'"Prove it," he said.

' "I can't," I said bitterly. "That's the trouble." And I told him what had happened. Everything I've told you, and more. He nodded as I spoke; it was clear he knew the procedures perfectly well. Then he asked me questions.

'"Every bill is stamped with a number, which runs in sequence. If one was removed, it should have been obvious. The same goes for payment slips."

'"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.'

All around the table nodded in agreement. I had quite forgotten they were there, but evidently what Steptoe had said had been discussed by them. This was a family decision, not his alone. So I nodded in approval as well, as though it was exactly the decision I thought he should have taken. In fact, it probably was.

'I can tell you who was behind it all, though.'

I looked at him. 'Well, let me take a guess, then. Obviously not one of your workmates. So, you are about to tell me it was one of the bosses themselves. Otherwise you wouldn't say a word. Correct?'

He grinned at me, in a fetchingly boyish fashion. 'That's right,' he said with some satisfaction. 'He told me everything, once I'd figured it out. He was brought in one day, about six months ago and told that he had to do this. Slip fake invoices into the piles and remove them afterwards. Naturally, he asked why, although he didn't expect to get a reply.'

'Why not?'

'Because we're expected to do as we're told. Not understand the reasoning for it. He expected that he'd be told off, and told that he was just to do it, not wonder what it was all about. What business of his was it? Instead, he got a long explanation.'

'And who was this from?'

'Mr Xanthos, who's a boss. Very high up, he is.'

'I see. Go on, then.'

'Anyway, Mr Xanthos said that people think selling things like battleships and guns is easy. It isn't, says he. You have to persuade people. And that involves things that people had best not know about. Like helping to make up their minds with little presents. Doing the necessary.'

'And that's what these payments were?'

'That's what he said. Little presents to people with influence, which would bring in the orders, and guarantee jobs right along Tyneside for years. Of course, it wasn't a good idea for people to know about this. It had to be done secretly. And it had to be kept quiet if anyone found out about it.'

'So this friend of yours went away, thinking he was helping the company to bend the rules a little to secure jobs. And that it was all being done with the company's approval?'

'That's right. But Xanthos had told him that no one was to know. Mr Williams and all the others didn't want to know and wouldn't thank him for saying anything. He only told me when I asked him a question in the pub. Difficult that was; I'm not welcome in pubs any more. Not ones used by the factory. That was a week or so before the accident.'

'What accident was that?'