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“I see.” Penelope allowed sympathy to color her tone. “Now, we understand that Thomas arrived at his office at his customary time of eight o’clock this morning.” She glanced at Ruth and at Bobby. “Was there anything—any hint, any comment—that gave you cause to think that something might be wrong?”

Ruth drew in a tight breath and replied, “Initially, it was just Thomas and me at the breakfast table. Mama takes breakfast upstairs. Bobby came down as Thomas was leaving.”

“And,” Stokes asked, pinning Ruth with his gray gaze, “did you feel Thomas was at all uneasy or tense?”

Ruth frowned. “No. He was…exactly as normal.” Her voice caught, and she swallowed, then she looked directly at Stokes.

“There was nothing, nothing at all, that was out of the ordinary. Thomas was as he always was. We chatted about the usual things we spoke about most mornings. Then he left for his office at the usual time.”

Bobby cleared his throat and quietly added, “I passed him in the hall. All we said to each other was good morning.” He hurriedly added, “That wasn’t unusual.”

Penelope refocused on Ruth. “We understand that you brought several ledgers to Thomas’s office later, a little after eight-thirty.”

Ruth stared rather blankly at Penelope, then slowly nodded. “Yes. I…realized that Thomas had left them here, and I thought he might need them. He doesn’t often leave accounts here, at the house.”

“I see.” Penelope wondered why she didn’t quite believe that eminently straightforward explanation.

She changed tack and, with a glance at Stokes, elected to reveal, “We now know that there was a man, a gentleman, judging by his attire, waiting for Thomas when he arrived at his office. Thomas recognized him and greeted him, then took him into the office. Do any of you have any idea who that man might be?”

Their expressions were answer enough. They had no notion. Bobby, in particular, looked totally confused.

Ruth faintly frowned. “Thomas didn’t mention any morning meeting.

” She colored faintly and glanced at Penelope.

“Over breakfast, he often went through which of his clients he was expecting to see or, more often, visit that day, but as far as I know, he intended to work in the office on the accounts for various firms today. There were no meetings that he mentioned.”

Stokes was nodding. “The description our witness gave of the interaction outside the office is consistent with Thomas not having expected the man to be waiting on the doorstep.” Stokes arched a brow at Bobby. “I take it this man wasn’t still in the office when you arrived?”

“No.” Bobby appeared utterly mystified. “There was only Thomas…”

“Was that man the one who killed Thomas?” Mrs. Cardwell’s hoarse voice reminded them she was there.

Stokes exchanged a glance with Penelope, then stated, “It’s possible, but at this point, we can’t be certain.”

Barnaby asked, “Did Thomas mention any client with whom he’d recently had a disagreement or difficulty?”

A pause ensued, then Mrs. Cardwell replied, “Thomas never discussed any details of his work with his clients. Indeed, I would be hard-pressed to name any.”

Penelope took note of the glance that, while their mother was speaking, passed between Ruth and Bobby.

Penelope inwardly frowned but could think of no way to pry.

Not at that time. “Perhaps,” she said, looking at Stokes, “if you three would read the letter Thomas sent yesterday to Mr. Draper’s employer, it might spark some connection. ”

Stokes drew out the letter, smoothed the sheet, and handed it to Mrs. Cardwell. She took it with a shaking hand, read it, and frowned. “Nefarious activities? What on earth had he found?”

She held the letter out to Ruth, who took it, briefly glanced at it, then said, “I read it earlier, at the office.” She rose and crossed to hand the letter to Bobby.

He accepted it and read it while Ruth returned to her armchair.

On reaching the end of the short missive, Bobby, too, frowned. “I say. This sounds serious.” He looked up. “I mean, is this—finding out about these nefarious activities—what got Thomas killed?”

Barnaby responded, “It’s tempting to think so, especially considering the timing of the murder, but at this stage, we can’t be certain even of that. It’s possible that the reason behind Thomas’s death was something else entirely.”

“Until we know more, we can’t say,” Stokes stated.

“Speaking of knowing more,” Penelope said, “was there anyone—anyone at all—with whom Thomas was on poor terms? Anyone at all who might have wished him ill?”

The three Cardwells exchanged glances, but then, as one, shook their heads.

Mrs. Cardwell clutched her handkerchief tightly. “No one springs to mind.”

Ruth Cardwell offered, “Thomas wasn’t a difficult—argumentative—sort. He generally got on well with people.”

Penelope noted her careful phrasing, but couldn’t see any way to probe further, not without being insensitive in the extreme. She looked at Stokes and fractionally shook her head. She had nothing left to ask at that time.

She glanced at Barnaby and saw that he, too, was doubtful that they’d managed to extract all these three knew but accepted that they’d gone as far as they could that day.

Stokes duly shut his notebook and rose. As Penelope, Barnaby, and Jordan came to their feet and Bobby Cardwell belatedly got to his, Stokes turned to Ruth and Mrs. Cardwell.

“Thank you. We know this is a dark time for the family and appreciate your forbearance. If you should think of anything— anything at all—that might have a bearing on Thomas’s death, please send word to me at Scotland Yard. ”

Ruth inclined her head. “Thank you, Inspector.”

