Jordan frowned. “Given the bank is Moreton’s, that might not be an easy task.”
Barnaby’s smile deepened. “Luckily, we have resources we can call on for assistance.” He glanced at Stokes. “I suggest that, before heading to Moreton’s, we consult Montague. He may have—is very likely to have—connections that will smooth our way.”
Penelope was quick to state her approval of that plan, and Stokes readily agreed.
Studying the others’ faces, Jordan grinned. “I’ve only sighted Montague on a few occasions, always at a distance, but he’s a legend in my field, and learning at the feet of such wisdom should never be disdained.”
Penelope laughed.
Grinning, Stokes reached out and took the vital notebook. “To Chapel Court, then. Let’s see what the great man says.”
Over the years, Montague, sometimes with the aid of his wife, Violet, had assisted Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope with various investigations. On entering Montague’s chambers, they were met by his longtime head clerk, Mr. Slocum.
“Good morning, Slocum.” Barnaby smiled at the dapper, earnest man who stood behind his raised desk on the other side of the waist-high barrier that divided the foyer from the area where Montague’s clerks and juniors labored. “Is Mr. Montague available?”
“Mr. Adair. Mrs. Adair. And Inspector Stokes.” Slocum bowed, cast a curious glance at Jordan, then, his expression bright, Slocum stated, “If you’ll wait here, I’ll check, but I daresay Mr. Montague will wish to see you immediately.”
Slocum hurried down a short corridor, tapped on the door at the far end, then whisked through, only to reappear moments later, his smile even more firmly entrenched, and with Montague himself at his back. Slocum hurried to open the gate in the barrier and wave them through.
Montague was waiting to greet them, an expectant expression on his face. He held out his hand to Barnaby. “Dare I hope you come with a problem, preferably knotty, with which I can assist?” Releasing Barnaby’s hand, he grasped Stokes’s. “Ihave to inform you that compiling the same accounts year after year, however satisfactory the profit, does grow somewhat dull.”
Stokes grinned and waved at Jordan. “We’ve brought you an admirer.”
Jordan blushed faintly and grasped the hand Montague offered. “Jordan Draper. I’m Roscoe’s man-of-business.”
“Indeed?” Montague looked intrigued. “I’ve always wondered how he manages, but if you work solely for him…?”
Jordan nodded. “I do.”
“Then that would explain it.” Montague’s eyes twinkled. “I’m well aware of the broad scope of your master’s empire.”
It was Jordan’s turn to grin.
“And last but certainly not least”—Montague turned to Penelope, took both her offered hands in his, leaned in, and bussed her cheek—“how are you, my dear? Violet’s out shopping—she’ll be desolated to have missed you.”
“As I am over missing her.” Penelope smiled. “Do remember to tell her I said so.”
“Of course. Of course.” Montague looked from her to Barnaby, then to Stokes and Jordan. “But come into my office and tell me your tale and how I might assist.”
He ushered them down the corridor to the pleasant office at its end.
Once they were settled in the comfortable chairs arranged before the desk, Montague resumed his seat behind it and looked at them hopefully. “So, do tell.”
At Stokes’s nod, Barnaby briefly outlined the critical details of Thomas Cardwell’s murder, from his letter to Roscoe to the finding of his body.
“Cardwell?” Montague frowned. “A younger practitioner, I think, but from memory, he’s quite well thought of in the profession.”
“That fits with what we’ve heard from others,” Stokes said. “So it’s perhaps unsurprising that we’ve found no evidence of any nefarious activities among his clients. That caused us to cast our net wider, and the long and the short of it is that we now believe Cardwell stumbled upon a gun-running scheme. That was the nefarious activity to which he referred. Consequently, we captured the gun runner himself, along with the latest batch of guns. However, the description of the unknown gentleman who we believe killed Cardwell in no way matches the gun runner, Chesterton.”
“A gentleman, heh?” Montague glanced at Penelope as if asking if this was the point where his expertise came into play.
She obligingly explained, “While Chesterton could not be the unknown gentleman, we realized that he must have backers.” She glanced at Stokes. “When we questioned him, he more or less confirmed their existence.”
Montague was nodding. “Given Chesterton’s station, it’s hard to see where he could have got the money otherwise. Guns are not cheap, and illegal wares are even more expensive.”
“Exactly,” Stokes said. “Consequently, we searched Chesterton’s rooms and found his account book. With Jordan’s help, we established that Chesterton used a bank account for receiving his backers’ funds. Given the sums involved, that’s hardly surprising.”
Stokes drew Chesterton’s notebook from his pocket and held it out to Jordan. “Best you explain what you found.”
