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Penelope paused before the gate to allow Jordan to open it, then sailed through and up the path to the door.

She glanced along the street and confirmed Keeble was no longer in sight, having presumably rounded the corner of the church, making for the front door, then she lifted the knocker and rapped a demanding tattoo.

The footman opened the door and showed only mild surprise at finding her and Jordan and Ruth on the doorstep. “The master’s just left for church, ma’am.”

“I know.” Penelope waved the footman back, and he obligingly retreated, allowing them into the house. “It’s you and the rest of the staff we’re here to speak with.”

“Oh?” The footman looked more curious than apprehensive.

Penelope nodded decisively and gestured for him to shut the door. As he did, she informed him, “The police have a few more questions, and we’re here to ask them.”

When the footman dithered about whether to show them into the drawing room, Penelope pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re not here to cause trouble. The kitchen will do.”

She determinedly led the way and walked under the archway into the kitchen’s warmth to find the cook and maid sitting at the table, nursing cups of tea. A plate with slices of raisin cake sat in the table’s center, and the tweeny was replacing the kettle on the stove.

All three women stared, then the cook and maid leapt to their feet.

“Ma’am.” The cook cleared her throat. “Could I offer you a cuppa and a slice of cake?”

Penelope smiled reassuringly. “No need to trouble yourselves. We won’t keep you long.” She glanced at the footman and beckoned him to join the group at the table. “As I mentioned to…”

She arched her brow at the footman, and he dutifully supplied, “Phillip, ma’am.”

She nodded and continued, “As I just told Phillip, the police have a few further questions for you, the first of which is does Mr. Keeble have a long, dun-colored coat, the sort that’s currently all the rage among gentlemen of the ton?”

Penelope put forward the question generally, but brought her gaze to rest on Phillip, who, as the only male member of staff, she assumed also acted as Keeble’s gentleman’s gentleman.

Phillip cleared his throat and replied, “He did have such a coat, ma’am, but after his walk last Tuesday morning, he came home in one of his fusses and stripped off the coat and bundled it up and declared it was damaged beyond repair.

” Phillip glanced at the maid. “Sally was passing, and the master gave the coat to her and told her to get rid of it.”

Along with Ruth and Jordan, Penelope shifted her gaze to Sally, who blushed under the attention.

As if this was some story game, Penelope smiled encouragingly at Sally. “So you took the coat. What did you do with it?”

Sally cast a glance at the cook, then at Phillip, before looking at Penelope and admitting, “I did take the coat, ma’am, but when I got it in here and shook it out, I couldn’t see what Mr. Keeble was on about.

Lovely coat it was—expensive material and silk lining, too.

It seemed perfectly fine to me, so I gave it to my beau. He was thrilled to have it.”

Penelope couldn’t keep the delight from her face. “And who is your beau?”

Sally’s expression dimmed. “He’s not in any trouble, is he? Because of the coat?”

“No,” Penelope assured her. “Not at all. If anything, it’s quite a relief to know the coat is in safe hands.” She paused, head tilting as she thought, then added, “We might need to borrow the coat for a short time, but I’ll make sure he has it back.”

“But,” Jordan said, “we will need to know who he is.”

“No trouble of any sort will come to him,” Penelope declared. “You have my word on that.”

Sally read the truth of that statement in Penelope’s face and, reassured, revealed, “Jimmy is Lord Monteith’s footman. His lordship has the house at number twelve, just around the square.”

“Thank you.” Penelope inclined her head to Sally.

“That’s very helpful, and I assure you no difficulty will arise for you, your beau, or any of you”—she included the rest of the staff with her gaze—“due to answering our questions.” She looked around the circle of staff again.

“Now, does Mr. Keeble have a black top hat?”

Phillip nodded. “He wore it to church this morning, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” Penelope could verify with Connor that Keeble was wearing the hat, and of course, the others would see Keeble when he emerged from the church.

She allowed her smile to brighten and swept an approving gaze over the staff.

“That’s all we came to ask.” She inclined her head to the group.

“Thank you for your help. I should also add that there’s no need whatsoever to inform Mr. Keeble of this visit. ”

“Yes, ma’am” was a chorus as the maid, cook, and tweeny curtsied, and Phillip, rather surprised, moved to lead them out.

Penelope followed Phillip along the short corridor and into the front hall, her mind busy imagining how to explain her need to speak with his footman to Lord Monteith, with whom she and Barnaby were acquainted.