Penelope assured both ladies that they could find their way out, and as they left the drawing room, the little maid came sniffing and hurrying to open the door for them.

Penelope led the way out of the house.

She waited until the others had joined her and they’d walked to the corner of East Street before pausing and glancing back at the Cardwell residence. “I accept that those three truly are grieving Thomas’s untimely death, but I’m also convinced they’re not telling us all they know.”

“Or,” Barnaby added, “that they suspect.”

His hands in his pockets, Jordan was frowning. “I definitely got the impression that they were…hiding something.”

Stokes nodded. “Skirting around some subject. What subject is anyone’s guess.”

“It might even be several somethings,” Penelope stated. “A different secret for each of them.”

Stokes sighed. “Even if they are concealing something, there’s no saying that it will have any bearing whatsoever on this case.”

“Sadly, that’s true.” To Jordan, Barnaby added, “When it comes to murder, people hiding things is no help at all.”

“Yet when faced with a murder, nearly everyone does it.” Penelope shook her head.

“One point I think we can agree on,” Stokes said. “I believe we’re on solid ground in thinking that Bobby Cardwell had no idea there had been a gentleman in the office before him.”

Barnaby nodded. “That was the one certain piece of information we gleaned.”

They spent the walk back to Cardwell’s office discussing their next move.

“It’s really not helpful,” Penelope stated, “that the family know so little of Thomas’s work—how he interacted with clients, that sort of thing.

Ruth might have known he had no meetings planned for today, but did clients ever turn up on his doorstep as our unknown man did?

Was that a common occurrence?” She paused, then went on, “I also find it odd that, given Thomas lived in the same house as Ruth and shared something of his timetable with her—and she thought to deliver his forgotten ledgers this morning—that he hadn’t mentioned to her, at least, anything about stumbling across the nefarious activities that pushed him to seek advice from Roscoe. ”

Penelope glanced at Jordan. “We know that Roscoe’s a gentle soul, but for most people, taking such a step would be a major decision.”

Jordan briefly smiled. “Just as well. I don’t want to be inundated with pleas for help. However…I have to agree that Thomas not telling Ruth seems strange.”

“I suspect they’re much of an age,” Penelope said. “If anything, I think she might be older, and she’s the sensible sort that a cautious man like Thomas would likely confide in.”

“Yet,” Barnaby said, “I truly don’t think she knew of the letter.”

“I agree,” Jordan said. “She had no idea the letter existed until I showed it to her.”

Stokes sighed. “You’re forgetting something. Thomas was the man of that household—the oldest male. He stumbled on what, to him, were nefarious activities. Of course he wasn’t going to tell his older sister.”

“Ah.” Jordan nodded. “You’re right. He would have wanted to shield her from anything potentially dangerous.”

Penelope harrumphed. “Yes, well. There was his first mistake. If he had told her, we’d be much further on in the matter of catching his killer.”

None of the men ventured a response.

They turned onto Broad Street and were within sight of Cardwell’s office when Stokes stated, “I believe our next port of call should be the linen supplier’s.

That’s the simplest explanation for why Thomas chose to contact Roscoe—because in Thomas’s eyes, Roscoe is already involved via his contract with that business. ”

Jordan pulled a face that stated he thought investigating the linen supplier would be a waste of time.

Accurately reading the expression, Stokes declared, “Regardless of how unlikely it seems, we have to eliminate the linen supplier as the source of Thomas’s concern.”

With that, they all had to agree.

They reached the office and went inside. Jordan and Penelope hunted through the business ledgers and soon located the set for Hemingways’ Linens, then they sat at the round table and rapidly scanned the entries.

Penelope shut the ledger she’d studied and looked at Barnaby and Stokes. “Everything seems to be above board with their day-to-day accounts.”

Jordan closed the ledger he’d examined. “Likewise with their capital investments and major expenses. I can’t see any sign of financial stress in the business.” He, too, looked at Stokes and Barnaby. “Nothing to excite any suspicion of nefarious activities.”

“Maybe so,” Stokes said, “but given the connection to Roscoe, we still need to investigate the firm. It’s possible the activity Cardwell stumbled upon was not financial, at least not directly.

Not something in the books but something he became aware of by some other route.

” Stokes pulled a face. “It’s a stretch, but it’s possible someone let fall something in Cardwell’s hearing, and it led him to his disquieting discovery. ”

Jordan sighed. “I have to agree there’s a chance, so I assume we’re heading to Battersea.”

“Is that where Hemingways’ is?” Penelope got to her feet.

Jordan nodded. “On the river, not far from Vauxhall Gardens. The company that manages the booths in the gardens is another client of theirs.” He rose, collected the ledgers, carried them to the shelves, and slid them back into their proper places.

About to follow Stokes and Penelope out of the office, Barnaby noted a faintly puzzled expression on Jordan’s face. “What is it?”

Jordan focused on him, then shook his head. “Something’s niggling at my brain—as if I’ve seen something but not yet realized what it is I’ve seen—but the harder I try to think of what it is, the further into the fog it slides.”

“Ah.” Barnaby smiled. “That sort of feeling. Stop thinking about it, and it’ll suddenly pop into your mind, crystal clear.”

Jordan nodded. “Sound advice,” he said and followed Barnaby out to the street.