“How often do they visit?” Penelope asked.
“Every few months, they’ll be in for several evenings over a few weeks,” Jordan replied. “Then we won’t see them for several months, then they reappear, do the same thing, then vanish for another few months.”
Barnaby was frowning. “It seems as if they’re using Roscoe’s tables as a smoke screen. Enough people see them gambling so when others notice their newfound wealth, they can believably claim to have had a lucky run.”
Penelope nodded. “That no one ever sees them win doesn’t matter. Everyone assumes that must have been on some other night when the particular observer wasn’t present.” Penelope looked at Thomas and Montague. “Speaking of their inexplicable newfound wealth—the sums Chesterton must have paid them—is there any way at all to trace that?”
Thomas and Montague grimaced, and both shook their heads.
“If they have any brains at all,” Thomas said, “and it seems they do, they’ll be keeping their ill-gotten gains as cold, hard cash, and there won’t be any trace of it in any account of any stripe.”
“It’s likely,” Jordan said, “that Winter, Huxtable, Haverstock, and Chesterton agreed on some simple formula for his payments to them. For instance, that once the smugglers pay Chesterton for the guns—which will always be in cash—he gives each backer three times whatever they’d put in for that shipment.”
Thomas was nodding. “Such an arrangement would be easy for all four to calculate and keep track of, and that also leaves Chesterton with whatever was left over as his slice, which is a sound incentive for him to get the best price possible over and above covering the repayments.”
Montague added, “I wouldn’t expect to find any telltale trail to follow with respect to the money returning to the backers. They would certainly see that as a potential threat to them. However, when it came to making the initial payments to Chesterton, I suspect they simply found using Moreton’s all too convenient. Luckily for us, as it transpires.”
Jordan put in, “Whether by luck or design, they all had accounts at Moreton’s, and as I said earlier, moving money within a single bank leaves minimal records and, therefore, fewer chances of anyone stumbling over the connection between Chesterton and the three.”
“All of that,” Stokes said, “the visits to the gambling clubs, the single bank account, and only cash going back to them, speaks to them knowing they needed to conceal the sums they’ve been raking in from the sales of the guns.”
Barnaby nodded. “There’s no chance that they were unaware of the illegality of what Chesterton was doing on their behalf.”
Penelope huffed. “Not with all the steps they’ve taken to conceal their involvement.”
Thomas tipped his head toward Stokes’s pocket. “You have the list of names and account numbers, and you have Chesterton’s private account book listing those same accounts. That should be all you need.”
“Indeed.” Stokes looked around the group. “So I’m for the Yard. I need to see the Commissioner about getting arrest warrants for these three.”
CHAPTER 12
After parting from Montague and Thomas in Leadenhall Street, Barnaby beckoned to Phelps, who’d trailed them with the carriage. After the carriage drew up beside them, Barnaby handed Penelope up and, with Jordan and Stokes, followed her in, and as instructed, Phelps set the horses for Scotland Yard.
Once they arrived, Stokes left Barnaby, Penelope, and Jordan in his office and, taking the evidence of Forbes’s list and Chesterton’s account book, strode off to beard the Commissioner.
While they waited, Barnaby, Penelope, and Jordan reviewed the facts of the case as they knew them to that point and discussed which questions would best serve their cause in the upcoming interrogations.
Ten minutes after he’d headed off, Stokes returned with a smile of triumph wreathing his face. “Success! I’ve permission to bring in all three gentlemen. The Commissioner agrees we’ve evidence enough to hold them. I’m off to organize the arrests.”
“Don’t forget,” Penelope said, “to do your best to make the arrests simultaneous.”
Stokes paused in the doorway to add, “I’ll also arrange that they don’t see each other. Best to keep each of them guessing as to whether the others are speaking with us as well.”
With that, he headed for the stairs.
“Well,” Barnaby said, “it seems that we’ll shortly be interviewing Winter, Huxtable, and Haverstock.” He looked at the other two. “So what do we know about each gentleman? I know all three are family men.”
“As I recall,” Penelope added, her tone disapproving, “they all have young children.”
“They’re what?” Jordan asked. “In their late thirties?”
“Something like that,” Barnaby said. “More pertinently, all three hail from minor branches of long-established aristocratic families. None are close to any major title, but their arrests are sure to cause a stir.”
Somewhat less than half an hour later, Stokes came back, an even greater smile splitting his face. “We have Winter downstairs, and Huxtable and Haverstock are on their way.”
“That was quick!” Penelope sat up and eagerly asked, “Can we start with Winter?”
Stokes grinned. “I can’t see why not.” As she, Barnaby, and Jordan rose and joined Stokes in the doorway, he added, “Incidentally, you’ll be meeting Inspector Mann. I’m handing the gun-running charges to him so that I can concentrate on pursuing Cardwell’s killer.”
