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The door he went to did not display a shingle over it. The solid door absorbed the sound of his raps.

“Enter,” a masculine voice called.

Behind a desk piled high with paper sat a man he could only describe as odd. Keen eyes framed by round spectacles met his. “Mr. Yarnsby, I presume.”

With narrow shoulders, a rather large head, and a squeaky voice, investigator Barnaby Jeffers reminded Alexander of a storybook character. How the man could possibly excel in his line of work was curious.

“I have reviewed your case,” Mr. Jeffers began. “It is quite fascinating.”

“I was told by a mutual acquaintance that you find out things no one else can,” Alex said, looking around the messy space. “I am hopeful.”

The man’s thin lips curved. “It is true. Someone like me is not looked upon as a threat, so I am often ignored. I use it to my advantage.”

“Do you have information already?” Alex asked, his pulse quickening. His father had claimed to be on the brink of something big before dying. Either great or devastating, Alex wasn’t sure. Whatever it was had brought on the series of events leading to his death.

“There is a dress shop on Sackville Street, near St. James Square. It is called Belle Monde.” The man met his gaze. “The proprietors have been asking questions and doing their own investigation into you and your mother. They have approached a bank, demanding the monies within that were allegedly left to them.”

“Who are they?”

Jeffers shook his head. “A brother and sister, Jasper and Bettina d’Arques-Yarnsby. I’ve not been able to substantiate if that is truly their last name. I require more time, Mr. Yarnsby.”

“Of course.” Alex considered for a moment what his next step would be. “Perhaps I should pay them a call.”

“It would hinder my investigation. I will ask that you look into the bank on this note.” He slid a piece of paper across the only clean space on the desktop. “Your father has an account there. The d’Arqueses were able to withdraw some funds, but the banker became suspicious and refused to give them more than the minimal amount.”

“If their name is on the account, why would the banker not release more money?”

Jeffers shrugged. “Because they usually presented notes signed by your father. Now with the lord’s death, the bank is being cautious.”

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to visit either the dress shop or the bank until after the holidays, so he directed the coachman to take him to the coffeeshop he and William often frequented.

As per usual, the interior bustled with activity. It was a common meeting place for many Londoners. It was also a place where one could sit and discuss whatever one wished without having to worry about high society’s ears.

Outside, street vendors called out to passersby, as many women with baskets on their arms stopped to shop for the offerings. It was London at its nosiest, the stark opposite of his normal country life.

“Alexander,” William Torrington called him over to where he sat with Todd Humphries, his wife’s cousin.

He greeted the men and settled into a chair.

“How did your meeting go?” William inquired.

“It seems there is another account.” He handed the note the inspector had given him to Todd.

Todd, an actuary, had been hired by Alex to help solve the puzzle that was his father’s estate. Although a bit younger than both he and William, Todd was astute and already building a reputation for his ability to keep amazingly accurate records.

“Interesting. That makes five,” Todd commented. “Your father had amassed quite a fortune.”

“Why so many banks?” Alex asked. “And why did he not leave any kind of document that would divulge the information?”

Todd met his gaze for a moment. “What is to say that he did not?”

“When his Last Will and Testament was read, all that was disclosed was the townhouse he left for my mother in London, the estate in the country, where I live, and two bank accounts. A specific amount was left to my mother that will allow her to live out her life comfortably. The rest of the estate and his businesses were left to me. There was no mention whatsoever of the other three bank accounts.”

“Or of another family,” Todd added.

“It is all very strange,” William commented. “There was that bit about you taking over his business.”

With a dry chuckle, Alex shook his head. “In an office that consists of a desk and account ledgers, every entry with a code that means nothing to me.”