The pair exchanged yet another glance, then Ruth looked at Penelope. “The gloves. If Keeble was wearing them when he stabbed Thomas, they’ll be bloodied.”
“That’s why Keeble had to get rid of them before coming home,” Jordan said. “More, he probably had to get rid of them as soon as he got into the lane.”
“They could very well still be in the lane,” Ruth said. “Not many people use it, and there are hidey holes between the stones. We should search and see if we can find them.”
“And they’re monogrammed, of all things.” Jordan shook his head. “How ironic if it’s Keeble’s vanity and trying to mimic his betters that contributes to his downfall.”
“Indeed.” Fire flared in Ruth’s eyes, and determination infused her tone.
Penelope looked from Jordan to Ruth and had to wonder if that was how she and Barnaby appeared and sounded to others when they were in the throes of a shared investigation. “Well,” she said and refocused on the task at hand. “I suggest the pair of you find a hackney and go to Broad Street and see if you can find those gloves. Meanwhile”—she turned to survey the houses along that side of the square—“I’ll go and beard Lord Monteith and have a word with his footman regarding his new coat.”
Excitement had taken hold, especially for Jordan and Ruth. The pair readily agreed, and Ruth took Jordan’s arm.
“Whatever you find,” Penelope reminded them, “don’t forget that as soon as we’ve completed our missions for the morning, we’re reconvening at Scotland Yard to share all we’ve gleaned.”
Jordan nodded. “We’ll go and look and meet you there.”
Buoyed by fresh expectations of success, the three parted and determinedly embarked on their separate missions to track down the critical elements of Keeble’s wardrobe.
At the time Penelope knocked on Lord Monteith’s front door, Barnaby was standing with Stokes, O’Donnell, Morgan, Walsh, and their two witnesses—the barman, Stan, and the barmaid, Lottie, from the Fox Orsett public house—waiting for Earnest Keeble to emerge from the church.
They’d taken up a position just inside a tiny back alley off Chad Street. Ten yards or so away, the eastern end of ChadStreet joined the street that formed the western boundary of Myddleton Square at a point directly opposite the main door of St. Mark’s Church. From the corner of the alley, their witnesses would have a clear and unobstructed view of the members of the congregation as they filed out of the church.
Considering the position’s advantages, Barnaby felt moved to compliment O’Donnell. “This is an excellent site for our purposes. Neither too far away for sure identification nor so close that anyone exiting the church is likely to notice us watching.”
“Aye,” O’Donnell said. “Bit of luck Walsh being familiar with the area and knowing about this spot.”
His gaze trained on the closed double doors of the church, Stokes observed, “Presumably, Keeble will turn toward his house. That should give our witnesses a clear view of his face and, as he walks along on the pavement, of his profile and his movements.”
O’Donnell nodded. “Couldn’t be better, really.”
A few yards along the alley, Morgan and Walsh were standing with Stan and Lottie and keeping the pair from the Fox amused while they waited for the service to end, the congregation to emerge, and their moment to arrive.
Minutes ticked past, then the large wooden doors of the church were pushed wide, and the strains of the organ playing a processional spilled into the street.
“This is it.” Stokes waved to Morgan and Walsh, and they guided their witnesses to the corner.
Barnaby and Stokes fell back along Chad Street and watched as the constables, overseen by O’Donnell, directed their witnesses in where to look and what to watch for.
A species of expectant excitement crackled in the air as they waited.
The minister emerged and took up his stance by the door, and his flock started filing out, pausing to shake the minister’s hand and exchange a few words before moving on and allowing others to take their place.
A bevy of older ladies came first, followed by several older couples.
“Looks like a decent-sized congregation,” Stokes murmured.
Barnaby nodded. “Still, we know he’s in there. He’ll eventually appear.” After a moment, he added, “It’s to our benefit that they all move so slowly. When Keeble eventually emerges, our witnesses will have time to take a good look.”
Almost on the words, Keeble appeared in the front archway. He had to wait for another minute before the old and obviously well-to-do couple before him greeted the minister and moved on, then Keeble stepped forward, a smile on his face, and shook hands with the minister.
Barnaby looked at their witnesses, who were being kept separate enough that one’s reaction wouldn’t signal the other. Nevertheless, it was instantly apparent from the way both had stiffened that each had independently recognized Keeble.
Keeble exchanged a few words with the minister, which kept Keeble in full view, then he half bowed to the minister, set his top hat on his head, and stepped away, onto the pavement.
An elderly gentleman hailed Keeble, and he stopped to chat, all the while in perfect view of the witnesses at the corner of the alley.
Finally parting from the old gentleman, Keeble turned and walked on around the square toward his house.
