“Would help if Major Eden were more forthcoming. I understand he’s your friend, but I know a liar when I see one.”
“Yes, but about what is he lying? I suspected him of spiriting away a beautiful woman, but he was right when he claimed me to be too romantic. My idea genuinely surprised him.”
“Don’t mean he didn’t spirit away something else. Suppose he helped someone transport goods he shouldn’t? Maybe Mr. Warrilow found out and threatened to expose him.”
I did not like to embrace the possibility, but I knew I had to. Eden was in a good position to be a smuggler—no immediate family to disgrace, no ties to anyone but an uncle and cousins he was not close to. He had enough money to stay in elegant rooms in St. James’s and by his own admission was not worried about cash.
“Eden was surprised about the carbine you found,” I said as we turned down a lane that took us to Wellclose Square. “I would swear he knew nothing about it, which relieves me. I’d hate to believe Eden had become a gun runner. However.” I paused as we entered the square, the church rising in the open space, surrounded by the welcome sight of trees with their autumn foliage. “Laybourne appeared most upset I’d mentioned it. Was terrified.”
“Was he now?” Brewster rubbed his hands. “That’s summut.”
“Have you ever been to High Harrogate?”
Brewster’s brows came together. “Where’s that, then?”
“Yorkshire. The West Riding, I believe.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about it. Never been to Yorkshire. My family came from the Black Country, but a long time ago. I spent most of my youth in London.”
“High Harrogate is a spa town,” I said. “Not as much in fashion as Bath or Tunbridge Wells, but there are hot springs and plenty of visitors. Not that I have ever been either.”
“And why are we discussing a spa town in the West Riding of Yorkshire?”
“That is Laybourne’s destination, or so he claims. It’s a town for retirement and leisure, not for finding work when you’re hard up. Laybourne was very angry when I spoke to him, angry at his surroundings—you say he complained about everything.”
“According to the kitchen staff.”
“Perhaps he is a man used to finer things. Perhaps he was stealing and selling weapons—a lucrative practice, I am certain—and is lying low here until he can collect his money and move to Yorkshire. Perhaps Warrilow discovered what he was up to, taking one of the carbines as proof. But Warrilow was killed before he could show the gun to a customs agent or a magistrate.”
“That would tie things up nice and neat,” Brewster said with approval. “Have your Runner arrest Mr. Laybourne, then.”
“Though I wonder why Warrilow didn’t simply show the gun to the customs agents when they boarded the ship. Apparently he was remonstrating with them.”
“Maybe he tried to show them, and they didn’t believe him.”
“Could be. So he took the carbine home with him and hid it, preparing to tell a magistrate about it in the morning? Laybourne knew this, paid a visit, and killed him?”
I began walking again, heading for the house in which Warrilow had died.
“There’s another possibility, guv. Warrilow maybe kept the gun to see how much cash he could pry out of Laybourne for his silence. But you’re up against Mr. Laybourne going to bed early, dosed with laudanum.”
“Unless he only pretended to drink it. Or, he paid a visit to Warrilow earlier, long before he went to bed, and killed Warrilow then. Perhaps telling Mrs. Beadle when he came downstairs that Warrilow said he’d go early to bed and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Then Mr. Laybourne drinks the laudanum to put himself hard to sleep so he can’t possibly be accused of killing the man.” Brewster rubbed his nose. “A bit far-fetched.”
“We can clear it up easily.” I rapped on the door of Warrilow’s lodgings.
Mrs. Beadle opened it promptly. “Oh, it’s you again, Captain. I’m sorry, love, I’ve let the room and can’t let you search it no more. I need to make a living, you know.”
“I have no intention of disturbing you at all, madam.” I gave her a bow. “I only wanted to ask you—did a Mr. Laybourne visit Mr. Warrilow the night he died?”
“Thin little man with a face like he’d eaten a lemon? Oh, aye, he were here. But much earlier than your Major Eden. I’d say about six o’clock or so.”
“And he spoke to Mr. Warrilow?”
“I suppose so. I sent him up. Came down not long later and went off.”
“Did he mention that Warrilow was going to bed? Or did not wish to be disturbed?”
