“Quiet,” Dunkeld growled.
“It’s dusty up here.” Flicking out his pocket square, Summerset dabbed beneath his eyes. “Hanford’s housekeeper is slack in her duties.”
Julius blocked out the prattle of his friends, focusing on the lock. The tumbler was being a coy bitch, and Julius had to persuade it to release without its key. He could feel the resistance, but if he applied too much force he would break the lock. A sure sign to Hanford that his security had been breached.
Had Hanford arrived at the club yet? Met with Amanda? If Hanford made her cry, Julius swore he was going to break more than just this lock.
A lever in the tumbler shifted, and his tool slipped, letting it pop back into place. Julius cursed. He was three miles away from Amanda and could do nothing to help ease her fears. He needed to stop worrying about her and focus on his task at hand.
Pushing Amanda from his mind proved impossible. Nevertheless, he managed to open the lock. Putting his tools away, he shook his head, disgusted at the length of time it had taken to open a simple desk drawer. A metal box squatted at the bottom. Julius pulled it out, and faced a small padlock attaching the lid to the base.
Sighing, he drew his tools out again and set to work.
Three clicks of the lock and several minutes later, and Julius was able to open the box.
Sutton stepped up beside him. “What did you find?”
“I don’t know yet.” Julius removed a bundle of correspondence and passed it to his friend. “You take this pile. I’ll start on this end.” Lifting the remaining batch of folded letters, Julius started from the bottom, at the oldest, and began to read.
As he and Sutton discarded the letters they’d read, Dunkeld and Summerset picked them up. When Julius had finished his pile, he placed the last letter down and looked at his friends. A ball of iron settled in his gut.
Summerset stared back at him incredulously. “They’re not just a criminal organization. They’ve insinuated themselves in legal businesses. Big businesses. If we take them down, there will be huge repercussions.”
Dunkeld loosed a bark of laughter. “Hell, I’m on the board of one of their companies. My holdings will take a hit.” He rubbed his jaw. “The effects of this will ripple all throughout society.”
“It’s smart.” Julius rolled his head, trying to ease the stiffness of his neck. “By placing people on the boards of London’s major companies, they know there will be intense pressure to cover this up. How much political will do you think will be behind their prosecutions if it means certain men will lose their fortunes?” He held up a letter. “This is the one that really boils my fucking blood. Hanford and his accomplices are majority stakeholders in the Chesseworth Corporation, the company that owns London’s prisons. Does his anti-reform stance have anything to do with his political beliefs, or was it always about lining his pocket?”
Dunkeld rocked back on his heels. “In addition to the jail fees every prisoner must pay before being freed, Chesseworth gets a stipend from the local magistrate based on a percentage of the prison population. It would do him no good if England went soft on crime.” He tilted his head. “On the other hand, hanging the prisoners would seem to deprive him of a population base. Maybe he is sincere in his belief that capital punishment deters bad behavior.”
“Yes, the ten-year-old who’s had his neck broken can’t ever steal another loaf of bread,” Summerset said. Dunkeld glowered and opened his mouth, but Summerset waved him silent. “But I don’t think you’re remembering that spending bill we passed two years ago. The one put forward by Lord Wallace.”
“There were over three hundred provisions in it.” Resting his hands on his hips, Dunkeld glared at Summerset. “How in the hell am I supposed to—”
“What was in the bill?” Julius glanced at the grandfather clock that stood next to the doorway. The second hand ticked loudly.
Summerset pressed his palms flat on the desk. “Because of Sir Romilly’s speeches in the House of Commons, a push was made for basic prison reform, including providing basic sustenance to those who can’t afford to purchase their own food.”
“So?” Dunkeld asked.
“So, the prison population is counted once a month, with those numbers determining how much the prisons gets paid for each prisoner’s upkeep,” Summerset said. “The count is made the last day of the month, but the count is prospective. Meaning the number of prisoners counted at the end of January determines how much Chesseworth is paid for the month of February.”
A divot appeared in between Dunkeld’s eyebrows. “Why?”
Julius swallowed. “Because the executions typically happen the first of the month.”
Summerset nodded, his nostrils flaring.
“If one thousand people are counted at the end of the month, and the next day one hundred of them are executed, the prison gets paid for the thousand even though they’re only supplying nine hundred people with food and guard.” Julius ran a hand through his hair. It was diabolical. If he ran the numbers, he could calculate exactly how much a human life was worth to these monsters.
Dunkeld crossed his arms over his thick chest. “But the prisons will start to fill up again. There wouldn’t be just those nine hundred for the entire month.”
“No.” Summerset sighed, his face going slack, looking exhausted. “But it could take several days up to half a month before the numbers evened out. It’s enough at the margins to turn a tidy profit.”
Julius pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “We need to copy down names, dates, companies, and get the information to Liverpool. With how deep the tentacles of this crime ring stretch, he might not directly prosecute the members. But I have no doubt with the information here that he’ll find a way to make the bastards slowly disappear.”
“That’s a project I wouldn’t mind lending a hand to,” Dunkeld said, his voice as rough as crushed gravel.
“Before you start busting heads,” Sutton interrupted, “we have a more immediate problem.” He looked up from the letter he’d been studying. “The most recent letter to Hanford, from someone who only signs his name with a zed, mentions Miss Wilcox by name.”
