Then again, if she’d been nearly sent to the London Tower after having only a sentence of house arrest, she’d be suspicious as well. Little did he know that the reason he wasn’t sent to London Tower was because she had found the forgery. Irony never ceased to amaze her.

“I was locking up the magistrate’s building, maybe seven months ago. I was about to leave when a figure in a dark cloak stopped me and demanded I reopen the doors.” He lifted his hands.

Joan listened with fierce intensity. “And? What did you do?” she asked, forgetting that she was usually a silent member of the interrogation.

“Well, I didn’t wish to lose my life that night, and he carried a wicked-looking knife. It probably would have been better though. Quite a bit of trouble my cooperation has led me to. I let him in, and he took a few documents, then said if I cooperated, I’d be rewarded.” He shrugged. “I’m not above a little reward, you see.”

“I can imagine. Go on,” Morgan intoned. “Was there a name? Can you remember anything distinctive? Perhaps draw his face.”

“I can give you the name. It’s Penderdale.”

Morgan froze.

Joan sucked in breath, then calmed her reaction so as not to give anymore away.

“Penderdale?” Morgan repeated, the word sounding foreign, even though it was so familiar.

Was someone pretending to be him? Framing him? Or was it simply a very unlucky coincidence?

“Aye. That’s what I said.” The man leaned back in his chair, watching them with a speculative glare. “Bloke said he worked for an investigator, so I didn’t think I was doing anything that would be wrong.”

Joan had to remind herself to breathe.

Morgan tapped the table. Joan watched as his body radiated tension. “Then why were you convicted, if you were assisting one of us?”

“I’m not sure. And you can imagine my panic when they sent me to the bloody tower…”

“Yes, well, turns out someone determined you had betrayed them and tried to do away with you before you could tell your tales.”

“I figured. That’s why I told you just now.” He shrugged. “Sorry for scaring you, miss.” He turned to Joan.

“We will see that no harm comes to you, Mr. Brewer.” Morgan stood and nodded. “The officer will see you back to your house, and we will confirm your story.”

“Will I go free when it checks out?” Mr. Brewer asked, lifting his shackled hands.

“We shall see,” Morgan answered, then gestured for Joan to leave the room ahead of him.

It wasn’t till they were in the carriage that Morgan spoke again. “Well, this has been an interesting afternoon.” He released a long sigh. “What I thought would be a confirmation of the story we’d heard from our informant turned into a twisted story of someone using my name.”