A Presumption of Guilt

By Allan McCarville

It’s 1852...
A man driven by the thirst for revenge. His goal – destroy the Kane family.
After a 15-year absence, Geraldine Kane is returning to the family estate in Upper Canada to claim her inheritance.
Her father, Henry Kane, had passed away; her mother murdered. Her mother’s killer had been apprehended, tried and sentenced to hang. The convicted murderer was the estate’s 11-year-old stable boy.
George Tweel had studied to be a lawyer, but chose to pursue justice instead. He’s discovered that legal and justice are not the same thing. Hired to find those responsible for a series of robberies from supposedly “burglar proof safes”, he found something unexpected.
Separate lives, but all linked by the ripple effect of old man Kane’s extra-marital affair over a decade earlier.
Lives will be lost, and the lives of the survivors will be changed forever.
And it’s not just the guilty who suffer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan McCarville
• Release date: Jun 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777417840

Allan McCarville

Allan McCarville is an author and researcher who has a number of titles published in the genres of fantasy, crime thrillers and historical fiction. He and his family reside in Stittsville, Ontario where he does his best to make people think that he's normal. Apparently it's not working.

Book preview

Maple Grove, Kane Family Estate

Hemlock Mills, Canada West

Henry Kane knew he was dying, though he was no longer bitter about his impending fate, having finally accepted what the doctors had told him. His enemies, no doubt, would be overjoyed.

It was January 1852 and Kane had just celebrated what would be his final New Year.

Kane did not fear death. If anything, he was disappointed rather than afraid; he was sixty-two years old and had fully expected to beat the odds and live for another decade or two.

He adjusted the flame in the oil lamp on his desk, then dipped the pen into the ink bottle as he carefully considered the words he was about to commit to paper. Lives would be affected by what he penned.

He was distracted from his thoughts when wind-driven snow and sleet rattled against the windowpanes. He turned his attention outside, but the reflection of the flame from the oil lamp made it difficult to see into the darkness beyond. However, he didn’t need to see outside to know what was there.

He could picture the broad snow-covered lawn that sloped east, away from the large Georgian-style house perched on a small hill overlooking the Trout River. The house dominated the centre of four acres of cleared land, with a tree lined lane leading from the road bordering the east side of the property. The road led to the small but prosperous town of Hemlock Mills, a short ten-minute ride south-east of the estate.

The Kane family actually owned far more than the four-acre lot on which the manor was situated. Kane was one of the wealthiest men in the Hemlock Mills Township, having amassed a significant fortune in lumber and farming. Between woodland, pasture, and fields of crops, the family holdings amounted to a little more than 800 acres.

Kane sighed forlornly; his riches were of little use to him now.

Are you sure about this? Kane asked the woman seated in an armchair by the fireplace, his pen poised above the paper.

Hilda Kane looked up from the book she was reading and nodded, albeit reluctantly. We really have no choice, Henry.

Kane thoughtfully regarded his wife of thirty years. In all that time, he had been faithful to his vows – except for one time twelve years ago. It was that one-time indiscretion that led to the necessity of these letters.

That weekend, while Hilda was away in Toronto, he had consumed too much wine and, in a drunken stupor, had bedded a young woman named Sarah Dickenson, one of the chambermaids.

That drunken liaison had resulted in the girl becoming pregnant, something that would have ruined his reputation if it had become known.

Kane had been an active politician at the time and had been campaigning for re-election for a second term in the Upper Canada Legislature. If it became known that he had an affair, even if it was only a brief fling, it would have spelled the end of both his political career and his marriage.

He had secretly arranged for the woman to have her child in Toronto, attended to by a midwife who knew how to be discrete. Kane had no idea where the woman and her child were now; he didn’t know if the child had been a boy or a girl or was even still alive.

Despite his efforts to cover up his transgression, his wife had nevertheless found out. She did forgive him – eventually. Kane was certain Hilda’s decision to avoid a public scandal was more to protect their daughter, Geraldine, than any concern about his reputation.

The family had enough to worry about.

At least he had managed to keep his indiscretion secret from his enemies, those opposed to his ideas and wanted him out of the legislature; enemies who were still out there.

In the end it made little difference; his failing health had forced him to resign from office.

Another coughing fit seized him, and he pulled his shawl tighter around his shoulders as he coughed into his handkerchief. He sighed in resignation looking at the blood speckled cloth, evidence that the consumption had not lessened despite the medicine his doctor had given him.

