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“We have an unknown gentleman who followed Thomas into his office and killed him,” Jordan said, “and another unknown man—according to the observant barmaid, likely a gentleman as well—who followed Chesterton from the Fox on Monday night and, we assume, learned about the guns.” Jordan looked at Barnaby and Penelope.

“What are the chances we have two unknown gentlemen—one who learned about the guns and one who, for some other reason entirely, killed Thomas?” Jordan shook his head and answered his own question.

“Those odds are too long. I think we need to accept that the man who followed Chesterton on Monday night is the same man who, on Tuesday morning, met Thomas at his office and killed him.”

“We mustn’t forget,” Penelope put in, “that our unknown man—and I agree there can be only one—didn’t go to see Thomas expecting to kill him.

He went to see Thomas to…well, we don’t know what they discussed, but clearly, something Thomas said caused the man to seize the letter knife and stab Thomas to death. ”

“But,” Stokes said, tapping his blotter with his pencil, “if we agree we have only one unknown man, then that argues that the motive for Thomas’s murder is, indeed, the threat posed by the exposure of the gun-running scheme.”

“More,” Barnaby said, his voice growing firmer, “that also means that the unknown gentleman came to see Thomas because he had reason to at least wonder if Thomas knew about the guns.”

“By that reasoning,” Penelope stated, “Sir Ulysses Moubray and Mr. Keeble are now at the top of our suspect list.”

Stokes nodded. “The easiest first question for us to tackle is whether each has a solid alibi for Tuesday morning between seven-thirty and eight-thirty.”

Barnaby was nodding. “Also, if we’re down to two prime suspects”—he glanced at Morgan and Walsh, who had been quietly standing by and avidly listening to the discussion—“regarding the man who followed Chesterton on Monday night, can we push further and see if the barman or barmaid of the Fox might be able to identify him?”

Stokes looked at Morgan and Walsh and nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

As it was too late for Morgan and Walsh to travel to Tilbury and return that day, Stokes told the pair to check with him first thing the next morning. “Depending on what we learn this afternoon, you’ll likely be heading down to the Fox to employ your persuasive talents.”

Morgan and Walsh grinned and chorused, “Yes, guv.”

Stokes waved them off, then turned to Barnaby, Penelope, and Jordan. “Should we beard our prime suspects this afternoon or leave it until tomorrow?”

“This afternoon,” Penelope stated. “It’s not even four o’clock, and between four and five is not a bad time to call if we want to be sure our suspects are at home.”

The men agreed, and they left the building and climbed into the waiting carriage, and Barnaby directed Phelps to the Moubrays’ house in Frederick Street.

This time, with Stokes and Jordan accompanying Barnaby and Penelope, they were shown directly into Sir Ulysses’s study. Mrs. Moubray was not present nor was she summoned to join them, and it was very clear from the first curt word of greeting that Sir Ulysses was not at all happy to see them.

Good manners, however, prevented him from saying so.

Barnaby performed the introductions, and after waiting until Penelope subsided into the armchair the butler set for her, Sir Ulysses waved the gentlemen to the remaining chairs before his desk and resumed his seat behind it.

Sir Ulysses regarded Stokes from beneath beetling brows. “Inspector.” The word was all but barked. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Ignoring the hostility Sir Ulysses was directing his way, Stokes explained that they were, they believed, closing in on Thomas Cardwell’s murderer.

“However,” Stokes continued, “as part of our investigation, it’s become necessary to eliminate every gentleman potentially connected with Thomas Cardwell.

Consequently, we need to inquire as to your whereabouts between the hours of seven-thirty and eight-thirty last Tuesday morning. ”

Sir Ulysses huffed in a disbelieving fashion. “You expect me to give an account of my movements?” His tone suggested the request was the height of inappropriate rudeness.

Imperturbably, Stokes inclined his head. “If you would, sir.”

Sir Ulysses huffed again, even more incensed. He turned his gaze to Barnaby. “Surely, Adair, this isn’t necessary?”

His expression impassive, Barnaby replied, “I assure you, Moubray, that answering the inspector’s question is the fastest route to seeing the back of us.”

Penelope leaned forward and assured the man, “Truly, Sir Ulysses, we have no wish to cause the slightest difficulty. However, the inquiry is a valid one and will likely be judged as crucial to the outcome of the inquest.”

