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Looking down at his clasped hands, Jordan took a moment to review his memories, then offered, “He struck me as honest and hardworking. Upright, with a decent backbone and a clear sense of right and wrong. He kept excellent records and, I feel, would always—rigidly so—do the very best he could for his clients.” He met Penelope’s gaze.

“That’s how he appeared to me, but I only interacted with him on three occasions. ”

“Well”—Stokes waved the refolded letter before tucking it into his notebook—“he clearly understood where the line between right and wrong lay with whatever it is he uncovered.”

Penelope was frowning. “You said that when the sister—Ruth—came into the office, she was carrying a stack of ledgers.” When Jordan nodded, Penelope asked, “Why did she arrive just then? And why was she ferrying Cardwell’s ledgers?”

Jordan raised his brows and admitted, “I don’t know the answer to either question.”

“Obviously,” Stokes said, tucking away his notebook, “our first act must be to go to Cardwell’s office and get an update there. I’ve sent down my team to take charge, and by the time we get there, with any luck, the medical examiner will have arrived as well.”

“As I mentioned, I left Gelman on guard.” Jordan rose as Stokes got to his feet. “We didn’t want to disturb the body or anything else by hunting around for the key.”

“Good.” Stokes eyed Jordan. “Am I right in thinking you’ve been told to stay with us?”

Jordan smiled. “Given the boss was the one Cardwell appealed to for help, he now feels he has an iron in this fire.”

Stokes inclined his head. “No saying but that you and your boss’s resources won’t come in handy.”

Jordan’s smile deepened. “That’s what he said you would say.”

Stokes huffed and looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “Well, then, we’d best be moving. Let’s go.”

Stokes turned and led the way out, and the other three readily followed.

With Barnaby at her heels, Penelope followed Jordan and Stokes into Thomas Cardwell’s office on Broad Street.

She didn’t know the area well, but the location was considered highly respectable, being quite close to—within easy walking distance of—the Bank of England and all the financial offices that clustered around that edifice.

After crossing the threshold, Penelope stepped away from the door and paused beside the round table situated to make the best of the light that shafted through the large bow window.

Blocking out the activity occurring about the large desk at the rear of the room, she scanned the space, hoping to get some sense of the deceased from his chosen surroundings.

She took in the books and ledgers, neatly set upon the shelves and obviously in good order.

There was nothing ramshackle about the place, and as she trailed the others as they approached the desk, she noted that the general tidiness extended to the desk’s surface, where an ink set was placed above a pristine blotter in the perfect position for effective use.

There was no dust anywhere, and the furnishings were in good condition.

All in all, Cardwell’s office reflected a personality much as Jordan had described—an honest man with a deep sense of integrity and a devotion to doing the right thing by his fellow man.

Inwardly, Penelope acknowledged the unfairness inherent in it being a man of Cardwell’s character who had been slain.

Then she blinked and focused her attention on the short, rotund man crouched over the body.

Having rounded the desk and seen the man, Stokes grunted and said, “Findlay—despite the circumstances, I’m glad to see you’re on the case.”

Findlay looked up, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I think you mean because of the circumstances.” He rose and nodded to Barnaby, Penelope, and Jordan. “And I’m here because I was the closest, and the examination was deemed urgent.” Curiosity welling, he asked, “Who are your friends?”

Stokes introduced Penelope, Barnaby, and Jordan. “Findlay’s the medical examiner for the River Police.”

“Ah,” Penelope said. “The Sedbury case.”

“Indeed.” Findlay acknowledged them with a half bow, but didn’t offer to shake anyone’s hand.

To Jordan, he said, “I met your friend, Gelman. Good thinking, leaving someone on guard. Even in this neighborhood, there’s no telling what might have been nicked or rifled if you hadn’t.

” Findlay looked down at the body. “I haven’t moved him yet—I thought you’d want to see this one in situ. ”

They all stared at Cardwell.

“The face,” Stokes said.

“Yes. His expression is telling, I think.” Findlay looked at Jordan. “According to Gelman, the expression was even more pronounced when you first saw him.”

Studying the corpse, Jordan nodded. “Yes. It was even clearer that he’d been taken by surprise.”

“Utter surprise, by the looks of it,” Barnaby said.

“So he didn’t expect to be murdered,” Penelope concluded, “and consequently, he wasn’t on guard.” She glanced around. “That’s why there’s no sign of a struggle.”

