Page 42 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
A moment passed, then Chesterton transferred his gaze to Stokes. “Look. My business runs on secrecy. That means the fewer people who know anything about what I’m doing, the better. That’s why I paid off those three likely lads. They were easy to appease and never asked difficult questions—dupes, just like you called them. But killing anyone, no matter what threat they might pose, is guaranteed to bring the rozzers sniffing around, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want. Like I said, if I’d known someone had found the warehouse and the guns, I would’ve moved the lot quick smart and set up somewhere else. I wouldn’t have wasted time trying to hunt down some geezer I’d never met.” He glanced curiously at Jordan and Ruth. “I don’t even know which of the likely lads’ families this brother belonged to.”
To Penelope, Chesterton sounded a touch desperate, but his arguments were reasonable and, therefore, convincing. And to her eyes, at least, he was never going to be confused with a gentleman, and with that shock of hair, he’d never be able to wear a top hat, let alone pull off a disguise.
To drive home the point, she asked, “Do you wear a hat? Ever?”
Chesterton started to raise a hand to his curls, then was reminded of the manacles and stopped. “No. No hats for me. They just won’t stay on my head.”
Penelope glanced at Barnaby, then at Stokes. Both faintly grimaced. Regardless of his involvement in the gun-running scheme, Chesterton wasn’t Thomas Cardwell’s murderer.
Jordan leaned forward and asked, “You say you value secrecy highly, so think back to Sunday evening. If someone in the Fox had been watching you interact with those three likely lads, could that someone later have followed you to the warehouse?”
From Chesterton’s expression, it was plain to all that he—or rather, his pride—wished he could dismiss the suggestion. Eventually, however, he admitted, “I suppose it’s possible. I hadn’t thought that anyone might follow me from the Fox. The clientele there generally keeps its nose out of other people’s business, so I wasn’t on guard. I’d had a few pints as well, so…” He shrugged. “I can’t say that couldn’t have happened.”
Jordan glanced at Stokes, then sat back.
Penelope judged that, all in all, Chesterton had been truthful, at least in what he’d put into words.
Apparently thinking they’d learned all they would, Stokes asked Chesterton, “Is there anything more you’d like to tell us?”
Chesterton regarded Stokes levelly, then stated, “You’ve got me to rights with the gun running and smuggling. I even gave you the ship’s name, not that I meant to, but still. All that admitted to, I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ve never killed anyone.” His gaze flicked to Jordan and Ruth. “And I never met this brother who was killed, either.”
Stokes studied Chesterton for a moment, then nodded. “Duly noted.” He signaled to the constables that they could take Chesterton back to the cells, then rose and led their small band out of the room.
Stokes paused in the corridor and, once they’d all come through the door, suggested, “Let’s go upstairs to a more congenial setting and decide what to try next.”
Minutes later, they settled into chairs in Stokes’s office.
“First,” Penelope said, “can we all agree that Chesterton is definitely not our unknown gentleman-cum-murderer?”
Barnaby grimaced. “Not with that riot of hair. It wasn’t as evident last night, in the poor light.”
“Let alone that he wouldn’t easily pass for a gentleman,” Stokes said. “His posture, the way he walks and talks—that observant baker wouldn’t have mistaken him for a gentleman, even if he’d donned the right sort of coat.”
“And,” Jordan added, “Thomas might have recognized Chesterton, but he wouldn’t have readily unlocked his office door and invited him inside.”
Stokes tipped his head, conceding the point. “I also can’t see Chesterton being in a position to hire an assassin who would pass for a gentleman, either.”
“I thought,” Barnaby said, “that he made a convincing argument that if he had known someone had learned about the guns, then the first thing he would have done was move them.” He looked at the others. “The guns must represent a considerable amount of money to Chesterton.”
Jordan nodded. “Even if he later thought to kill Thomas, however he could bring that about—which isn’t easy to see—regardless, he would have moved the guns. They wouldn’t have been in the warehouse for us to find. I can’t see any self-respecting smuggler leaving his goods sitting in a hidey-hole after he suspected someone unexpected had learned they were there.”
Stokes grunted in agreement. “So where does that leave us on this gray March morning?” He looked at the others expectantly.
Penelope stated, “It all comes back to our unknown man—our suspected murderer. Who is he?” She looked around the circle of faces. “If not Gibson or Chesterton, who else could he be?”
Jordan grimaced. “Theoretically, our murderer could be Harrison or Josh.” He glanced at Ruth. “Thomas knew both, I take it?”
She nodded. “Thomas was a year behind them at King Edward’s, so they all knew each other from their years there, and of course, they were Gibson’s friends, so Thomas met them when they occasionally visited with Gibson.”
“So,” Stokes mused, “if it had been one of them, Thomas would have readily invited them into his office.”
Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I really can’t see it being either of them.”
“I can’t, either,” Ruth said. “From all I saw, Harrison and Josh were always quite friendly toward Thomas.” She paused, then added, “I think that, like Gibson, they were a bit in awe of Thomas, in that he was a year younger but had established a successful business, and they hadn’t yet accomplished anything in that vein.”
Stokes huffed. “Let’s not overcomplicate things. We have an unknown gentleman and have yet to discover who he is. All we actually know is that Thomas appeared to recognize him well enough to invite him into his office.”
Jordan was frowning. “I think we should accept that the coat and hat weren’t any sort of disguise. Our unknown man didn’t enter Thomas’s office expecting to kill him. He used Thomas’s letter knife to do the deed. He hadn’t come prepared with a knife of his own.”
