Jordan threw her a smile. “Not all gentlemen are hedonists with no interest in what they spend their blunt on.”
She huffed to indicate she doubted that and laid the account book aside.
Jordan paused to stare at the discarded notebook, then said, “It’s wise to check the back of the book. Sometimes, sensitive accounts are hidden by using the book in reverse.”
Penelope dutifully retrieved Chesterton’s household accounts and flicked to the pages at the end of the small volume. Then she gave vent to an excited sound, turned the notebook upside down, and peered more closely at the page.
Jordan was watching her. “What is it?”
“I believe we’ve struck gold.” She stared at the figures for a moment more, then handed him the notebook. “What do you think?”
Jordan set aside the notebook he’d been perusing and eagerly took the one she offered. He quickly scanned the entries, then flipped further on in the book. After a minute during which she kept her eyes on his face and held her breath, he smiled, raised his gaze, and met her eyes. “This is it! Well done!” Heswiveled on the chair and called, “Stokes. Adair!” The pair had vanished into the bedroom. “We think we have it.”
Stokes came striding out. “That was quick.”
Jordan waggled his head. “If you think about it, Chesterton must have needed to access this account frequently.” He waved the notebook. “The first entry is dated more than two years ago, and”—he flicked through the pages, studying the neat script—“the financial activity seems to have been reasonably constant.” He kept flipping pages, then finally stopped at one. “This is the end of the record—Chesterton’s most recent withdrawal. Judging by its size, it’s most likely the payment for the latest consignment of guns.”
Stokes had halted by Jordan’s side. He nodded at the notebook. “What else can you make from it?”
“Give me a moment.” Jordan settled to carefully scan page by page through the entries.
Penelope exchanged an impatient look with Barnaby, who smiled at her.
Stokes settled his weight evenly on his feet, and they waited.
“All right,” Jordan eventually said. He glanced up and met their eyes. “There’s a pattern. Three people—or, I should say, three separate bank accounts—are regularly paying amounts into this account.”
“Are the amounts of the order one would expect for a gun-running enterprise?” Stokes asked.
“Oh yes,” Jordan stated. “There’s no doubt about that.” He paused to study several pages, then said, “For instance, over the past three months, there’s been more than ten thousand pounds moved in, and Chesterton’s taken virtually all of it out in cash.” He glanced at Stokes. “As you might imagine, illegal sellers always want their payments in cash. Likewise the drivers of the drays transporting the guns from Enfield to the warehouse and from the warehouse to the ship.”
“If this has been going on for more than two years, then previously, Chesterton must have been using somewhere else to store the guns,” Barnaby pointed out.
“It’s likely,” Jordan said, “that prior to recent months, he wasn’t using Tilbury at all but some other port. Harwich or Bristol or even Manchester. I suspect a wise gun runner will change his routes frequently, and by this account”—he waved the notebook—“Chesterton’s succeeded in his chosen profession for at least two years.”
“What about money returning?” Penelope asked. “From the sales of the guns, presumably to Chesterton, who, one assumes, would then repay his backers their initial investment plus a healthy amount of interest.”
Jordan shook his head. “That’s not done via this account. In fact, I’d be surprised if all such payments weren’t made solely in cash, possibly via the smuggling ship’s captain to Chesterton and, from him, directly to his backers, and there’ll be no accounting kept of them anywhere.”
Barnaby grunted. “Making it far more difficult to prove the backers are profiting from this scheme.”
“Exactly.” Jordan held up the notebook. “With this, we’re essentially looking at only half the business—the outgoing expenses, not the incoming return.”
Stokes tipped his head at the notebook. “So which bank is this account held in?”
Jordan flipped to the first page and squinted. “There’s a scribbled name at the top of the page, but it’s smudged.” When Penelope waggled her fingers before him, he surrendered the notebook. “I think it says Moreton’s.”
Penelope had drawn a small magnifying glass from her reticule. Through it, she examined the scribble. “Yes. It’s Moreton’s.” She glanced at Barnaby. “That’s one of the larger private banks, isn’t it?”
Barnaby nodded. “It used to be a public bank, but recently shifted to private clients only.” Eyes narrowing, he paused, then said, “I wonder if using such an august institution was Chesterton’s idea.”
“Or,” Penelope added, her eyes gleaming behind her spectacles, “was Moreton’s the bank his backers preferred to use?”
“Because they have accounts there, too?” Jordan considered the point, then shrugged. “Could be.” He glanced at the notebook, still open to one page, and amended, “Could very well be.” He looked at the others. “Moving money solely within one bank makes the transfers much easier and, theoretically at least, means there’s only one record in one bank of any of the transactions.” He pointed at the notebook. “The only reason Chesterton had to keep his own account is because he deals entirely with cash payments.”
Stokes nodded in understanding. “So from the backers’ point of view, there’s only one record, and I can imagine wealthy, powerful gentlemen feeling much safer if that single record was kept within an institution such as Moreton’s.”
“Indeed.” Barnaby was smiling. “However, having only one bank also means that we have only one bank manager to convince to give us those wealthy gentlemen’s names.”
