Page 51 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Noting their reactions and the dawning comprehension in their expressions, Jordan continued, “Roscoe contends that, for an operation of such size and scope, Chesterton wouldn’t be the one filling the purse. He’s just a middleman enabled by the syndicate providing the cash. And given the nature of the scheme and the amounts involved, it’s all but certain the members of that syndicate are wealthy and potentially powerful gentlemen.”
Stokes grunted. “And if anyone would understand such a setup, Roscoe would.”
“If you think about it,” Barnaby said, his tone enthused, “all those guns would have cost a pretty penny.”
“More,” Stokes stated. “Significantly more because of being illegally sourced.”
In the tone of one summing up, Penelope stated, “So Chesterton must have had backers, and whoever they are, Thomas learning about the gun running and being intent on informing the authorities would have featured as a definite and very likely highly significant threat to them.”
Stokes shut his notebook with a snap. He glanced at the clock, then looked at the others. “First thing tomorrow, we interview Chesterton again.”
CHAPTER 11
They all arrived at Scotland Yard bright and early the next morning. Jordan was just approaching the steps when Barnaby and Penelope drew up in their carriage, and Stokes strode up a moment later.
“I set things in motion yesterday evening,” Stokes informed them. “Chesterton should already be languishing in the interrogation room, so we can head straight downstairs.”
They did and walked into the bare interrogation room with its single glaring lamp to find Chesterton sitting at the rectangular table, staring morosely at his clasped hands. Quiet and watchful, O’Donnell and Morgan stood unobtrusively against the wall behind Chesterton’s chair.
As they filed into the room, Chesterton raised his gaze and watched them claim the chairs on the table’s opposite side. Judging by the expression in his eyes, he was curious as to what they wanted with him and also a trifle wary.
Once the four of them had settled, Stokes looked directly at Chesterton and stated, “We’re interested in learning from where you got the funds to pay for the guns.”
Tellingly, Chesterton’s eyes widened. He waited, but when all four investigators simply stared back and said nothing more, he ducked his head and mumbled, “All a part of the arrangements.”
“Arrangements with whom?” Barnaby asked, his tone flat.
Chesterton wrestled with his answer and eventually offered, “The bods who thought it was a good idea.”
Sourness colored his voice.
Stokes shifted tacks. “Obviously, you have backers. Don’t you think they’ll grow concerned when they learn you’ve been nicked?”
Jordan elaborated, “Concerned about what you know and what you might tell us?”
“Sadly,” Barnaby observed, “accidents do happen in Newgate.”
As if helpfully clarifying the point, Penelope said, “That’s where you’ll be heading shortly.”
The look in Chesterton’s eyes confirmed that he was genuinely worried. His expression suggested he was tempted to reveal the names, but after several moments of considering his options, he shook his head. “I can’t—I won’t. It’s not worth my head. If you don’t go after them, they’ll know I never told you anything, and they’ll let me be, so thank you all the same, but I’ll take my chances.”
Jordan sighed. “I was hoping we wouldn’t need to do this the hard way.”
“Heh?” Alarmed, Chesterton reared back. He looked at Stokes, then glanced at O’Donnell and Morgan. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“First,” Stokes said, “I should mention that yesterday, Constable Morgan”—he tipped his head Morgan’s way—“checked the address you gave when you were formally taken into custody.” Stokes caught Chesterton’s gaze. “Consequently,we know that the flat in Lambert Street is, in fact, your current home.”
Chesterton was plainly wondering if he should have given a false address. “So?”
“So,” Jordan said, “now, we’ll go there and turn the place upside down until we find your account book.”
Chesterton’s eyes slowly widened, his growing apprehension clear.
Jordan nodded. “Just so. Of course you’ve kept a reckoning, because when dealing with the likes of your backers, you knew you would need to be able to answer for every single pound. I imagine there’ll be a register of the payments made to you, and even if you used a bank—and considering the amounts that must have been involved, I would wager you did—there’ll be a record, a trail if you will, that those who know about such things will be able to follow all the way to your backers.”
Stokes smiled in anticipation. “And then we’ll have them as well as you.” He arched his brows at Chesterton and mildly asked, “Sure you don’t want to get in our good books by giving us their names and saving us the legwork?”
Chesterton’s eyes had narrowed on Jordan and Stokes. He studied them for several long minutes, then said, “You’re having me on. I was told it’s really hard to trace payments made through a bank, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep my trap shut and take my chances.”
