Page 16 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Jordan caught Stokes’s eye. “That’s what I would have expected of an agent as careful as Thomas appears to have been.”
The older Hemingway nodded. “Aye, he was that—careful and precise. He’ll be missed and not just by us.” He glanced at his son. “I suppose we’ll have to find someone else, now.”
The younger Hemingway didn’t look enthused.
The father returned his gaze to Stokes. “I don’t see what more we can tell you, Inspector. We know nothing about nefarious activities and would challenge anyone to find anything amiss with our practices.”
The last was said with a hint of rising ire.
Jordan stepped in to say, “We’ve looked through your accounts—the ledgers Cardwell kept on the business—and found nothing whatsoever amiss or in any way suspicious.”
Hemingway Senior responded, “That’s because there’s nothing to be found.”
Stokes inclined his head. “This visit is purely because Cardwell left no clue as to which of—or, indeed, whether any of—his clients’ businesses were involved in what he uncovered.”
“We had to check, you see,” Penelope put in. “To convince ourselves that there isn’t any problem here and that we need to look elsewhere.”
The Hemingways exchanged a long look, then Hemingway Senior returned his attention to them. His gaze shrewd, he eyed them for several seconds, then stated, “Our business is an open book, at least to the authorities. In our line of work, supplyinggoods to finicky and demanding customers, you can’t get away with doing anything underhanded. Our reputation is one we’ve worked for years to build, and we’re not about to risk damaging that. If you need to see anything more of our enterprise, by all means, feel free to wander about and look.”
“May we?” Penelope leaned forward, her eagerness on full display. For Barnaby’s money, that had more to do with her innate curiosity than the case at hand.
The younger Hemingway responded to her appeal. “I’ll be happy to take you around and explain anything you wish to know.”
“Excellent!” Penelope came to her feet, bringing all the men to theirs. Smiling, she held out her hand to Hemingway Senior. “Thank you, Mr. Hemingway, for being so understanding. I’m sure there’s nothing untoward for me to see, but I would like to better understand how you do what you do.”
Not even Hemingway Senior was immune to Penelope’s charm. He gruffly assured her that she was welcome to explore as she wished.
With Penelope and Hemingway Junior making for the door, Stokes seized the opportunity to tell Hemingway Senior, “I believe the rest of us have seen enough to conclude that the reason Cardwell contacted Roscoe did not arise from anything to do with Hemingways’ Linens.”
Appeased, the older Hemingway accompanied them to his door. He would have walked them back to the foyer, but Barnaby caught sight of Penelope and Hemingway Junior already deep in the packaging area. Barnaby tipped his head in their direction and, to Hemingway, said, “We’d better keep them in sight.”
Stokes had also spotted the pair. He humphed and said to Hemingway, “We might have to step in and rescue your son.”
Hemingway barked a laugh, nodded, and waved them on.
With Jordan and Stokes, Barnaby had to step smartly around tables and benches and dance around carts to catch up with his wife. Once they had, Jordan and Stokes slowed to amble a few paces behind. Resuming his customary position at Penelope’s side, Barnaby quickly grasped that she wasn’t merely satisfying her curiosity, nor was she solely focused on exhausting all possibility that Hemingways’ Linens had any association with nefarious activities. Listening to her artful questions, he realized that she was, in fact, interviewing Hemingway as a potential employer for the graduates of the Foundling House.
He should, he acknowledged, have expected that. His wife was nothing if not opportunistic when it came to arranging employment for the foundlings.
It took rather longer than they’d expected to complete their circuit of the Hemingways’ business, and when they finally returned to the forecourt, even Stokes was ready to take an oath that there was nothing even remotely nefarious there.
They parted from Hemingway Junior with smiles all around and made their way back to the waiting carriage.
After directing Phelps to return to Mayfair, Barnaby climbed into the carriage and settled beside Penelope. Once the carriage was rolling, he glanced at the others’ faces and observed, “It would have been too easy if Cardwell’s concern had, in fact, stemmed from Hemingways’ Linens.”
Penelope hummed, then stated, “Murder is rarely so straightforward.”
Stokes glanced at Jordan. “So now we have to hunt for something else Cardwell recently learned that disturbed him to the extent that he contacted Roscoe for advice.” Stokes paused, then ventured, “Nefarious activities. Could Cardwell have inflated some minor matter to that level?”
Instantly, Jordan shook his head. “I only met him three times, yet from what I saw on those occasions, I feel confident instating that he was a well-grounded man. He knew his business and was naturally cautious and not given to overstatement.” He met Stokes’s gaze. “Everything I saw of him inclines me to believe that calling whatever he discovered ‘nefarious’ is more likely to be an understatement than unwarranted hyperbole.”
Stokes grimaced. “I have to admit I’ve yet to meet a successful man-of-business who isn’t inherently cautious.”
Quietly, Barnaby stated, “Added to that, there’s the inescapable fact that Cardwell is now dead.”
Jordan returned to Broad Street and Thomas Cardwell’s office, first because he’d left Gelman on guard there, lurking inconspicuously and keeping an eye on the premises from the opposite side of the street, and also because that niggling inkling that he’d overlooked something in the ledgers had only intensified.
He found Gelman in an alcove beside the bakery.
