“Baltimore was turning a very nice profit on this,” she said bitterly after another few moments. “This looks like Alice’s repayments here.” She pointed. “Stopping about the time of Baltimore’s murder. Actually, there are hardly any repayments after that, only this one.”

“Right,” Hester said firmly. “That’s all I need. I’ll go to see Mr. Robinson.” She went straight to the door and, without knocking, back into the room where Rathbone and Squeaky were sitting facing each other in what seemed to be earnest conversation. Squeaky looked excited and anxious, leaning forward so the gaslight threw his seamed face into heavy relief, and Rathbone relaxed back in his chair, half smiling.

They both turned as Hester came in.

“What is it?” Squeaky demanded.

Rathbone frowned, his eyes searching hers.

“It all looks very profitable, Mr. Robinson,” Hester said smoothly. “There is just one matter to sort out.”

“Oh?” Squeaky asked abruptly. “And what’s that, then?”

“There has been almost a complete stop in repayments lately—over the last three weeks, to be exact,” she answered.

“Of course there has!” Squeaky exploded. “Gawd sakes, woman, there’s rozzers on every bleeding footpath! How d’yer think anyone’s going to earn anything? Where are your wits at?”

Rathbone stiffened.

“At wanting to see your paper proof that there are still debts owed,” Hester answered perfectly levelly, avoiding Rathbone’s eyes. “No one wants to buy a business that has nothing coming in on a permanent basis.”

Squeaky shot to his feet. “I have!” he said furiously, jabbing his finger in the air. “I’ve got lots o’ money coming still, but nothing’s forever! What do you think I need a partner for? When these run out, we gotter get more!” He went back to the cupboard where he had found the ledger and pulled the key from his pocket and opened the door. He poked his hand inside and fished around for a few moments, then withdrew it holding a sheaf of papers. He ignored the wide-open door and came back to Hester, holding them out. “There! All debts!” he said, waving them at her.

“So you say,” she agreed, resisting the impulse to snatch at them. “We will add them up, deduct a little for . . . accidents, and come to a figure to present.” She inclined her head at Rathbone, but carefully avoided using his name.

Squeaky still held tight onto the papers.

Hester looked at Rathbone again.

Rathbone pursed his lips and started to stand up.

“All right!” Squeaky thrust the papers at Hester. “But only in that room, mind. They’re worth a lot of money.”

“Of course,” Rathbone agreed. “Or I would not be willing to put my own money into the venture.”