Hilda regarded him with concern. Is it worse? she asked.

Kane shook his head. Nay, but it’s no better either, he admitted.

Hilda set her book aside and got out of the chair to stand next to her husband. She still loved him, although there was a period of time when that love had morphed to hatred because of his betrayal. She had forgiven him, but sometimes a residual hurt would still catch her by surprise.

Did that agent you hired, Bartlett is it, have any success? she asked him.

No, replied Kane. "He lost the trail in Toronto. It was almost twelve years ago after all."

Kane had hired an agent to search for the woman and child. He had abandoned both of them, but now that he was dying, he regretted it. He smiled cynically as he contemplated on how an imminent appointment with one’s Maker almost inevitably prompted one to cleanse their soul.

Once our solicitors receive that letter, said Hilda inclining her head towards the papers on the desk, they’ll conduct their own search. Perhaps they will have better success.

Hilda would inherit the bulk of the estate when he passed. However, fifty acres of wood and cleared land adjacent to the estate, along with 500 pounds would go to Sarah Dickenson and the child.

If they could be found. If they were alive.

Hilda was supportive of that provision, which would surprise many. She did not blame Sarah Dickenson for what had happened, at least not entirely. Furthermore, she knew more about Sarah and her child than her husband.

Kane almost chuckled out loud as he envisaged the expression on the faces of his solicitors when they read the letter advising them about the potential existence of another heir. That would cause quite the stir in the stuffy offices of Slate and Tweel.

Then his features resumed his grim expression. You know, when word reaches Geraldine, she may very well decide to return home, stated Kane. That possibility caused him more concern than his approaching demise.

Hilda Kane sighed unhappily. I know. It worries me too, she confessed.

Geraldine Kane had just turned twenty-one and had been living with Kane’s relatives in Oxford, England, since she was thirteen. Henry and Hilda had made the arrangement to get Geraldine out of the country. They had told her that sending her abroad was to ensure she received a proper education but had also secretly hoped that some of the sophistication of the European branch of the family would rub off on their daughter. Geraldine was a beautiful young woman, but she was headstrong and independent, characteristics that tended to scare off suitors.

However, those were not the real reasons.

They had to get their daughter out of the country for her safety.

While the Act of Union over a decade earlier had united Upper and Lower Canada into the Province of Canada, it had not been a smooth transition. There were factions from both the former provinces who were distrustful of each other, the seeds of discontent that had triggered the 1837 rebellion still lurked beneath the surface.

Kane had supported the unification and had worked tirelessly to build bridges between the antagonists. His efforts at conciliation had earned him the respect of many, albeit sometimes begrudgingly. However, it also garnered him a few enemies.

There had even been an attempt on his life, one that failed only because the pistol misfired. He never saw his would-be assassin. The masked man had eluded capture and was still out there. So, young Geraldine ended up in Oxford. Kane wanted his wife to go as well, but Hilda had refused to leave him, despite his betrayal.

Kane looked at the blank paper and started to write. The secret he and Hilda had kept for over a decade was about to be revealed.

He finished the letter, read it over, then signed his name. He folded it, applied sealing wax, then imprinted the family insignia into the wax using the stamp designed for that purpose. He set the letter aside, then after a slight pause started to compose the second letter.

This was the letter to their daughter. Kane and his wife had agreed that the right thing to do would be to write to the young woman directly, informing her about his affair that there was a possibility she might have a sibling. He and Hilda had discussed just how much to tell their daughter but, in the end, agreed Geraldine needed to know the true reason for her exile to Oxford, and urge her to remain in England.

If she returned, her life would still be in danger.

Again, Kane smiled cynically to himself; in all likelihood he would be dead by the time the letter reached England. He signed and sealed this letter as he had done with the first one. In the morning, one of the servants would ride into town with the letters.

He had no control over how those letters would be received or how they would affect the lives of others. He had taken the steps necessary to correct an error, a lack of judgement that he had made years earlier.

Now he could die with a clear conscience.

Chapter 2 – Henry Kane was dead

Hemlock Mills, Canada West

Henry Kane was dead.

The news of Kane’s passing upset Brett Johnson. He was not saddened; he truly wanted Kane dead. However, he wanted Kane to die by his hands, not because of some illness. He felt cheated, the opportunity for revenge snatched away. Years of planning was all for naught.

