Glimpses of memory returned of fittings at tailors, Dundas leaning back elegantly and giving instructions, a lift here, an inch in or out there, a little longer in the legs. Yes—that’s right! This cut of shirt is best, Egyptian cotton, that is how to tie a cravat. Smart but vulgar—don’t ever wear one like that! Understated, always understated. A gentleman does not need to draw attention to himself. Discreet but expensive. Quality tells in the long run.

Monk found himself smiling, against his will, a lump in his throat so high and hard it stopped him from swallowing.

The legacy was still with him; he spent too much on clothes even now.

What had happened to the money?

What had Mrs. Dundas bequeathed at the time of her death?

That too was easily discovered when he found her will: very little indeed. The annuity died with her. The house was worth a small amount, but some of that went to settle outstanding debts. She had lived to the meager limits of her income.

If he had been Dundas’s executor, had he disposed of the money somehow? Where? To whom? Above all, why? That question beat in his mind at every turn like the scrape of leather on a bleeding blister.

He drank hot coffee and was too tense to eat.

What did it have to do with Baltimore? Perhaps the affairs of Baltimore and Sons would give him some of the answers or lead him to another avenue to follow in his search.

It took him until the next day to find someone both willing and able to discuss the subject with him: Mr. Carborough, who made a study of the finances of such businesses with a view to investment in them for himself.

“Good company,” he said enthusiastically, waving a pencil in the air. “Small, but good. Made a nice profit from the land deals, not excessive, and better, of course, from the railways themselves. Headquarters in London now, I believe. Building another nice line to Derby.”

They were sitting in Carborough’s office overlooking a narrow, busy street down near the docks. The smell of salt drifted up to the half-open window, and the shouts and clangs of traffic, winches and bales being loaded and unloaded.

“What about Dundas and the land fraud?” Monk asked, keeping his voice casual, as if it were of no personal interest to him.