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O’Donnell nodded. “Couldn’t be better, really.”

A few yards along the alley, Morgan and Walsh were standing with Stan and Lottie and keeping the pair from the Fox amused while they waited for the service to end, the congregation to emerge, and their moment to arrive.

Minutes ticked past, then the large wooden doors of the church were pushed wide, and the strains of the organ playing a processional spilled into the street.

“This is it.” Stokes waved to Morgan and Walsh, and they guided their witnesses to the corner.

Barnaby and Stokes fell back along Chad Street and watched as the constables, overseen by O’Donnell, directed their witnesses in where to look and what to watch for.

A species of expectant excitement crackled in the air as they waited.

The minister emerged and took up his stance by the door, and his flock started filing out, pausing to shake the minister’s hand and exchange a few words before moving on and allowing others to take their place.

A bevy of older ladies came first, followed by several older couples.

“Looks like a decent-sized congregation,” Stokes murmured.

Barnaby nodded. “Still, we know he’s in there. He’ll eventually appear.” After a moment, he added, “It’s to our benefit that they all move so slowly. When Keeble eventually emerges, our witnesses will have time to take a good look.”

Almost on the words, Keeble appeared in the front archway. He had to wait for another minute before the old and obviously well-to-do couple before him greeted the minister and moved on, then Keeble stepped forward, a smile on his face, and shook hands with the minister.

Barnaby looked at their witnesses, who were being kept separate enough that one’s reaction wouldn’t signal the other. Nevertheless, it was instantly apparent from the way both had stiffened that each had independently recognized Keeble.

Keeble exchanged a few words with the minister, which kept Keeble in full view, then he half bowed to the minister, set his top hat on his head, and stepped away, onto the pavement.

An elderly gentleman hailed Keeble, and he stopped to chat, all the while in perfect view of the witnesses at the corner of the alley.

Finally parting from the old gentleman, Keeble turned and walked on around the square toward his house.

The instant Keeble turned the square’s corner, Stan, the barman, swung to face Stokes and O’Donnell. “That was him. The gent as just walked away was the man who hired a hack from me last Monday night.”

Lottie nodded. “It was definitely him as was watching Mr. Chesterton that evening.”

“Thank you.” Stokes exchanged a look with O’Donnell and Morgan, then returned his gaze to Stan and Lottie. “Would you be willing to testify to that—that he’s the man you saw on Monday night at the Fox—in court?”

Barnaby wasn’t surprised when both barman and barmaid looked alarmed and hurriedly disclaimed any willingness to appear before a judge.

Stan shook his head. “Won’t do me business any good were that to come out—and it always does, doesn’t it? Once that happens, people will wonder if I’m keeping tabs on them, and they won’t come in.”

Looking rather frightened, Lottie was nodding in adamant agreement.

Stokes regarded both, not without sympathy, then asked, “Instead of appearing in court, would you be willing to sign a statement saying that you believe the man you just saw, who we know to be Mr. Earnest Keeble, is the gentleman who came to the Fox last Monday evening, watched Mr. Chesterton, and then when Chesterton left, Keeble hired a hack and, apparently, followed Chesterton?”

Stan and Lottie exchanged a long look, then Stan asked Stokes, “Will the statements be read out in court along with our names?”

Barnaby sensed Stokes stifle a sigh, then Stokes said, “I’ll give you my word that your statements won’t go anywhere outside Scotland Yard. They won’t be tendered to any court or seen by any judge. Just the Commissioner of Police.”

Again, Stan and Lottie communicated wordlessly, then Lottie asked Stokes and Barnaby, “This geezer—Keeble—you’re saying he murdered the other gent, the younger one who came in the night before?”

His expression grave, Barnaby replied, “That’s what we believe.”

“That,” Stokes explained, “is why we need your statement. So that we can arrest him for the murder of Thomas Cardwell, the younger gentleman you saw the evening before.”

“The one as was a brother to one of our three likely lads?” Stan asked.

Barnaby and Stokes nodded.

Stan and Lottie exchanged another long look, then Stan faced Stokes. “All right, then—but just a statement for the police.”

Relieved to have got that much, Stokes readily agreed and handed the pair to Morgan and Walsh to escort to the Yard, take the statements, then return the pair to the Fox as the constables had promised.

After watching O’Donnell and the constables usher Stan and Lottie away, Stokes shared a glance with Barnaby, then they started walking toward the main street in order to find a hackney.

“At least,” Barnaby said, looking ahead, “we can now feel sure we’re on the right track.”

