Now William climbed the stairs to the second level, where Nick’s office was. The man was expecting him, and William hoped he could lead him to Whitney, since he’d helped him before in locating DuBois, who had turned out to be safely behind bars when Harding was killed. Smith was a remarkable source, and William was grateful the man was willing to help him.
William was immediately ushered into Nick’s office by his secretary, a young man who looked as polished as one would expect in this office.
“Good morning, my lord.” Nick stuck out his hand, and they shook.
“Good morning to you as well.” William settled into one of the two comfortable blue-and-white-pinstriped chairs in front of Smith’s desk. “I would prefer it if you called me William. Sometimes my title seems a bit stuffy. Especially in the circumstances in which I find myself, assisting in a murder investigation when I am on the suspect list.”
Nick grinned. “Yes. I imagine that can disrupt a man’s days.” He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the desk. “What can I do for you?” His fingers were slim, nails clean and buffed. He wore two rings, one on each hand. Everything about Nick Smith exhibited grace and polish. It was hard to reconcile this man with his early background.
“I am trying to locate a Mr. Patrick Whitney.”
Smith’s expression did not change. If he knew the man, he was very good at keeping his cards close to his chest. Nothing in his expression or movements revealed his thinking.
“He is one of the people on the list Lady Amy and I have gathered as suspects in the murder of my man of business that I spoke with you about before. It seems he had some ill feelings toward Harding and disappeared around the time his body was found in the River Avon.”
“And you have reason to believe Whitney is implicated in this?”
“Whitney’s stepmother had a trust left to her by her late husband. Harding was the trustee, and Whitney believed Harding was stealing money from the trust.”
Nick blew out a low whistle. “Not well done.”
“Not at all.”
Nick tapped his desk with his fingertip. “I don’t know Whitney personally, but if he has gone into hiding anywhere in Bath, I can roust him out. I will send a message to you when I find him.”
William stood, not wanting to take up any more of the man’s time. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Nick stood also and walked him to the door. He stuck out his hand. “If I can do anything else, just let me know.”
With that behind him, William needed to see Amy and discuss whether the two of them could figure out the code in the ledger. What baffled him was why Harding had kept the names in code. Perhaps he was afraid someone would come across the book and attempt to take over his thriving blackmail business?
Whatever the reason, they needed to get more names to investigate. Mrs. Whitney didn’t seem a plausible murderer. Since her money was tied up in a trust, there would have been no gain for her in getting rid of Harding; the trust would just pass into another trustee’s hands. Of course, hopefully that trustee wouldn’t steal from her.
Miss Gertrude, based on her demeanor and what he had known of her for years, didn’t seem likely to have gotten Harding drunk and tossed him into the river, but she obviously had something dark in her background if she had been paying blackmail money, so she would remain near the top of the list.
Although William did not consider himself an expert in solving murder mysteries, he had read quite a few stories, and Patrick Whitney had possessed motive—revenge for his stepmother—to kill Harding. Granted, not a very strong motive, since doing away with Harding wouldn’t give her the money directly anyway. But his anger at Harding and then his own disappearance around the time Harding had been found moved Patrick Whitney’s name a few positions up the list.
On the other hand, everything inside William screamed to forget the whole thing. Either he or Amy, or both of them, could have been killed the other night. Whoever had shot at them was serious.
Someone now knew what they were up to, unless the culprit hadn’t recognized them and had come only for the book and then shot at them in an effort to stop them from running off with the ledger. It was plausible that the shooter was one of Harding’s victims.
His head had begun to pound with all these thoughts, ideas, and theories running through his mind. He’d also found that his energy had dropped since he’d been shot. Even though he’d suffered only a flesh wound, his body had still suffered a shock, and he had lost some blood.
He decided that luncheon at his club and some socializing would be a good balm. Later he would visit with Amy and see how she was proceeding with unraveling the code.
William handed off his coat and hat to the footman and entered the main room of the club. The place was about half-full. He had started toward the dining room when Mr. Colbert from the book club waved him over. Colbert was seated with Mr. Davidson and the friend Davidson had recently introduced to the club members, Mr. Christopher Rawlings.
William had always liked Colbert and enjoyed the way he kept control of the book club meetings. However, since the man had begun to show interest in William’s mother, he now viewed him differently.
One did not like the idea of a man eyeing one’s mother with such eagerness. It was not done. When William had broached the subject with his mother, she had merely laughed and walked away.
That had concerned him.
“We were about to retire to the dining room for luncheon. Would you care to join us?” Colbert offered a genuine smile, which made William mad, because he truly wanted to dislike the man.
Well, he wanted socializing, so there was no reason to turn down the invitation to join the men. “Yes. That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
The four of them made their way into the dining room, where they were seated at a table close to a window overlooking Queen’s Square. It was a pleasant day. Unfortunately, there was no sun, but the air was cool and crisp, so there were strollers out and about.