“Indeed,” Findlay said approvingly. “There’s not a hint of a struggle anywhere here. And then there’s the physical evidence —the layout, so to speak.” Findlay stepped back and studied the scene. “I believe the attack came from over the desk.”

He looked at Jordan. “When you were here earlier, did you see anyone move that chair?” With his head, Findlay indicated the chair facing the desk.

“No.” Jordan considered the chair, which sat a little back from the desk. “It looks like someone was sitting there and suddenly stood up.”

“Exactly.” Findlay pointed at the letter knife. “Gelman told me the sister said that the knife was lying on the desk.”

“She did.” Jordan pointed at where Ruth Cardwell had said the letter knife had lain. “Just there.”

Findlay nodded. “So what I think happened was that Cardwell was discussing something with someone he saw as no threat at all. And without any warning whatsoever, that someone stood, grabbed the letter knife, lunged across the desk, and stabbed Cardwell in the chest. Subsequently, Cardwell fell out of his chair, pushing it to where it currently stands.”

They studied the position of the chairs and the angle of the knife.

“That’s why,” Barnaby mused, “the knife went in at a slight downward angle. The attacker was essentially standing, albeit leaning over the desk, while Cardwell was still seated.”

“Yes, and sadly for Cardwell,” Findlay said, “that’s what made the attack so lethal. The knife went through the heart at a downward angle. No hope of surviving that, even for a short time.”

“Could the killer have been a woman?” Penelope asked.

Findlay considered that, then shook his head. “Highly unlikely, I would think. The blow was delivered with considerable force. It had to be—letter knives are not generally the sharpest of implements.”

Busy making notes, Stokes grunted. “What’s your official time of death?”

Findlay grinned. “For once, I can be remarkably definitive.” He nodded at Jordan. “Thanks to Mr. Draper here, we can say Cardwell was killed before eight-thirty. And as we were summoned so soon after death, by the temperature of the body, I would say he was killed no earlier than seven-forty-five.”

“Forty-five minutes?” Stokes looked incredulous. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a short window for a murder.”

Findlay nodded, transparently pleased. “It’s quite a landmark in my experience as well.”

Stokes looked energized. “I’m going to set my men to canvass the area. With any luck, someone will have seen something useful.”

Jordan moved to accompany Stokes. “If you’re agreeable, Gelman can assist.” With a smile, he added, “He’s with me to gain experience, or so I’ve been told.”

Stokes grinned. “Always pleased to have extra men.”

Findlay called after them, “I’ll be finished here shortly. Is it all right to transfer the body to the morgue?”

Halfway to the door, Stokes halted and looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “Anything else we need from the body?”

Penelope looked down at the corpse. “The key to the office?”

Barnaby added, “And anything else he was carrying on him.”

Findlay nodded. “I was just about to search his pockets.”

After a key ring with two keys, a coin purse, a billfold, and a clean, folded handkerchief had been found and surrendered to Stokes, Penelope and Barnaby left Findlay to his examining and ambled about the office, idly looking at the contents of the shelves.

Eventually, they joined Stokes and Jordan about the small round table at the front of the office, where the pair were discussing what other steps they might take to further the investigation.

All were contingent on what Sergeant O’Donnell, Constable Morgan, and Constable Walsh—a recent addition to Stokes’s team—learned from the shopkeepers manning the various establishments surrounding the office.

Penelope sat in one of the chairs and, letting the men’s rumbling voices pass over her head, looked out of the window and across the street.

She saw Morgan, accompanied by another man she assumed was Jordan’s Gelman, come quickly out of the baker’s directly opposite. With barely a glance up and down the street, the pair came hurrying across the cobbles.

Taking in their excited expressions, Penelope rose. “I believe we have news.”

Morgan led the way inside, with Gelman on his heels.

Morgan saluted Stokes. “Sir. The baker opposite has a direct view of the front door over here. He says he was going back and forth from his ovens to the shop, so he might have missed something, but what he did see was a gentleman loitering about the pavement in front of Cardwell’s door. ”

“This was before Cardwell arrived for the day,” Gelman put in.

Morgan nodded. “So sometime before eight, according to the baker. He said Cardwell was regular as clockwork, and sure enough, he turned up at eight on the dot, just like he always did.”

“Cardwell’s siblings confirmed that,” Jordan said. “He took pride in being on time.”