Johnson was in his late thirties, broad shouldered and tall, just over six feet in height. His black, neatly trimmed beard that matched his hair framed an angular face that women would think was handsome. Outwardly good looking, his thin unsmiling lips and dark brooding eyes were the only signs that a man capable of ruthless acts of violence lay hidden beneath that calm exterior.

It had taken him almost three years to establish himself as a reputable businessman in Hemlock Mills, although no one in the town knew how he made his money. No one knew he was the owner of one the small town’s three dry good mercantiles, although he seldom entered its premises. He had hired others to look after the store. That enterprise merely provided him with a convenient location where the man he had working inside the Kane estate could pass along information.

Neither did anyone know that his main source of income had nothing to do with the shop. His most lucrative undertaking was arranging for the disposition of stolen goods, a venture at which he was very successful. He had access to several resetters, men who were skilled in the art of melting down gold and silver and resetting stolen jewels into reforged rings and pendants.

His wealth was also due to the proceeds from the theft of money and jewels from the increasingly popular fireproof safes that were replacing the more traditional strong boxes. These safes were heavy, made of iron but lined with stone or cement and needed a special type of key to open, making it almost impossible for anyone to pick the lock.

His Toronto based partner, Robert Palmer, provided Johnson with inside knowledge about who had purchased the safes, but also knew what was in them and he always had a copy of the safe’s key which eliminated the need to pick the lock. Like himself, Palmer wanted to get his hands on the Kane fortune. However, whereas Palmer was driven by greed, Johnson was driven by hate and the desire for vengeance.

Johnson seethed with anger as he paced the parlour of his small house, hands clasped behind his back. The heat of the fireplace was nothing compared to the burning rage inside him. He was determined to exact his revenge no matter what. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

A few more minutes of frenetic pacing and he succeeded in convincing himself that all was not lost. Killing Henry Kane was only one part of his plan for revenge. Old Henry still had family. He had been denied Kane, but the old man’s wife and daughter were still accessible. He would destroy them; his only regret being that Kane would not be able to witness their demise.

Johnson walked over to the sideboard, grabbed the decanter, and poured two fingers worth of whiskey into a glass. He picked up the tumbler and studied the amber coloured liquid. Aside from the unwanted early death of Henry Kane, the remainder of his plan was progressing very well. The ultimate revenge, gaining control of the Kane fortune, including the Manor, was still within his grasp.

That’s what he had to focus on. He would continue to pursue his goal with a fanaticism born of hatred.

Chapter 3 – Willy Noble clutched the knife

Toronto, Canada West

Willy Noble clutched the knife tightly as he crept silently through the darkened house.

He paused when he reached the library, placed his ear against the door and listened intently for any sounds that would suggest someone was on the other side.

Nothing. The only sound he heard was that of his own breathing.

Noble sheathed the knife, thankful that he would not have to use it. He was a professional thief, a burglar; but he wouldn’t hesitate to kill if necessary. He preferred not to; dead bodies tended to raise the profile of a burglary, agitate the locals and excite the constabulary. The constabulary would not always enthusiastically investigate a robbery, but a murder was another matter.

He grasped the door lever, turned it, and pushed gently against the door. It opened without a sound. Noble smiled, silently thanking the servants who routinely oiled the hinges, thus unknowingly making it easier for him to enter and leave quietly.

He stepped into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He made his way slowly across the room, hands out in front of him like a blind man feeling his way in the dark. His hands encountered fabric and he knew he had reached one of the windows. He gripped the cloth and cautiously pulled the drapes aside allowing moonlight to filter into the room.

There was now enough light for him to discern the layout of the library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves adorned one wall while a credenza sat across on the opposite wall. A large desk occupied the centre of the room.

He moved back across the room to the credenza. He reached into his pocket and extracted a small canvas pouch that contained his lock picking locks and a large key for the safe.

He flinched instinctively when a mantle clock above the fireplace struck three. It was later than he thought but he didn’t panic, he still had a good half-hour before the first of the household staff would be up to light the fireplaces and begin the morning routine.

Noble took the key and bent down on one knee to open the right-hand cabinet door.

It was there, a safe, right where Johnson had said it would. How Johnson knew, and how the man seemed to know what was in the safes didn’t concern him. His interest lay in the money he would make.

Many of the wealthier citizens of Toronto had started to purchase the heavy boxes in which to keep their valuables. He knew from experience they were difficult to pick so breaking into one was best accomplished with the safe’s key.