Once they ordered their food, Colbert looked away from the server and regarded William. “Have you heard any more about your man’s death?”
William groaned to himself. He had hoped to forget about Harding for the afternoon.
* * *
Frustrated, Amy balled up the paper she was working on and tossed it toward the fireplace to join several others already there. She was a murder mystery author. Why couldn’t she figure out this code Mr. Harding had used?
A slight tap on her door drew her attention, for which she was grateful. She needed to clear her mind, and hopefully this would do it. “Yes?”
Lacey entered. “My lady, Lord Wethington requests your presence. He is in the drawing room.”
“Wonderful!” Amy jumped up and grabbed the ledger and headed downstairs. Right before she reached the staircase, she came to an abrupt halt and turned toward Lacey, the poor girl almost crashing into her. “Is my papa at home?”
“No. He left earlier this morning with your brother for a meeting.”
Amy sighed with relief. At least she needn’t deal with Papa eyeing William as if he were to be served up at the next meal. She’d also been avoiding Papa because of the E. D. Burton predicament. He had been livid at the letter sent from her publisher.
After haranguing her about the problem of her possible exposure as the murder mystery author, he did a complete turnabout and very calmly told her she should put it from her mind and he would deal with it. She hadn’t heard any more about it since then.
Downstairs, William was standing in front of the window that faced the street, his hands behind his back. “Good afternoon,” she said as she joined him.
He turned and offered her a smile. Something in his eyes warmed her insides.
“I came to see how you are doing with the ledger coding.”
“Join me.” Amy walked over to a small sofa on the north wall and sat. William settled alongside her.
“No luck so far. It looks to me like it should
be quite simple, but it eludes me. I’ve been working on this one entry: ‘Rg42UY 74OHEEB9.’ That name appears quite a bit. One thing I did learn from the ledger, however, is that if these are the names of those he was blackmailing, he had three victims. The only one we know for sure is Miss Gertrude.”
“Does having her name help at all in figuring out the code?”
“One would surmise, but that’s not the case.”
He studied her. “The names on the files the police took from us at Harding’s house were probably clients he was stealing from. And that fits, because along with my file, we pulled Lemmon, Montrose, and Mrs. Whitney from those folders, who we know were clients. I can’t imagine he would need a file on someone he was blackmailing. Thus the use of the ledger.”
William took the paper she’d been working on from her hand and scrutinized it. “We know about Miss Gertrude, that it appeared from her file that she started out as a client of Harding’s and then he began to blackmail her. Therefore, with three names in the ledger, that means there are two others who would had a good reason to kill Harding.”
“And until you can find him and speak with him, Patrick Whitney is also on our list.”
William took the ledger from her and flipped through the pages. He let out a low whistle. “This has been going on for some time.”
Amy nodded. “So it seems.” She leaned over his shoulder and looked at the book. “It appears, the way the book is set up, that each person has their own section where Mr. Harding recorded their payments.” She pointed at the ledger. “If you study the entire book, there are a few names in sections where no payments were recorded for some time. I’m thinking they either died or found a way to get out from under Mr. Harding’s clutches.”
William flipped through the book and ran his finger over some of the headings, which appeared on each page as a strange combination of letters and numbers. He shook his head. “Between the two of us, we should be able to figure this out.”
“I’ve tried.” Amy hopped up and walked to the desk in the middle of the room. She opened the center drawer and withdrew several sheets of paper and two pencils, then handed a pencil and a piece of paper to William. “Let’s try again.”
They sat for about fifteen minutes, playing with various letter combinations. Soon her eyes grew wide, and she looked back and forth from the garbled name to what she’d written. She sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I think I have it.”
William looked up from his paper. “Pray tell.”
She opened her mouth to speak just as Stevens entered the room. “My lady, there are two detectives here to see you.”
“What?” She quickly shoved the journal under the settee cushion and turned to William. “Why would they come to my house?”
He shrugged just as Detectives Carson and Marsh entered the room. Carson looked directly at William. “Ah yes, my guess was correct. When your man at the door at your residence said you were not at home, we assumed we would find you here, my lord.”
William’s jaw tightened. “What is it you want this time, Detectives?”
“My goodness, aren’t we on the querulous side today.” Carson waved to the sofa. “Why don’t we all sit.”
The four settled into their seats. Amy placed her hands in her lap, her back stiff as if waiting for a blow. She did not like the look on the detectives’ faces. She glanced over at William, who appeared more annoyed than concerned.
Carson looked at William. “My lord, we have reason to believe you are solely responsible for the purposeful drowning of Mr. James Harding.”
