Page 57 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
He flashed her a grin, then dipped his head and murmured back, “I’m never loath to learn from the masters.” He glanced at Thomas and Montague as the pair walked toward them. “And these two can plainly teach me a trick or two, or even three.”
She chuckled, then Forbes came through the door, closed it behind him, and hurried to lead them on and into a large, luxuriously furnished office with ample seating for their company.
Thomas grasped the moment as they moved deeper into the office to perform the introductions. To say that Forbes’s wariness escalated on learning Stokes was an inspector with Scotland Yard and, despite their station, Barnaby and Penelope acted as official consultants to the Metropolitan Police would be a severe understatement.
The man wasn’t foolish and could plainly see the pressure that would be brought to bear on him and his bank should he not promptly accede to the group’s request.
Learning that Jordan was Neville Roscoe’s man-of-business and also assisting in the present investigation effectively eliminated any lingering resistance Forbes might have harbored.
He urged them to avail themselves of the comfortable chairs, but he chose to remain standing before his large desk. Once they’d settled, he cleared his throat and, plainly unsure whom to address, eventually looked at Thomas and Montague. “If I understood the matter correctly, you wish to identify the owners of several accounts for which, I presume, you have the relevant numbers.”
Thomas nodded, and Montague replied, “Indeed. That is what we require in a nutshell. Three accounts with, very likely, three individual owners.”
Forbes hesitated, then glanced at Stokes. “Might I inquire what manner of case the identification of these three account holders relates to?”
He wanted to be assured that breaking the seal of confidentiality any customer of Moreton’s would expect him to preserve could be justified. However reluctantly, Penelope had to approve of Forbes’s caution.
With every evidence of patience, Stokes explained about the gun-running scheme. “Such a scheme, of course, qualifies as treason. The account holders we seek to identify were, in effect, the financiers behind the scheme.”
“Without them,” Barnaby stated, “the scheme could not have existed, and we believe it’s been active for at least two years.”
“We might have stopped one shipment,” Jordan put in, “but others went out over previous months.”
Forbes’s eyes had rounded. “Good Lord. Treason, you say?”
“Indeed,” Stokes replied. “And I should add that the trail that led us to the gun runner started with a murder.”
“We believe it’s possible,” Barnaby said, “that the murder of a man-of-business in his office not far away in Broad Street was committed by or at the behest of one of the three backers of the scheme.”
“Good heavens!” The news caused a dramatic change in Forbes’s demeanor. He looked from Stokes to Montague and Thomas. “You said you have the account numbers?”
Stokes drew out Chesterton’s account book, and Montague and Thomas rose. Montague took the book from Stokes and waved Forbes to his chair behind the desk. “Sit, and we’ll show you what we need.”
Forbes did as he was bid, sat in his chair, and Montague opened the notebook and set it on the blotter before Forbes. Coming to stand on Forbes’s other side, Thomas pointed to the relevant entries. “These three accounts are the ones we wish to trace.”
Frowning, Forbes studied the entries.
Thomas calmly went on, “The notebook details payments into and out of an account held by Moreton’s. Consequently, the easiest way to identify the holders of the three crediting accounts, each of which presumably comes from some other bank”—Thomas flicked a glance at the others, warning them not to correct that statement—“will be to compare this accounting with your official registers, which will detail which bank each payment came from and also confirm the account number.”
Vaguely, Forbes nodded. “Yes. I see. And of course, you’re right.” He glanced at Stokes. “This is not an account I handle personally. If you will permit, I’ll fetch the account ledger, and we can see what that reveals.”
Stokes inclined his head in acquiescence, and looking greatly troubled, Forbes jotted down Chesterton’s account number, then taking the number, rose and left the room.
Montague and Thomas exchanged knowing glances, then returned to their chairs.
In a bare two minutes, Forbes was back, carrying a large ledger and wearing an even deeper frown. He shut the door, then faced the company. “This account—the account whose details are in that notebook—was opened by a member of the public about two years ago, when Moreton’s was still a public bank.” Forbes looked at Stokes and Barnaby. “Consequently, those of us currently at Moreton’s, which is now solely for private clients, are not familiar with the holders of these older public accounts.”
“We know who that account belongs to,” Stokes replied. “One Cornelius Chesterton.”
Forbes looked at the front page of the ledger he held. “Oh. Yes. Quite right.”
The banker was plainly rattled—more rattled than he had been before.
Noting that, Montague waved Forbes back to his chair behind the desk, and as he sat, Thomas mildly suggested, “Let’sconcentrate on those three crediting accounts.” He waited while Forbes opened the bank ledger and flicked through the pages to locate the entries relating to said accounts. Once he had, Thomas asked, “First point of interest—from which bank were those deposits transferred?”
Forbes ran his eye down the ledger page, checking as he went against Chesterton’s notebook. Then his finger paused. He stared at the ledger, then looked again at the notebook, and his face paled. He sat back, his gaze locked on the ledger entries. Faintly, he said, “Oh, I say...”
Montague shared a vindicated look with Thomas, then Thomas regarded Forbes and gently prompted, “I take it that all three crediting accounts are held by Moreton’s?”
