Page 33 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

The others stared for a second, then recovered and piled out of the door on his heels.

They quickly caught up, even Penelope, holding up her skirts so she could hurry along. It was she who demanded, “What about the money?”

Montague didn’t slow but forced himself to order his thoughts. “If we’re right about the payments being the motive for the murders, then the money is the murderer’s. Now that Lady Halstead is dead, sometime soon her account will be closed—normally Runcorn would have been advised of the death and would have handled it—and the money will be bound over—”

“—and the murderer will lose it.” Penelope went on, “So he has to get it out of the account as soon as he can.”

“And,” Stokes grimly concluded, “if he hasn’t already done so, we have a chance to set up a watch and catch him when he comes for it.”

“Which bank holds the account?” Adair asked, taking Penelope’s arm as they neared the busier thoroughfare of Broad Street.

Montague rarely forgot such details. “Grimshaws in Threadneedle Street.”

Threadneedle Street wasn’t far; there was no sense taking a hackney. This was Montague’s territory; he led the way past the Excise Office and down a narrower street, then they were on Threadneedle Street and the bank was just ahead of them.

“Do you have that letter of authority?” Stokes asked.

Montague patted his top pocket.

“Good,” Stokes growled. “You lead, and I’ll hang back. Let’s not alert anyone to the murder unless we have to.”

Montague nodded, opened the door to the bank, and led the way inside.

His card ensured that his request to see the manager was instantly granted; few working in that square mile of the City did not recognize his name, did not know of his reputation.

The letter of authority from Lady Halstead was duly produced and examined, then the manager called in the clerk of accounts, who quickly produced Lady Halstead’s register.

The manager looked at it, then blinked and somewhat carefully turned it around so Montague could see the entries for himself.

“Ah-hem.” The manager cleared his throat. “It appears, Mr. Montague, that Lady Halstead closed that account this morning, a little over an hour ago.”

His face setting, Montague looked at the figure. “It was withdrawn in cash?”

He glanced up at the clerk, who nodded. “Indeed, sir. I was consulted, of course, but everything seemed in order . . .”

Montague grimaced, then glanced at the manager. “With your permission . . .” He looked at the clerk. “If you could ask the two gentlemen and the lady waiting just outside to join us, I believe you both need to be informed of some recent developments.”

The manager’s eyes widened, but he nodded to the clerk, who went to the door and admitted Stokes, Adair, and Penelope.

The manager and Montague stood. Montague performed the introductions, then, when chairs had been found and all but the clerk were seated, Stokes informed the manager, “I regret to inform you that Lady Halstead was murdered, sometime during the night two nights ago.” He shifted his gaze to the clerk. “We believe that the money in her ladyship’s account with this bank is a large part of the reason she was killed. I must therefore ask who withdrew the money, and what form of authority they presented to you to be able to do so.”

At a curt nod from the manager, the clerk cleared his throat. “The money was withdrawn by a lady—because of the amount, I was summoned and attended to her myself.”

“Please describe her,” Stokes said.

The clerk hesitated, then said, “She was of average height, neither fat nor thin, but as to her face, she was wearing a hat with a fine veil. I could see her face, but not clearly.”

“What color was her hair?” Penelope asked.

“Brown—not dark.” The clerk’s gaze had risen to Penelope’s lustrous locks. “More a mid-brown. Ordinary brown.”

“And,” Penelope continued, “how old would you say this lady was?”

The clerk clearly thought back, then wiggled his head. “Not old—not middle-aged. But she wasn’t a young lady, either.”

“Lady.” Penelope arched a brow. “Why did you think she was a lady?”

“Well, she was well dressed and well spoken, ma’am. Easy to deal with and . . . well, confident, if you know what I mean.”