Agatha sent Juliette a half-panicked look. “I have never been here. Are the letters provided by the solicitor and the accountant insufficient?”

The banker paused. “I do apologize, but we’ve had a recent spate of impostors coming in with papers that appear to be in order but which are in fact forgeries.” He held open the door, as if to unceremoniously usher them out.

“I can assure you,” Juliette said, “this is Miss Agatha Montgomery, daughter of the late Mr. Garfield Montgomery.” She was indignant on behalf of Agatha, who would no more forge documents than dance down Rotten Row in her shift.

“And you are …” Again, the stare over the half-moon glasses.

“I am Lady Juliette Thorndike, daughter of the Earl of Thorndike.”

His brows rose, but he shook his head. “Anyone can say she is anything. Do you have any connections inside the bank?”

You can say you are a Mr. Nighly, banker here, but how do I know you are not an impostor?

“I have no idea how to answer you. What is it you suggest Miss Montgomery do? She has provided documents, and she has the key to her father’s vault. Whom do you suggest she bring with her to prove her bona fides?”

“You have the key, you say?”

Agatha showed him the key, which was stamped with a number and the insignia of the bank.

Mr. Nighly’s shoulders relaxed. “Wonderful. If you have the key, that and the papers are enough to establish your identity. If you will come with me?”

They were led down another maze of long corridors with doors on both sides, doors with frosted glass and gold-and-black-lettered names. Mr. Nighly stopped before one labeled Sir David Button. “I am in charge of new accounts and security boxes, but Sir David is the member in charge of unlocking boxes for existing customers.”

Agatha and Juliette shared a look. These men had such specific duties that did not overlap?

They entered an anteroom occupied by a narrow-nosed secretary with prominent front teeth barely obscured by a rather weedy moustache. “Yes?”

“Miss Montgomery to see Sir David about her father’s assets here in the bank.”

The secretary leaned over to check a ledger. “I do not have you down on Sir David’s appointment schedule. He is a very busy man, you know.”

Nighly flinched. “This is the daughter of Mr. Garfield Montgomery, and I am certain Sir David will make room in his schedule to see her. Is he with a client now?”

“No, but—”

“This way.” Mr. Nighly brushed by the secretary and opened the door to the inner office.

The palatial room, with rich woods, thick carpets, and bright brasses, smelled of beeswax polish and leather. High windows made the area feel spacious, and a pair of potted palms anchored the corners. Sir David, a gray-haired man with an impressively patterned waistcoat, bent down the corner of his newspaper to peer over the headlines.