CHAPTER 19
William was more shocked by the detective’s words than he’d been when he found himself shot in the arm the other night. However, years of handling difficult business matters and maneuvering through the treacherous maze of polite society had served him well. He took a deep breath and looked the detective in the eye. “Am I being charged with something, Detective?”
“Maybe.” Detective Carson remained silent after that one word. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the long clock in the corner. It was as if all the occupants in the room were holding their collective breath.
William had always dealt with business matters by remaining silent. He remained silent. He felt he was doing a good job of hiding the shock he’d just received, which was twisting his stomach and making his heart pound. Although he’d known in the back of his mind that the detectives would love to involve him in the murder for various reasons, he had never thought it would get this close.
Detective Carson placed a folder on the small table in front of them. William immediately recognized it as the file they’d seen in Harding’s library before the police arrived and confiscated it.
William, Viscount Wethington (St. John).
The man opened the folder and looked at the top page and then over to William. “You and Harding were involved in some pretty shady deals, my lord.”
The shocks continued. “What?” William stood, his hands fisted at his side. “I have never involved myself in anything shady in my life.”
Carson continued to stare at him. Then he tapped on the open file. “Not according to this.” He flipped the cover of the folder back. “It says right here, ‘William, Viscount Wethington (St. John).’ Is that you?”
William’s eyes flashed. “I will not play games, Detective. You know very well that is me. However, regardless of what it says in that file”—he nodded toward the folder sitting on the table—“I have no idea what you are talking about with regard to shady deals.”
The detective picked up a shaft of papers and flipped through them. “Fraud, embezzlement, stock manipulation …”
This visit had turned into a nightmare. William had only just begun to suspect that Harding was playing fast and loose with his business matters, but this! The man must have been dealing in dirty business almost from the time he’d employed him.
William reached out. “I want to see those papers, Detective.”
For reasons unknown, the man handed him the file. William looked through the documents, his rage growing and his stomach sinking as he read. Harding had forged William’s signature on a number of contracts that he knew nothing about.
“I don’t care what those papers say, I am completely unaware of any of these dealings. My signature on the documents is a forgery.”
“I take it that is your official story?” Carson leaned back in the chair and studied William as if he were a bug under a glass.
“It is no story, Detective. It is the truth. I have never done anything illegal in my life.” The sweat began to form on his body, and he hoped it would not reach his face, which would only give the detective reason to believe he was lying.
William turned to Amy sitting next to him, needing to cling to a lifeline. “You believe me, don’t you, Amy? You know I would never do anything illegal?”
The panic grew as she hesitated and just looked at him. Surely she would know the truth about him.
* * *
Amy studied William and saw the man she’d known for years, whom she’d grown close to over the past year. He was smart, polite, caring, and the most upstanding man she knew, aside from her own papa and brother. In those few seconds while William waited for her answer, she realized she believed him with her whole heart. She trusted him, and aside from a few illegal break-ins—necessary to their investigations, of course—he would never do anything criminal.
She reached out and took his hand, despite the idiot detectives grinning at each other. “Of course I believe you, William. I trust you and would trust you with my life. I know you well. You would never do those things.”
Carson looked at them with disgust. “That’s all very nice and cozy, but we still believe these papers are solid evidence that you and Harding were involved in nefarious activities. Together. Then the man turns up floating in the river. Leads me to believe you didn’t want to continue to share your gains anymore.”
Wi
lliam fisted his hands at his side. “No gains, Detective, because I was not aware of this.”
“So you say.”
William tried assiduously to control his temper. Lashing out at the detectives would not serve his cause. “I will ask once more, sir, am I being charged with something? If that is the case, then I demand a barrister be present to represent me if the questions continue. If not, I then ask you to leave. Lady Amy has nothing to do with this, and I strenuously object to you coming to her house and involving her.”
“My, my. Aren’t we protective?” Carson stood, apparently tired of William hovering above him. “I disagree, my lord. Lady Amy was found at your side when you identified Mr. Harding’s dead body and when you—illegally I might add—broke into the man’s home in search of your file. Like it or not, she is involved, or rather, she has involved herself.”
The detective bent over the table and gathered the papers and shoved them into the folder. “There are further questions. Many of them. At this point I suggest you retain a barrister and report to the police station at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Marsh flipped his notebook closed and stood. The two men lumbered from the room. Amy wrapped her arms around her middle, sick to her stomach. “What are you going to do, William?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sat alongside her, his hands dangling between his spread knees. “I am going to do exactly as Detective Carson said. I shall spend the rest of this day retaining a barrister.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe this.”
“Do you know what else this means?” Amy asked.
“What? Don’t tell me things could get worse.”
“Probably, but now that the detectives have you at the very top of their list, they’re going to do to you what they did with me last year when St. Vincent was killed. They’re going to spend all their time and resources attempting to find you guilty rather than looking at other suspects. It is up to us to find the killer first.”
The Sign of Death Page 15
