"Boys, you know that swindler I told you about before? Apparently he was finally caught."
"Really?" Robert leaned forward in surprise. "I heard he managed to evade capture for years. How did they finally catch him?"
"Seems someone tipped off the authorities anonymously," Gladstone replied.
This time William Gladstone had joined Robert's tea gathering of his own accord.
Apparently he had come specifically to share the news of Mark Turner's arrest.
Personally, I welcomed it.
I had been curious to hear how the entire affair looked from the perspective of an uninvolved observer.
"Do they know who the informant was?" I asked.
"Hard to say," Gladstone replied thoughtfully. "It's good that the swindler was caught, of course, but there are still quite a few mysteries surrounding the case. No one seems to know who the informant was. Someone apparently hired a private detective, but even that detective's identity is unknown."
He shook his head.
"And what's more puzzling is why a man who had been so cautious for years was suddenly caught at a bank."
"Didn't he confess after he was arrested?" Robert asked.
"Apparently he claims he was the one who was swindled," Gladstone said with a snort. "Ridiculous excuse. From what I've heard, fraudsters always say that after they're arrested. They claim they've lost all their money so the authorities can't seize anything."
…Well.
In this case it actually wasn't an excuse.
But if people believed it was, that suited me perfectly.
After all, who would believe that a man who had spent years committing fraud had coincidentally been swindled himself at the exact moment he was arrested?
If I were a policeman or a lawyer, I would assume the same thing.
And since Richard Twain did not exist in reality, no investigation would uncover anything anyway.
"Then how do you interpret the case, William?" Robert asked. "You mentioned that some acquaintances of yours were involved."
"Yes. Fortunately, my friends managed to recover some of their money," Gladstone said. "Apparently the private detective paid them a fairly generous 'information fee.'"
He frowned.
"Which only makes the matter stranger. Who would hire a detective like that?"
Robert asked the question I had been hoping someone would raise.
"Did your friends actually speak with this detective? Did they learn anything about him?"
"They said they barely saw his face," Gladstone replied. "Which suggests he deliberately concealed his identity. Probably altered his voice too. That's what I can't understand. Why go to such lengths to hide himself?"
Robert grinned.
"It sounds like something out of a novel. A mysterious detective delivering justice from the shadows."
"Frankly," Gladstone admitted, "I'm tempted to investigate it myself once the election is over."
…Ah.
That was not good.
Robert's curiosity didn't matter much.
But if Gladstone became too interested in the matter, who knew how far the consequences might roll.
After all, Gladstone was destined to win a seat in the House of Commons in this very election.
One day he would become one of Britain's greatest prime ministers.
There was absolutely no advantage in allowing a man like that to dig into my affairs.
"Personally," I said casually, "I suspect the truth may be simpler than it appears."
Gladstone looked at me.
"Oh? Do you have a theory?"
"Well, the first strange detail is that the swindler was caught at a bank," I said. "From what I heard, he had changed locations and identities for years without being caught. Would someone like that really be arrested so carelessly?"
Gladstone nodded.
"The bank said he tried to withdraw money from an account belonging to someone named Richard Twain. When the authorities arrived, he claimed that Twain had actually swindled him."
"But that person doesn't exist," Robert said.
Exactly.
Which meant people would naturally invent elaborate explanations.
So it was best to provide them with a convincing story myself.
"Were any of his accomplices arrested?" I asked. "It seems unlikely he worked alone for years."
"Only the ringleader was caught," Gladstone said. "And we don't even know if the others truly exist. Usually these organizations collapse once the leader is arrested."
"In that case," I said thoughtfully, "the explanation seems obvious."
Gladstone raised an eyebrow.
"And that would be?"
"Internal betrayal," I said. "Organizations like that usually fall apart because of internal disputes."
Gladstone leaned back in his chair.
"Internal conflict… Yes, that's plausible."
"Think about it," I continued. "The fictional Richard Twain, the private detective approaching victims—if one of the gang members betrayed the leader, everything suddenly makes sense."
Gladstone's eyes brightened.
"You're right. That explains how the detective knew which victims to contact. The gang itself would know who had been defrauded."
"Exactly. Approaching the victims was probably just a pretext. The real goal was to encourage them to file complaints so the authorities would issue an arrest warrant."
Gladstone snapped his fingers.
"That fits perfectly. Criminal organizations usually collapse because of disputes over money. The remaining members must have conspired to eliminate their leader and escape with the remaining funds."
He smiled.
"You're right, Killian. The truth was probably much simpler than it seemed."
Robert sighed dramatically.