Using the key he had been given, Noble unlocked the safe and quickly emptied its contents, leaving behind only documents. He never took any documents unless Johnson specifically ordered him to. Today he only took gold sovereigns, jewelry, and some pound notes.

Noble finished emptying the safe. He could tell by the amount of gold that tonight’s venture was going to be profitable. Early into the New Year, the family had extra gold and cash on hand to dole out to the servants as bonuses.

No bonuses this year lads and lassies, chuckled Noble silently.

He relocked the safe. By the time the theft was discovered, he would be in Kingston.

***

Red Stag Tavern

Kingston, Canada West

Johnson sat at a table that allowed him to watch the door as he warmed himself by the fire, sipping his ale. Johnson was a regular patron of the Red Stag Tavern; nevertheless, no one knew his name, and no one bothered to ask. Asking such a question at the Red Stag could have fatal consequences. That’s why he often used this tavern for his business transactions; no one ever asked questions about what he did or who he met with.

Although the Red Stag was his place of business, his place of residence remained the modest house situated in the township of Hemlock Mills, located about twenty-five miles northeast of Kingston. He liked to keep his personal and business affairs separate to the extent possible. He considered the dry goods store he secretly owned as a source of information rather than a business.

Business had been very good during the last few months of 1851, and he was betting that 1852 would be even better.

The door to the tavern opened and Willy Noble, with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, entered, followed by a blast of cold January air.

Johnson tugged his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and noted it was almost noon. Noble, as always, was punctual. Noble was of medium height and husky which made him appear more muscular than he really was. With a full black beard and a face that sported a diagonal scar from his right ear to the corner of his mouth, Willy Noble was a terrifying figure.

Johnson feared few men, but Willy Noble was one of those few. He was generally apprehensive around the mean-tempered and unpredictable Noble. That’s why he always carried a loaded pistol hidden under his coat whenever he met with him.

Noble approached and dumped the bag onto the table in front of Johnson.

Is it all there? asked Johnson moving the bag off the table onto the floor by his feet.

Yes, replied Noble.

Noble knew he could not lie to this man who always seemed to know exactly what was contained in the safes in the houses he broke into.

The man reached into the bag and took out five gold sovereigns and passed them over to Noble.

Here’s a few extra coins for your troubles, Noble, said Johnson.

Thanks, guv’, acknowledged Noble sweeping the coins into the pocket of his coat. Have another job for me? he asked.

Johnson sipped his ale. We’re expanding our operations to include houses and businesses in Hemlock Mills, he explained. I have someone new I’m going to use for jobs there.

Noble frowned at this information. You’re bringing someone else in? It was more of an accusation than a question. Is he trustworthy?

Johnson knew that Noble was really more concerned about whether the expansion would result in fewer opportunities for him to line his pockets than anything to do with trusting someone new.

Of course, Johnson answered, I anticipate that this year will be as profitable as last year if not more so. He then smiled and added, Don’t worry, Willy. A couple of more years and you’ll be able to retire a proper gentleman.

Willy returned the smile, but it lacked any warmth. Well, perhaps I’ll be a man of means but I doubt I’ll ever be a gentleman. Noble nodded. Then I’ll be off, sir.

Johnson watched as Noble left the tavern. He would wait and finish his ale before he, too, took his leave. He wasn’t really worried about anyone recognizing him. He was positive that none of the good citizens of Hemlock Mills would ever dare set foot in a place like the Red Stag. Nevertheless, it paid to be cautious.

He had already decided on the next target. The recently widowed Hilda Kane, well-known and respected in Hemlock Mills, had a collection of jewelry that would even make the Royal Family envious. The Kane manor, called Maple Grove, located three miles outside of the Hemlock Mills’ northern boundaries was a perfect target. Another step in the process of revenge against the Kanes.

His newly acquired young accomplice was anxious to make some money. Johnson didn’t know the young man well but was willing to give the lad a shot. It was definitely advantageous to have an accomplice in Hemlock Mills who worked part-time at the Kane estate.

Yes, 1852 promised to be a very lucrative year indeed.

Chapter 4 – The man was angry and frustrated

Queen’s Arms Hotel

Toronto, Canada West

The man was angry and frustrated. Angry because of the thefts, frustrated because no one seemed to care.

