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“We still don’t know who killed Daniel Alberton,” Hester said at last. They had both refrained from saying it all evening, but it could no longer remain a ghost between them.
“No,” he agreed somberly, tightening his arm around her. “Except that it wasn’t Breeland, even indirectly, and it couldn’t have been Shearer. Who does that leave?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “What happened to the other five hundred guns?”
He did not reply for several minutes, walking in silence with his head down.
“Do you think Breeland took them too, and he lied?” she asked.
“Why should he?”
“The money? Perhaps what he paid wasn’t enough?”
“Since there’s no trace of any money at all, there doesn’t seem to be any reason,” he pointed out.
There was no response to make. Again they walked a short distance without speaking. They passed another couple and nodded politely. The woman was young and pretty, the man openly admiring of her. It made Hester feel comfortable and very safe, not from pain or loss, but at least from the agony of disillusion. She gripped Monk’s arm a little more tightly.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said with a smile. “Nothing to do with Daniel Alberton, poor man. I really want to know what happened … and to prove it.”
He gave a little laugh, but he held her equally close.
“I can’t forget the blackmail,” she went on. “I don’t believe its happening at the same time was just coincidence. That’s why he called you in. The blackmailer has never been back! Pirates don’t give up, do they?”
“Alberton’s dead!”
“I know that! But Casbolt isn’t! Why didn’t they pursue it with him? He also gave money and help to Gilmer.”
They crossed the road and reached the pavement on the far side. They were still half a mile from home.
“The ugliest answer to that is that they didn’t give up,” he replied. “We still don’t know what happened to the barge that went down the river, who took it, or what was on it. Certainly something went from Tooley Street; there are five hundred guns not accounted for … the exact amount demanded by the pirates.”
“You think Alberton sold them after all?” she asked very quietly. It was the thought she had been trying to avoid for several days. The tension of the trial had allowed her to; now it could no longer be held away. “Why would he do that? Judith would loathe it.”
“Presumably he never intended her to know … or Casbolt either.”
“But why?” she insisted. “Five hundred guns … what would they be worth?”
“About one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five pounds,” he answered. He had no need to add that that was a small fortune.
“You looked at his company books,” she reminded him. “Could he possibly have needed that much?”
“No. He was doing well. Up and down, of course, but overall it was very profitable.”
“Down? You mean times when no one wanted to buy guns?” she said skeptically.
“They dealt in other things as well, timbers and machinery particularly. But I wasn’t thinking of that. Guns were the main profit makers, but also the only bad loss.” They reached the curb. He hesitated, looked, then crossed. They were close to Fitzroy Street now. “Do you remember the Third China War you said Judith told you about the first night at the Albertons’ home?”
“Over the ship and the French missionary?”
“Not that one, the one after … only last year.”
“What about it?” she asked.
“It seems they sold some guns to the Chinese just before that, and because of the hostilities they were never paid. It wasn’t a large amount, and they made it up within a few months. But that was the only bad deal. He didn’t need to sell to pirates. Trace had paid him thirteen thousand pounds on account for the guns Breeland took, which, of course, will need to be paid back. Breeland says he paid the full price, around twenty-two thousand five hundred pounds. And there’s the ammunition as well, which would be over one thousand four hundred pounds. The profit on all that would be a fortune.” He shook his head a little. “I can’t see why he should feel compelled to sell another one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five pounds’ worth of guns to pirates.”
“Nor can I,” she agreed. “So where are they? And who killed Alberton, and who went down the river? And for that matter, where is Walter Shearer?”
