'"I know," I said. "I can only think that it was stamped with a duplicate number, so that if it was removed, then there would be no gap. That would mean that someone deliberately made out a fake bill, then removed it. And not me, either."
'"Why not you?"
'"Because I wouldn't have paid it myself, would I? I would have made up a bill, got hold of the stamp and numbered it with a duplicate number, and then slipped it into someone else's pile for payment. At the end of the day, after the money had been sent out, it would have been easy enough to go to the files, find the bill and remove it. Then gone to the address and picked up the money."
' "That is a convincing explanation, Mr Steptoe," he said. "But it means you are accusing one of the people who work with you in your office."
' "No," I said quickly, because I didn't want to accuse anyone. "Lots of people come in and out all day."
'"I see." Ravenscliff walked to the window and stared out of it. I was confused, a bit, but I didn't feel as though I should ask. But still, I wondered. This was a rich man, fretting about twenty-five pounds. Look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves, but this seemed stupid.
'And then he told me to go. Didn't say anything more. Just dismissed me like some footman. I decided then and there to prove it. I'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, but he made me mad. I wasn't going to be labelled a thief, not by him and not by anyone. I came home, and talked it over with my dad. He told me I had to try. And we talked to my cousin, another cousin, not the one in Liverpool, who works nights. He talked it over with . . .'
'Does anyone in Newcastle not know about this?' I interrupted.
He looked surprised. 'I didn't tell a soul. Only my family. Of course I told them. They had a right to know. It affects them as much as it does me, you know. To have a thief in the family . . . ? But they stuck with me. Of course I told them.'
'I see. I'm sorry. Go on.'
'Anyway, it was all organised. I'd go in with my uncle and cousin on the night shift and go to the office. It was easy enough to get a key from one of the watchmen, who's a son-in-law of my Aunt Betty. Then I'd settle down and start going through the books, and leave with the shift when it went off in the morning.'
'And?' I prompted.
'And it took ages. I went through every slip of paper, going back months, and then compared those to the shift books, showing who was on duty. Every single one. I couldn't afford to miss anything.'
I nodded. I knew how he felt. I wondered if the Ravenscliffs made a habit of somehow getting total strangers to do their hard work for them. Elizabeth had done the same with me, after all.
'Eventually, I had it. Six payments, of between twenty-one and thirty-four pounds each, none with matching dockets. That told me that whoever was doing this knew how the office worked. Because anything over thirty-five has to be countersigned by the chief clerk. Whoever was doing this knew not to be too greedy.'
'But you didn't find out where the money was going?'
'Not exactly.'
'Not exactly?'
He held up his hand to ask for patience. 'I asked second cousin Henry . . .'
I groaned.
'. . . who also works in the office, to keep a look out, and eventually the chance came along. Henry couldn't take the thing, obviously, but he did copy it out, with the address for payment.'
'Can you remember what the address was?'
'Of course. The one I told Lord Ravenscliff. 15 Newark Street, London, E.'
The house I had seen Jan the Builder going into.
Steptoe had got up, and vanished. He returned a few moments later with an envelope.
I looked at the piece of paper inside. It was a bill, for £27 13s 6d, in respect of miscellaneous goods supplied. Dated 15 January 1909, with a number in the top right-hand corner, which Steptoe explained was the invoice number on the file, and which was duplicated on another, legitimate bill. At the bottom was a note. 'c. pay B ham 3752.' I asked what that was.
'That's another way of tracking money,' he explained. 'This indicates that the money was ultimately to be drawn from a bank account belonging to a different part of the organisation.'
'I see. So this means . . .'
'Cash payment drawn on Bank of Hamburg account no 3752.'
I thought. So this young man had discovered that payments were being made frequently to this bunch of anarchists in London, using a loophole in Ravenscliff's pride and joy, the organisational structure he had set up over the years. It was being done by someone who understood it well, perhaps even better than Ravenscliff did.
'Who was responsible for this? Do you know?'
The young man nodded. 'I do.'
'And you told the company?'
'I did not.'
'Why?'
'Because it's not my job to betray my workmates to the bosses. I was happy to clear my own name, but not at the cost of blackening someone else's.'