Ruth and Jordan followed her. Their presence during the short interview had been primarily by way of bearing witness so that the staff wouldn’t need to be called on to testify in court.

On reaching the front door, Phillip set his hand on the latch and paused.

Then he turned and looked at Penelope, who had halted behind him, then raised his gaze to Ruth and Jordan, who stood at her back.

“This is about that morning, isn’t it?” Phillip asked.

“Last Tuesday, when the master went out so unexpectedly—which was strange enough—and then came home in a flat-out fluster.”

Penelope regarded Phillip with sudden interest. “Anything you can tell us regarding that morning will be much appreciated.”

Phillip hesitated, then offered, “The master’s fluster wasn’t just about his coat being ruined.

He’d also lost his gloves. He definitely had them on his hands when he left, and it’s strange because he rarely takes them off, not when outside the house.

They were a lovely pair, too—soft, buttery leather.

He was truly upset and said he must have forgotten them somewhere. ”

“What color were these gloves?” Jordan asked.

“Tan,” Phillip replied. “Very soft, top of the range. Monogrammed, too.”

From Jordan’s expression—and Ruth’s—both were thinking furiously.

Penelope hid her surging expectation and smiled as mildly as she could at Phillip. “Thank you. That information might prove useful.”

Vital, even.

Phillip bowed and swung open the door, and Penelope led the way out of the house. She made straight for the gate and the pavement and kept walking, drawing Jordan and Ruth in her wake.

Penelope stopped only when they’d reached the carriage. She swung and faced Ruth and Jordan as they halted facing her. “Right,” Penelope said. “What are you two thinking?”

The pair exchanged yet another glance, then Ruth looked at Penelope. “The gloves. If Keeble was wearing them when he stabbed Thomas, they’ll be bloodied.”

“That’s why Keeble had to get rid of them before coming home,” Jordan said. “More, he probably had to get rid of them as soon as he got into the lane.”

“They could very well still be in the lane,” Ruth said. “Not many people use it, and there are hidey holes between the stones. We should search and see if we can find them.”

“And they’re monogrammed, of all things.” Jordan shook his head. “How ironic if it’s Keeble’s vanity and trying to mimic his betters that contributes to his downfall.”

“Indeed.” Fire flared in Ruth’s eyes, and determination infused her tone.

Penelope looked from Jordan to Ruth and had to wonder if that was how she and Barnaby appeared and sounded to others when they were in the throes of a shared investigation.

“Well,” she said and refocused on the task at hand.

“I suggest the pair of you find a hackney and go to Broad Street and see if you can find those gloves. Meanwhile”—she turned to survey the houses along that side of the square—“I’ll go and beard Lord Monteith and have a word with his footman regarding his new coat. ”

Excitement had taken hold, especially for Jordan and Ruth. The pair readily agreed, and Ruth took Jordan’s arm.

“Whatever you find,” Penelope reminded them, “don’t forget that as soon as we’ve completed our missions for the morning, we’re reconvening at Scotland Yard to share all we’ve gleaned.”

Jordan nodded. “We’ll go and look and meet you there.”

Buoyed by fresh expectations of success, the three parted and determinedly embarked on their separate missions to track down the critical elements of Keeble’s wardrobe.

At the time Penelope knocked on Lord Monteith’s front door, Barnaby was standing with Stokes, O’Donnell, Morgan, Walsh, and their two witnesses—the barman, Stan, and the barmaid, Lottie, from the Fox Orsett public house—waiting for Earnest Keeble to emerge from the church.

They’d taken up a position just inside a tiny back alley off Chad Street.

Ten yards or so away, the eastern end of Chad Street joined the street that formed the western boundary of Myddleton Square at a point directly opposite the main door of St. Mark’s Church.

From the corner of the alley, their witnesses would have a clear and unobstructed view of the members of the congregation as they filed out of the church.

Considering the position’s advantages, Barnaby felt moved to compliment O’Donnell. “This is an excellent site for our purposes. Neither too far away for sure identification nor so close that anyone exiting the church is likely to notice us watching.”

“Aye,” O’Donnell said. “Bit of luck Walsh being familiar with the area and knowing about this spot.”

His gaze trained on the closed double doors of the church, Stokes observed, “Presumably, Keeble will turn toward his house. That should give our witnesses a clear view of his face and, as he walks along on the pavement, of his profile and his movements.”