaby suspected that all three friends were finally realizing that they’d been taken advantage of and that, innocent though it had seemed, their association with Chesterton might have led to a situation that was anything but.

To their credit, all three, now thoroughly sober and serious, didn’t give way to helplessness. Rather, their features firmed, and slowly, they sat straighter, literally stiffening their spines.

Then Harrison shook his shoulders slightly as if throwing off some yoke.

He looked at his friends, then at the investigators.

“I say, if you need to know what Corny is storing at the warehouse, why can’t we just go and look?

I’m the son of the warehouse’s owner. I can’t see any reason why I can’t take you there and demand entrance. ”

Josh was nodding. He glanced at Gibson. “Let’s go and see.” He looked at Stokes with resolution in his eyes. “I think we all need to know what Corny is hiding in that warehouse.”

Gibson also nodded. “We do.” He looked at Stokes, then at Barnaby and the others. His gaze was haunted, but determination shone through. “Is there any reason we can’t go to the warehouse right now?”

None of the investigators had any fault to find with that notion.

Everyone rose, and mere minutes later, they were out on the pavement, piling into the carriage and the hackneys Jordan and Gibson hailed.