Forbes swallowed and, his complexion quite pasty, nodded. Then he gathered himself and looked up. “Yes. All three.” He glanced at Stokes. “And now I’ve looked more closely, I believe I recognize the accounts.”
Calmly, Stokes drew out his notebook. “Who owns those three accounts?”
Forbes’s lips pressed tight. He was clearly torn.
Penelope stated, “Mr. Forbes, we are hunting a murderer and dealing with three men known to be behind the smuggling of treasonous contraband. Any law-abiding person, no matter their rank or occupation, should assist the police in whatever way they can.”
Forbes regarded her, then slowly nodded. “Indeed, ma’am. You’re right.” He looked at Stokes. “But please let me check the account numbers before I give you the names. I don’t want to make any mistake in such a serious matter.”
Stokes nodded his acquiescence, and Barnaby added, “That’s entirely understandable.”
Forbes rose and crossed to a handsome brass-and-polished-wood filing cabinet that stood against the wall. He pulled out thetop drawer, reached inside, and straightened with a long list in his hand.
As Forbes returned to the desk, his gaze going to the ledger, Thomas said, “It would be helpful, Forbes, if you would write down the names alongside the account numbers.” When on resuming his chair, Forbes glanced at him, Thomas smiled and added, “This will become official evidence, after all—best you do all the police need you to do at once so the inspector or his men don’t need to return again later.”
That wasn’t quite a threat, yet it served to focus Forbes on delivering what they needed. He drew out a clean sheet of headed notepaper, picked up his pen, dipped it in his inkwell, then working from his account list yet also crosschecking Chesterton’s ledger and the account book to make absolutely sure, he started to write.
“It would be helpful,” Stokes murmured, “if you would sign the list once it’s complete.”
“And add your official title,” Penelope said.
Forbes glanced briefly at them, then returned to his task.
Three minutes later, he sat back, stared at what he’d written, then blotted the sheet and picked it up. His hand shook slightly as he held the list out to whoever wished to take it. “These are the names of the three gentlemen who own the three accounts that made regular deposits into Mr. Chesterton’s account.”
Being closest, Thomas took the sheet. He scanned the names, and his brows rose. He looked at Montague and handed the list to him.
Montague took it, read it, and his expression also changed to one of mild surprise tinged with intrigue.
Thomas looked at Forbes, who was clearly shaken. “Thank you, Forbes. By readily rendering such vital assistance to Scotland Yard in such a fraught case, you’ve solidified my confidence in you and Moreton’s.”
Forbes looked relieved, and a hint of color returned to his pale cheeks. “I…I’m pleased to have been of help.”
Montague had passed the sheet to Penelope. She angled it so Barnaby and Stokes could read it, too, and Jordan rose and, over their shoulders, scanned the list.
On seeing the names associated with the three accounts, Barnaby understood Thomas’s and Montague’s reactions. Also Forbes’s uncertainty. The Honorable Mr. James Winter, Mr. Claude Haverstock, and Mr. Herbert Huxtable were not names one would have expected to be allied with gun running.
Montague turned to Forbes. “You’ve done the right thing, Forbes, and I’m quietly impressed. I must come in and speak with you soon about what services Moreton’s can offer my clients.”
That declaration made Forbes brighten even more.
Barnaby heard Jordan, standing behind him, softly swear. When Stokes and Barnaby glanced up at him, Jordan rather grimly stated, “I know all three names.”
That was curious. Barnaby resisted the impulse to ask why, as did Stokes. Right time, wrong place.
Stokes took the list from Penelope, who was, predictably, frowning. He folded the sheet, tucked it into his notebook, then came to his feet. He nodded to Forbes. “Thank you for your assistance, Forbes. We’ll leave you to get on with your day.” Stokes glanced at the others. “For our part, we clearly have avenues to pursue.”
With the rest of their company eager to comply, with good wishes all around, they parted from Forbes, who showed them out into the main foyer.
When the unmarked door to Moreton’s closed quietly behind them, Thomas waved them into the palm-delimited alcove they’d occupied earlier.
As they clustered around, Montague declared, “I’ve heard of all three gentlemen—Winter, Huxtable, and Haverstock.” He met Stokes’s gaze. “The rumors are that all three appear to have grown unexpectedly wealthy over the past few years.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ve heard the same. And in the men-of-business world, unexpectedly means unaccountably.” Thomas looked at Jordan. “The last I heard, all three were claiming they’d simply been lucky at the tables.”
His expression serious, Jordan shook his head. “They have been playing the tables, but they haven’t been lucky.” Shifting his gaze to Stokes, he explained, “All three have been frequenting the boss’s establishments over the past few years. But the thing is—and this is why I know their names—none of the three are the usual gamblers. They never come in expecting to win. Instead, they amble in, risk a little, inevitably lose it, then they hang about. It seemed to us that they were making sure they were seen by others. Then after a time, they amble out again. Because their rather strange behavior has been repeated many times, our staff noticed and reported it. Roscoe, Mudd, Rawlings, and I have been wondering what the three are about—whether there was something going on beneath our noses of which we were unaware.”
Stokes huffed. “Unlikely, but I see your point.”
