Rathbone understood his meaning instantly. “Miss . . .” Then he changed his mind. “I cannot enter a business unless I have a financial opinion upon the books, Mr. Robinson—one that I trust.” He smiled very slightly, hardly more than an easing of his features. “I do not care to consult my usual bankers in this particular matter.”

Squeaky grinned, then nodded slowly, satisfied. He turned and went to a cupboard on the far side of the overcrowded room. Taking a key out of his pocket—although it remained attached to him by a chain—he opened one of the doors. He lifted up a large ledger, relocked the door, and carried the ledger over to the table.

Margaret stepped forward. “I shall require a quiet place to study the figures.” She said it coolly, but Hester knew from the tension in her shoulders and the slightly higher pitch of her voice that she was desperately aware that everything hung on this moment. “Alone, and no interruptions, if you please,” Margaret added. “Then, if it is satisfactory, you can make the arrangements.”

Squeaky regarded her with curiosity. It was perfectly plain that she was nothing he had expected, and he was confused. She did not belong in any preconceived part of his world.

She waited. No one interrupted the silence.

Rathbone moved from one foot to the other. Hester all but held her breath.

“Right,” Squeaky said at last. He offered the ledger for Margaret, who took it with very slightly trembling hands and clasped it to her.

“Through there,” Squeaky said, pointing to a corner of the room where another doorway was partially concealed by a curtain.

“Thank you,” Hester accepted immediately, and to Squeaky’s fairly obvious relief, she and Margaret left him alone with Rathbone.

The next room was small and enclosed. The turning up of the gaslight revealed one square, uncurtained window overlooking rooftops almost indistinguishable against the night sky.

There was one chair and a table on rickety legs. Margaret sat down and opened the ledger, and Hester leaned over her shoulder and read with her. It was written in a very neat crabbed hand, all the figures sloping backward a little.

Even at a glance the profits were plain to see, if the entries were honest. But it was the IOUs they needed. Whatever this proved was immaterial. It was not illegal.

Margaret started to turn the pages more hurriedly, then picked up the whole ledger and held it upside down. Nothing fell out.

“They’re not here!” she said with a note of desperation.

“Give it a few moments more, as if we had read it all,” Hester replied. “Then I’ll go and ask for them. I’ll say you need to get an idea of the future, as well as the past.”

Obediently, Margaret returned her attention to the columns and perfunctorily added them up.