James Townsend, an American, was in his late forties; a little on the heavy side because these days he spent more time behind a desk than walking the floor of his factory. His black hair and whiskers were streaked with grey, and his steel blue eyes reflected both intelligence and ruthlessness.

One didn’t become one of the most successful safe manufacturers in the country by being nice.

Townsend owned the Iron Works Safe Company in Rochester, New York, a company that manufactured fireproof safes that were becoming more and more popular, replacing the traditional strong boxes for keeping valuables.

He was angry because in the past eighteen months, over a dozen of his company’s safes had been burglarized. For a company that advertised their safes as burglar proof, the thefts were galling. The thefts had prompted him to leave Rochester where his factory was located and travel to Toronto in Canada West.

He was frustrated because the Toronto Police didn’t seem to believe his hypothesis that the thefts were not random acts. Only three of the burglaries had occurred in Toronto, and they weren’t convinced that the thefts were linked. Three robberies in eighteen months did not suggest a major crime spree. The other thefts were outside of their jurisdiction and hence were of no concern to them. Their lack of action had prompted him to hire George Tweel, and information agent, to investigate the string of robberies that plagued his company.

Unimaginative buffoons! snarled Townsend glaring at George Tweel. They’re more concerned about making sure no Irish Catholics get hired on as constables than solving crimes.

George Tweel merely nodded in sympathy but offered no comment. The Orange Lodge controlled both Toronto’s city council and the police force which meant that decisions often had an anti-Irish or anti-French bias that politically influenced policing.

Nevertheless, Tweel knew most of the police officers were relatively competent and were dedicated to their jobs, doing their best despite the bigotry in the hierarchy.

He doubted Townsend was in the mood to hear that, so he waited until the man dropped into the armchair across from him, his tirade finished.

Townsend had complained to the police, but they didn’t seem to be interested. Burglaries occurred all the time and since only three took place in Toronto during the past eighteen months they didn’t see the thefts as anything out of the ordinary. They would look into it, they had said, but Townsend wasn’t convinced the Toronto constabulary considered the thefts a priority.

Townsend took a drag on the black cigar he was smoking and blew a stream of smoke into the air above their heads.

Tweel waited a moment until it seemed that Townsend had settled down then turned his attention back to the paper that Townsend had provided him listing the locations where the robberies had occurred.

Tell me, said Tweel looking up from the papers in his hand, can these locks on your safes be picked?

Almost impossible! declared Townsend as if the mere suggestion was an insult.

It’s been my experience, Tweel continued evenly, That just about any lock can be picked.

Townsend expelled another stream of cigar smoke and Tweel mentally prepared himself for another tirade. Instead, Townsend’s shoulders slumped as he unwillingly found himself having to agree with the young man sitting across from him.

You’re right, he admitted reluctantly. However, our safes are virtually tamper proof. I mean, you can use powder to blow the safe open but that’s not practical.

Why do you say your safes can’t be picked? insisted Tweel.

Two main reasons, Townsend informed him. First, the locking mechanism is constructed from a heavier steel than most safes, and most locksmiths don’t have the type of picks required to work on the mechanism. The other is that there are four sets of tumblers, instead of two or three. The time it would take to align the tumblers with a lock pick makes it impractical for a burglar who wants to get in and out quickly.

Difficult but not impossible, Tweel thought to himself as he studied the list of burglarized safes looking for any identifiable pattern. What Tweel did note was that all the thefts occurred in private residences.

These are all private homes, he said to Townsend. Don’t you provide safes to business enterprises?

Of course, responded Townsend. However, so far the thieves have only targeted private residences.

That’s significant, mused Tweel silently. Are you aware of any of your safes in the United States being burglarized? he inquired.

No, answered Townsend. All the thefts have occurred in this country.

He scanned the list once again, still trying to see if a pattern jumped out at him. He didn’t see any, but he hoped once he had time to study the list, he might find one.

This list of residences is in alphabetical order, he observed.

Yes, answered Townsend as he passed several more documents over to Tweel. This is a corresponding list of what’s been stolen out of each home.

Tweel took the documents and scanned them quickly, noting that in each case it was money and jewellery that had been taken. No documents? he asked puzzled.

Townsend shook his head. No. Any documents that were in the safes were left alone.

Tweel figured the thieves were interested in quick cash. Is there a master key for your safes? he asked.

