“That’s the sum, Paddy.”
“That gives holy Joe and young Micah one hell of a motive. They’re next of kin.”
“They’d have to know about the money, and I’d wager Margot kept that information close to the vest. As to her inheritance, don’t forget the principal reverts to the Allingham estate.”
“Even without it, she’s leaving five thousand pounds for them to pocket.” O’Malley scanned the dates. “Deposits nearly every week. Micah was in the habit of following her around. He might have trailed her to the bank and guessed she had a pile on her.”
“A sharp fellow would know that few shopgirls have bank accounts. But does Micah Miller seem bright to you?”
“Thick as a plank, I’m thinking.”
Tennant tapped on a report. “What do you make of Micah’s alibi for the day of Margot’s murder? Picking up a coil from the ropemakers, walking about, and visiting some unnamed pub?”
“’Tis thin. But it’s got me wondering. . . .”
“About?”
“Remember that bawdy house guide we found under the bed?”
“You think Micah spent the afternoon and a few shillings in questionable company? Why not say so?”
“Old holy Joe would be praying and psalming over the lad all day and night, the poor sod.”
“The coppers in Poplar will point you in the right direction.”
O’Malley nodded. “If Micah has an alibi, we can cross the creature off our list.”
Tennant pulled out his pocket watch. “While you head over to Poplar, I’ll have a conversation with Mister Sidney Allen about these letters to Rawlings.
* * *
Sidney Allen was more wary at his second interview, and the pretense of cooperation had disappeared.
“I told you aught I know about Charlie. You and those Kensington coppers who came around. What is it now?”
Tennant took off his gloves and laid them across his knee. “I have a few questions about Rawlings, Mister Allingham’s manservant.”
Allen stared while Tennant waited. Finally, the publisher said, “Well? What about him?”
“You wrote to Rawlings at his rooming house. About what, sir?”
“Who says so?”
“Is that a denial?”
“It’s a question.”
“Let me repeat mine,” Tennant said. “What did you say to Rawlings in your letter?”
Allen scowled at his desktop. Then he snatched up a pencil and jammed it back into its holder.
“If you must know, Rawlings wrote and asked about a valet’s position. But I don’t employ a bloody manservant. Told him I can pull on my socks and trousers without help, thank you very much.”
“I understood from Miss Allingham that Rawlings acted as a go-between for you and her brother. What exactly were his duties?”
“These valets are arrogant bastards, the lot of them. Rawlings was no different. But I agreed to write a reference for him, and doesn’t the bugger send two lines back. No thanks, he says. He’s come into some money, and he’s emigrating to America.”
Tennant held Allen’s gaze. “That was the extent of your exchange?”
