Page 36 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Penelope approved of that tack, and it certainly gave the three men arrayed against them pause.
Stokes didn’t give them more time to think, much less argue. He called over his shoulder, “O’Donnell.”
As the police contingent streamed forward, still addressing the first man, Stokes calmly continued, “I suggest you unlock the door. Then you can wait here with your mates and my constables while the rest of us examine what your master—Mr. Chesterton, I assume—has stored inside.”
The man eyed the police gathering around him and his mates, then glanced at the pair of bruisers behind him. After a second, he swung back to face Stokes. “Chesterton didn’t say anything about us having to deal with the p’lice, and what’smore, he ain’t paying us to, so…” He turned and lumbered toward the shack. “Lemme get the key.”
While he was fetching it, Stokes delegated six constables to remain with the three men and sent three more to scout around the warehouse.
The watchman returned with a key in his huge hand.
Stokes waved him to the doors.
The man sighed and plodded to the padlock, unlocked it and pulled it away, then unlooped the chains, freeing the doors.
Morgan and Walsh were waiting to step in and haul the heavy doors wide.
Along with the others assembled, Penelope peered into a dimly lit cavern and waited for her eyes to adjust.
Stokes sent the watchman to join his fellows, then led the way into the gloom.
All their company eagerly followed, everyone as keen as Penelope to learn what secrets lay hidden in the warehouse.
They halted a few yards inside. Weak light streamed through the open doorway, but as their eyes adjusted, they could see well enough—well enough to study the stacks of wooden crates that seemed to cover quite half the floor space of the cavernous building.
Each crate was about four feet long and two feet square on the ends.
Penelope bustled forward to examine the nearest more closely.
With his head raised, Barnaby had been doing a quick survey. “I estimate there are something like a hundred crates all told.”
Stokes was examining a crate when Penelope exclaimed, “There are marks burned into the sides of the crates—like brands.”
Jordan crouched to peer at one such mark, then he whistled and rose. He looked at Stokes, then at Barnaby. “I think these are guns. Rifles. The type that are used by the army.”
Harrison’s eyes flew wide. “Guns?”
Josh looked equally startled. “But…what would Corny want with guns?”
Gibson was frowning. “More to the point, why be so secretive and hide them away?”
Jordan supplied the answer. “These have to be contraband.” He looked at Stokes. “Legal gun trading is done via the government docks, not Tilbury.”
Barnaby said, “Tilbury Dock is primarily used by merchant shipping.” He met Stokes’s gaze. “Almost certainly, these are en route to be smuggled out of the country.”
“Are they made here?” Penelope was still studying the burned-on marks. “Or are they imported and being sold on?”
“An excellent question,” Stokes said.
“Sir,” Walsh called from deeper in the warehouse. “There’s an open crate here and another way in. You might want to take a look.”
They found Walsh and Morgan waiting by the rearmost stack of crates.
Walsh pointed at the wall toward the rear corner of the warehouse. “The rear door’s been forced, then put back to look like it’s still secure.”
“Presumably,” Stokes said, “that’s how Thomas got in.”
“Most likely he came to this stack,” Morgan said. “It’s the closest.” He gestured at the uppermost crate, which was open. “The lid was loose. Lifted right off.”