Stokes grunted. “Maybe so, but let’s hope the others have had more luck in securing some admissible evidence.”

Penelope was waiting in Stokes’s office when Barnaby and Stokes walked in.

The instant they appeared, she beamed triumphantly, sat up, and shook out the long dun-colored coat she’d retrieved. “Exhibit number one, I believe.”

His gaze on the coat, Stokes rounded the desk. “Is that Keeble’s?”

“Yes.” Penelope surrendered the coat to a curious Barnaby. “When he returned to the house on Tuesday morning, Keeble was all a-fluster, apparently. He declared the coat ruined and gave it to his maid and told her to get rid of it.”

“Did he, indeed?” Stokes sat in his chair.

“Obviously,” Barnaby said, examining the garment’s labels, “the maid didn’t burn it.”

“She couldn’t see what was wrong with it,” Penelope said, “so she gifted it to her beau, who happens to be Monteith’s footman.”

Barnaby threw her an amused look. “You enjoyed asking Monteith to speak with his footman on secret police business, didn’t you?”

Her lips pressed tight in a vain attempt to mute her grin, Penelope nodded. “He was so consumed with curiosity, but he served me tea and biscuits, and the footman surrendered the coat willingly, although he would like it back.”

“I’m not surprised,” Stokes said, eyeing the garment. “It appears to be an expensive piece.”

“From one of the best tailors,” Barnaby confirmed. “It has the tailor’s label sewn in, and I’m sure he’ll be able to confirm that Keeble was the customer for whom he made this.”

Stokes frowned and looked at Penelope. “But why did Keeble declare it ruined?” He looked at the garment hanging from Barnaby’s hands. “Is it damaged in some way?”

“Not so anyone would readily notice.” Penelope leaned forward, caught the skirt of the coat, and held up the inside hem. “Here, see? A smear of blood. Almost certainly, Keeble got that when he crouched beside Thomas to check that he was dead.”

Stokes’s smile grew wolfish. “Excellent.”

“And I can also confirm that he has the right sort of top hat,” Penelope said. “You will have seen it yourself when he left the church.”

Barnaby and Stokes nodded. “We did,” Stokes said.

The sound of footsteps pattering along the corridor reached them, then the door was flung open, and Jordan and Ruth rushed in, their faces alight with determination.

“Good,” Jordan said. “You’re all here.”

Ruth reached into her large reticule and drew out and brandished a pair of bloodied gloves. “We found Keeble’s gloves, and they’re covered in blood.” Her voice broke. “Thomas’s blood.”

Barnaby handed the coat to Stokes and reached across and gently took the gloves from Ruth. “Where did you find them?”

“And how did you know to look for them?” Stokes asked.

Penelope explained about the information they’d unexpectedly received from Keeble’s footman. She looked at Barnaby. “Once Keeble is in custody, we must go back and reassure his staff. They’ve been nothing but honest and sensible and helpful.”

Barnaby nodded. “We can speak with Josh about what to do about them.”

“He seemed a good sort,” Penelope said. “Hopefully, he’ll keep them on.”

Jordan stepped up to explain how, reasoning that the gloves would have been very bloody and that Keeble would have disposed of them as soon as he possibly could, Jordan and Ruth had combed the alley behind Thomas’s office, unfortunately in vain, but then an urchin had asked what they were looking for.

“When we told him, he directed us to one of the local beggars. He had the gloves. He’d found them stuffed into a crevice in the wall just along from the rear door of Thomas’s office.

For a fee, he surrendered the gloves and was happy to show us exactly where he found them. ”

By then, Ruth had recovered her equanimity. “And best of all, they’re monogrammed.” She pointed to the gloves.

Barnaby turned them over and found the embroidered initials. “EK. Earnest Keeble.” He checked for a label and found one. “The glover’s label is here, too, so we won’t have any difficulty proving these are Keeble’s gloves.”

“His entire household knows those gloves,” Penelope said. “And almost certainly, Josh will, too.”

More footsteps had them all looking at the open doorway.

O’Donnell and Morgan arrived and, with satisfied expressions on their faces, nodded to everyone, then approached the desk and handed Stokes two formal-looking sheets.

“The signed statements from Stan and Lottie, sir,” O’Donnell said.

Morgan added, “By the time we reached here, both were a bit torn over not testifying in court, it being a murder case and all, so they signed these readily enough.”

“Walsh has gone with them to see them off back to the Fox,” O’Donnell reported.