Barnaby was slowly nodding. “The reason, whatever it is, must be powerful enough to inspire a degree of panic sufficient to make Keeble lash out—unexpectedly and, in many ways, uncharacteristically.”
They all pondered the situation, then Jordan glanced at Stokes. “Perhaps we can approach this from a different angle. If Thomas hadn’t been killed but had proceeded as he’d planned and notified the authorities, what would have happened?”
“Specifically,” Penelope said, “what would have happened to Keeble Senior?”
Stokes frowned. “The guns would have been seized, as, in fact, they have been. Chesterton would have been arrested and interrogated”—he glanced at Jordan—“and I hope we would have eventually hauled in his backers as well. Our three innocent dupes would have been interviewed—as they were.” Stokes paused, then went on, his voice growing firmer, “And to prove that the three gentlemen’s claims of being dupes was, in fact, the truth, and they or members of their families hadn’t been taking a larger slice of Chesterton’s pie, we would have looked into their finances…” Stokes met Jordan’s eyes. “And the finances of their families.”
Jordan pointed at Stokes. “There it is. That’s what Keeble feared. He’s not unintelligent. He realized it was likely that if the gun-running scheme was exposed and Josh’s part in it investigated, that would have led to his books being examined.”
“He told us he was a financier.” Barnaby straightened. “That he handles the finances of several large investors.”
Stokes smiled wolfishly. “I think we’ve finally seen the light. Keeble’s motive in killing Thomas Cardwell wasn’t anything to do with the gun-running enterpriseper sebut had everythingto do with keeping the authorities away from Keeble’s own business.”
His eyes narrowed, Jordan said, “Most financiers wouldn’t want the authorities poring over their ledgers, yet the threat of that happening wouldn’t drive any to murder.”
Stokes nodded. “So there’s something illegal—possibly highly illegal—that Keeble Senior is a part of.”
“And” Penelope said, “don’t forget Keeble’s lifelong devotion to ascending the social ranks. He’s devoted his entire life to struggling further up?—”
“So the prospect of his illegal business dealings being exposed and bringing his social house of cards crashing down around his ears…” Barnaby looked at Stokes. “That’sa powerful enough motive to compel a man like Keeble to murder.”
Penelope sat back and declared, “Keeble was living in a glass house. He couldn’t afford any stones to be thrown, and Thomas was preparing to launch a brick.”
Stokes had been thinking. Raising his head, he looked at the others. “As we aren’t arresting Josh Keeble, until we can arrest Keeble Senior, we can’t barge in and examine his accounts. That said, I agree that the answer to what got Thomas Cardwell killed lies there. So our immediate task is to find sufficient solid evidence to make our case against Keeble Senior. Once we can arrest him, his accounts are the first place we’ll look for the reason he killed Thomas.”
All agreed, and they settled to make firm plans for the following morning in their push to gain the evidence necessary to arrest Earnest Keeble.
That Sunday morning at a few minutes before ten o’clock, accompanied by Jordan and Ruth, Penelope sat waiting in her carriage, which was parked along the side of Myddleton Square that faced the rear of the church and the bulk of the trees and lawns.
From his position on the box beside Phelps, Penelope’s footman-cum-guard, Connor, had a clear view of the Keeble residence across the corner of the square. Connor had been delegated to keep watch and inform his mistress the instant Keeble Senior departed his abode.
When Connor dropped to the pavement, opened the door, and announced, “He’s just left his gate. He’s striding along the pavement toward the front of the church,” Penelope felt thoroughly vindicated in her prediction that Keeble would attend the morning service.
“Excellent.” She held out her hand and allowed Connor to help her down the steps to the pavement.
Jordan joined her and handed Ruth down.
Penelope cast a glance over the pair, then tipped her head toward Keeble’s house on the north side of the square. “He’ll be out of sight by now. Let’s go.”
She set off walking briskly for the gate, and Jordan and Ruth hurried to keep pace.
Penelope paused before the gate to allow Jordan to open it, then sailed through and up the path to the door. She glanced along the street and confirmed Keeble was no longer in sight, having presumably rounded the corner of the church, making for the front door, then she lifted the knocker and rapped a demanding tattoo.
The footman opened the door and showed only mild surprise at finding her and Jordan and Ruth on the doorstep. “The master’s just left for church, ma’am.”
“I know.” Penelope waved the footman back, and he obligingly retreated, allowing them into the house. “It’s you and the rest of the staff we’re here to speak with.”
“Oh?” The footman looked more curious than apprehensive.
Penelope nodded decisively and gestured for him to shut the door. As he did, she informed him, “The police have a few more questions, and we’re here to ask them.”
When the footman dithered about whether to show them into the drawing room, Penelope pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re not here to cause trouble. The kitchen will do.”
She determinedly led the way and walked under the archway into the kitchen’s warmth to find the cook and maid sitting at the table, nursing cups of tea. A plate with slices of raisin cake sat in the table’s center, and the tweeny was replacing the kettle on the stove.
All three women stared, then the cook and maid leapt to their feet.
“Ma’am.” The cook cleared her throat. “Could I offer you a cuppa and a slice of cake?”