Again, Townsend shook his head. No. Each safe that’s manufactured is made with two keys. One key is kept at our manufacturing facility, the other is sent along with the safe to the customer.

What happens if a customer loses the key? he asked.

Each safe has a serial number, replied Townsend. The serial number is stamped on the key we have at our facility. We look at the number, find the key and make another one.

What if a key goes missing during shipping? Tweel was curious to know.

Same thing, answered Townsend. However, it’s never happened in the ten years we’ve been in business.

How do you ship the safes? asked Tweel.

We have our own teams and drivers. Our factory is near the docks, so we haul the safes to the dock where they’re taken by steamer to Toronto, explained Townsend. We also ship to other cities in New York as well as to Ohio and Pennsylvania. For those we hire a haulage company.

Do you always use the same company?

Yes, answered Townsend.

So, drawled Tweel as he tried to picture the process, You get an order for a safe then your haulage company brings it to the customer up here.

Not quite, said Townsend. Our business in Canada has increased to the point where we established a small warehouse in Toronto. Any orders for the Province of Canada are handled out of there.

Tweel stood and held out his hand to Townsend. Very well, Mr. Townsend, he said. I’ll look into this for you. How long are you going to be in Toronto?

For another week, answered Townsend shanking Tweel’s hand. However, I’ll be back next month.

I’m leaving for Kingston tomorrow, Tweel informed Townsend. But I’ll work on this and should have some information for you when you are back in Toronto.

Tweel watched Townsend leave then sat back down, the odour of Townsend’s cigar still lingering in the air. He studied the list of burglarized homes once again, wondering why only residences were targeted, and why these particular residences?

While he was certain that any lock could be picked, he had to agree that with a four tumbler lock the time it would take to align the tumblers with lock picking tools would be lengthy.

Whoever was breaking into the safes had to have a key. The question he had was did the thief have his own key or did he use the owner’s key?

Tomorrow he was leaving for Kingston; his uncle wanted to hire him to locate a woman and child. Tomorrow was Wednesday the 28th of January. If all went well, the coach should have him in Kingston by Saturday.

He toyed with the idea of using his own coach but decided to rely on a commercial carrier instead. Grayson would undoubtedly be annoyed with him for that but Tweel had other plans for Grayson.

He looked at the list again; it was time for Grayson to make some house calls.

Chapter 5 – Can you find

Slate and Tweel, Solicitors

Kingston, Canada West

"Can you find the woman and child?" asked Samuel Tweel.

His nephew, George Tweel, warmed his hands over the blaze crackling in the fireplace in the offices of Slate and Tweel, thankful to be inside. It had been a miserable journey from Toronto to Kingston, and he still hadn’t completely shaken off the chill, even after 24 hours. Outside the wind howled, driving snow almost horizontally as a squall blew in off the lake, obscuring the view of the Provincial Penitentiary a short distance down the street.

I can try, George replied. His face split into a grin as he added, I suppose you’re anticipating a discounted fee for my services.

Samuel Tweel scowled at his nephew. You were cheeky as a boy and you’re still cheeky, he growled, albeit affectionately.

George Tweel chuckled. George’s father had been Samuel’s younger brother. Samuel Tweel was the law firm’s senior partner and had raised young George after his parents passed away. George had gone to law school in London, and it had been assumed by the family that he would follow in his uncle’s footsteps and join the firm.

Instead, George Tweel opted to become an information agent, a private investigator, much to the chagrin of his family.

Samuel Tweel would never admit it, but having an investigator in the family, one who was also a trained solicitor, had turned out to be very advantageous for their firm.

George Tweel walked over and looked out the window where bulky, wraith-like grey shadows struggling to emerge from the white expanse hinted at the presence of buildings.

You know I won’t charge you, Uncle Sam George chuckled. He stared out into the whiteness and shook his head. He certainly was not looking forward to travelling to Toronto. "How is old Henry Kane?" he asked.

Samuel shook his head sadly as he picked up a letter on his desk and scanned it quickly. Henry Kane died a few days ago. I just received this letter that he wrote before he passed. The old guy had a wild fling some eleven or twelve years ago that resulted in a child. It seems he wanted to clear his conscience and leave part of his estate to the woman and his illegitimate child.

George read the letter several times before handing it back to his uncle. The only useful leads it contained were the names of the chambermaid, Sarah Dickenson, and the midwife Kane had engaged, Wanda Smith.

"Not much there but at least it gives me a place