Barnaby hid a grin as his wife artfully paused to allow the specter of a public hearing to fully bloom in Sir Ulysses’s mind before she added, “The simplest way to avoid any unnecessary attention is to tell us and the inspector where you were at that specific time.”

Sir Ulysses’s demeanor had undergone several subtle changes during Penelope’s speech, denoting, Barnaby suspected, a horrified cringe at the thought of being called to the dock at Thomas Cardwell’s inquest. After staring at Penelope for several seconds, Sir Ulysses huffed again, but this time in defeat.

He shifted his gaze to Stokes and gruffly stated, “At that time on Tuesday morning, I was out walking. Taking my constitutional, as I do every morning, weather permitting.”

After showing them in, the butler had remained in the room, unobtrusively standing back against the bookshelves.

Barnaby thought Sir Ulysses had forgotten the man was even there.

However, in this instance, that proved helpful, as the butler was nodding in ready and instinctive confirmation of his master’s statement.

Penelope couldn’t see the butler, so asked, “I take it, sir, that your staff will vouch for that being your habit?”

“Of course they will.” Sir Ulysses’s color heightened. “Because it is.”

That Sir Ulysses didn’t glance at the butler confirmed Barnaby’s supposition that the master had forgotten the servant was there.

Stokes had been jotting in his ever-present notebook. “As I recall, last Tuesday morning was reasonably fine.”

Sir Ulysses replied, “If it was, then I was out strolling the streets, and before you ask, I didn’t encounter anyone I know who might vouch for that. At that hour, I rarely meet any acquaintances.”

That’s likely why you walk so early , Barnaby thought.

It was clear that Sir Ulysses was no one’s fool, and his prickliness over accounting for his movements on the fateful morning was because he understood why the investigators had asked their question, and by being out of the house and unable to offer any corroborating testimony as to his actual whereabouts, he would, inevitably, remain on their suspect list.

Penelope smiled on Sir Ulysses as if congratulating him on being so forthcoming. “Can you recall where you strolled on your constitutional last Tuesday?”

Sir Ulysses primmed his lips, then consented to reveal, “If you must know, I always take a turn around Regent’s Square.

It’s not far—a few blocks away—and I pause and take note of the trees there.

” On seeing Penelope’s brows rise, he gruffly added, “I grew up in the country, and the trees in the square remind me of the trees around my old home in Shropshire.”

“I see. How lovely.” Penelope flashed the old soldier an understanding smile, then looked brightly at Stokes. “Do we have any further questions?”

Stokes shut his notebook and stated, “For the moment, that will do.”

They rose, and Penelope voiced her hope that Sir Ulysses would remember her to his lovely wife, then Stokes and Jordan exchanged nods with their host, and Barnaby shook his hand, and they allowed themselves to be ushered by the butler out of the study and out of the house.

They paused on the pavement beyond the gate.

“I don’t think it’s him,” Penelope stated. “He didn’t want to tell us where he was at the critical time because he feels the revelation is too personal. That it reveals too much about him emotionally in that he still misses his childhood home.”

Stokes was nodding. “I agree, but to my mind, even more telling is that he made no attempt to concoct an alibi. If he was the murderer, he would have fabricated something believable by now.”

His hands in his trouser pockets, Jordan stated, “Making up something to deflect police interest is an instinct that’s extremely difficult for a guilty person to ignore.”

Stokes shot Jordan a grin. “Just so.”

“That’s true enough,” Barnaby said, “but in terms of confirming Moubray’s alibi, despite his obliviousness, others will have seen him out walking.

” He caught Penelope’s eyes. “I’m going to set the lads onto finding people who saw Sir Ulysses on his morning ramble about Regent’s Square.

Given the area, even at that time, someone will have been out and about and aware of him.

He’s large and, with his striking mane and carriage, rather hard to miss. ”

Penelope stated, “If he was walking around Regent’s Square and not anywhere east of Frederick Street, heading toward Broad Street, I believe we can cross him off our list.”

“But not,” Stokes insisted, “until we have confirmation of his alibi.” He nodded at Barnaby. “Get going and find some of your lads and put them on the case. The sooner we can prove that Sir Ulysses is not our man, the sooner we can concentrate solely on Keeble.”

After a short discussion, they decided to go straight on to Myddleton Square and interview Keeble before Barnaby set off to find his lads and set them searching.