"So there wasn't any mysterious detective delivering justice from the shadows after all?"
Gladstone chuckled.
"Afraid not."
Good.
Better that they focused on the election instead.
"Speaking of which," I said casually, "how is your campaign preparation going, William?"
"Well," he sighed, "that is the most important matter right now. I'm doing everything I can. All I can do is work hard and hope for the best."
"Not all constituencies have finalized their candidates yet, correct?"
"That's right. Though frankly, even among ourselves we admit it—our party is unlikely to win this election."
The Whigs' Reform Act had received overwhelming public support.
It expanded voting rights to much of the middle class and redistributed parliamentary seats to better reflect population.
The Tories had opposed it, but public opinion had forced them to accept it.
Most laborers still lacked voting rights, of course.
But compared to before, the electorate had grown significantly.
Which meant the Whigs were expected to dominate the upcoming election.
"So the Tories will remain in opposition again?" Robert asked.
"Most likely," Gladstone replied. "We may even lose more seats than last year. And in Ireland, Daniel O'Connell's party may take dozens of seats."
He smiled faintly.
"In short, it's a crisis for our party."
"But if you win a seat in your first election despite that situation," I said, "you could establish quite a strong position within the party."
"In theory, yes," Gladstone said. "But it will be a difficult fight."
He looked at Robert and me.
"Our party needs to change. That means younger men must step forward."
His voice grew firm.
"And that's why I must enter Parliament first—to prepare the road for those who follow. The election is only months away, so I would appreciate your support."
Even at this age, he was already thinking about the future direction of his party.
Truly remarkable.
But admiration alone wouldn't suffice.
Sorry, Gladstone.
For now we may be allies…
But I cannot allow you to run ahead uncontested.
The day after William Gladstone left, I summoned James and Lord Charles Wellesley to discuss the situation.
"Well," I began, "our experiment is complete. Information gathering works. Our method of trapping prey works. And the authorities don't suspect anyone operating behind the scenes."
Wellesley frowned slightly.
"Wait a moment, Killian. If that's the case, shouldn't you have targeted someone unrelated to William Gladstone? Why involve his acquaintances at all?"
"I did it intentionally," I replied. "Since it was our first operation, I wanted to see how observers would interpret such a case. If necessary, I could always guide the narrative through Gladstone."
After all, attracting political attention was dangerous.
Money without power was ultimately fragile.
Power required money—but money without power was merely bait.
Which meant we needed political power sooner or later.
"Charles," I continued, "Gladstone mentioned the party is expecting a disastrous election this year."
Charles sighed.
"Tell me about it. My father's been in a terrible mood."
"Well, that might actually work in our favor. There are still constituencies without confirmed candidates, correct?"
"There are."
"Then you should run in one of them."
Wellesley blinked.
"But I'm still serving in the army."
"Then resign."
He stared at me.
"Think about it," I continued calmly. "Your father leads the Tory Party during a difficult election. If you resign your commission and run for Parliament to support him, senior party members will admire your dedication."
Charles slowly nodded.
"That… actually makes sense."
"But you shouldn't run in a safe constituency," he added. "Otherwise it will look like my father arranged it for me."
"Exactly," I said. "Choose a constituency where the Tories are competitive but currently expected to lose."
After examining several districts, we found a perfect candidate.
South Hampshire.
A newly created constituency under the Reform Act.
Two seats.
Two Whig candidates.
One Tory candidate already declared.
One open position.
Most predictions suggested both Whigs would win.
Which meant if Wellesley won there, it would be an impressive victory.
"If you win there," I said, "your father will be pleased, and you'll enter the Commons with real legitimacy. You and William may even be seen as the young hopes of opposing parties."
Charles frowned slightly.
"You're assuming William will win."
"Of course," I replied. "Which is why you must win as well. If you intend to become a major conservative figure in the future, you cannot allow William to dominate the next generation alone."
Charles sighed.
"Elections are unpredictable."
"True," I said with a smile.
"But fortunately… we possess an excellent method for reducing those uncertainties."
His eyes widened.
"…Ah."
"Exactly," I said.
"Elections consume enormous amounts of money."
Charles laughed.
"So that's why you insisted we keep some of our funds in Britain."
"Of course. This was always part of the plan."
In the early nineteenth century, elections were notorious for bribery and lavish spending.
And we had more than enough money.
"So all you need to do is run," I said calmly.
"James will make sure the electorate receives generous 'encouragement.'"
After all, a nobleman openly distributing money would attract criticism.
Which was precisely why James existed.
A parliamentary seat?
There was no need to fight for it.
You simply purchased the ticket quietly.