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  And then Kim gave a single sharp nod, and the expression in his dark gaze was unholy. “Blackmail of a social nature, perpetrated by a fellow member. Did you tell Knowle about it, Chingford? It’s what one does: take these things to the Secretary. It’s what George Yoxall did when Fairfax tried it with him. Did you?”

  “What if I did? Why shouldn’t I?”

  “And what did he say?”

  “That he needed dealing with!” Chingford snarled. “Can’t put up with men like that. Cancer on the whole place.”

  “Of course,” Kim said. “And cancers need cutting out, don’t they?”

  “That’s what Knowle said. Fellow may be a commoner but at least he knows what’s owed to his betters.”

  “Precisely. You shouldn’t have to put up with that nonsense. Nobody could blame a man for killing a blackmailer, not if they knew the whole story. There’s a limit to what one can tolerate with, isn’t there?”

  “It’s a public service to rid the world of swine like that, that’s what he said. Didn’t realise he had so much sense.”

  Kim was nodding. “And he said he’d look after you, make sure you didn’t suffer any consequences, that sort of thing? Told you to keep quiet about everything, and he would make it all go away, hush-hush. Am I right?”

  “Hushing things up is his damned job! He said he’d sort it all out as long as I didn’t say anything. He said that would give him the best chance.”

  “Of course. And what did you do then?”

  “I had dinner and went for a bloody nap! How many times must I say it?”

  “Yes,” Kim said slowly. “Do you know, I’m beginning to believe you did. You never were one to take a hint.”

  The Marquess’s lips parted. Kim held up a hand, silencing him. “You had your nap. He had his chat with Quiller, and came out and walked past the reading room, and he saw you sleeping there, alone. And he went on into the billiard room next door, and there was Fairfax, alive, well, and not aware he was there. It was the perfect chance and he took it.”

  Silence. Absolute silence, including from Lord Chingford.

  “How did he have your handkerchief?” Kim went on. “Oh, but it was hot in his office, wasn’t it? A sweaty man might mop his brow. Did you drop it there? I expect he used it to hold the pick and catch any blood. He could have used it to incriminate you, but of course you did that all on your own when you wandered into the billiard room and took hold of the murder weapon. At that point, the handkerchief became unnecessary, perhaps overkill. He kept it, though, and waited for you to be arrested—”

  “Quiller said they were together all along,” Will pointed out.

  “Yes, he did,” Kim agreed. “I expect that’s why he had to die.”

  “What is going on?” Lord Flitby demanded. “What are you saying, Arthur?”

  “Knowle. The Secretary, the man at the heart of the Symposium Club. Who knew all about the bequest of Aveston’s books, Will, because it would have gone through him; who commanded Quiller’s absolute obedience. Just say we were together the whole time. Don’t confuse the police. The reputation of the Club. And Quiller, so pathetically loyal, so desperate for his fifty years’ service and his pension, aware Knowle could sack him with a snap of his fingers, went along with it.”

  “Knowle wanted Chingford to kill Fairfax for him,” Will said. “But that didn’t happen so he did it himself. Got Chingford nicely set up—”

  “Promised him he’d be looked after if he just kept his mouth shut. And Chingford, so used to being pandered to at every turn, believed him, and made himself look even guiltier. Did you think he’d killed Fairfax for you, brother? Did you consider that all part of the service?”

  No answer. The Marquess had a hand to his mouth.

  “But then you started asking questions,” Will said. “You sent Peacock after Quiller.”

  “Peacock asked him about Waring and Cheveley and Fairfax. Quiller smelled trouble and went running to Knowle. Now Knowle was aware I had put those names together. Now I was a problem, and Quiller was a loose end who was starting to panic. So Knowle got rid of him, and because he’s a clever man, he did it in a way that incriminated you and Chingford together, thus causing me a major problem. Well played, Knowle.”

  “And we came here to hide, and he sent a gunman after us. How did he know we were here?”

  “Yes, Chingford,” Kim said. “How?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Kim looked at his brother with contempt. “Go back to the murder. What did you and Knowle talk about when you were alone together? When he very carefully sent off Harry Mitra and Quiller and went to find you on his own, of course. Christ, I’m a fool. What did he say then?”

  “He told me to sit tight and it would be sorted out. He said Fairfax was a blight and the Club would deal with everything. And he did! I’m on bail, aren’t I?”

  “I obtained your bail,” Flitby said.

  “Knowle was behind it,” Chingford said obstinately. “He told me so. They pull strings there, they know how. Of course he’s looking out for me. I’m the Marquess of Flitby, near as dammit!”

  Kim shut his eyes. Will knew how he felt: he was fairly inclined to bang his own head against a wall. Or Chingford’s head, come to that.

  “So, in his effort to protect you, he advised you to—what, keep your mouth shut and wait for rescue?”

  “Least said, soonest mended.” Chingford announced that as though it were some kind of ancient wisdom. “He’ll deal with this without making my personal affairs public property. You’ll see.”

  “And while you waited obediently for that happy day, Will and I arrived here. Did you call Knowle to tell him so? When did you call Knowle?”

  “Yesterday evening,” Chingford snapped. “I wanted to find out what the devil was going on! Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Why indeed,” Kim said. “What did he say about Quiller’s murder?”

  “Not to worry. He said Quiller had clearly been up to something but it would all go to clear me in the end.”

  “And?”

  “And what? None of my damned business, is it?”

  “No indeed. Just a dead old man. What did you, and he, say about us?”

  “I said you were here with some damn country bumpkin, and he said to watch out because you and your thug were dangerous. And he was bloody right, wasn’t he? Father—”

  “Shut up,” Will said. “Jesus.”

  “Who else did you call?” Kim said.

  “What? Nobody.”

  Kim’s voice was lethal. “I want to know who else you told we were here. Now.”

  “Nobody! Why would anyone give a damn where you are?”

  Kim grabbed the telephone, and barked a number at the operator. “I need the call placed at once. Code PB12. That’s PB12, look it up. Official business. Clear a line, and put me through now!”

  “What are you doing?” Chingford demanded. “Let me up!”

  “You told Knowle we were here, and he sent his killer after us,” Kim said, hand over the mouthpiece. “Thank you for that, brother. I’ll pay you back in full.”

  “Wait.” Flitby was on his feet. “Arthur, what are you doing?”

  “Knowle is part of a criminal organisation called Zodiac,” Kim said. “He killed Fairfax, and set up Chingford to take the blame— Oh, hello. Put me through to DS, immediately, code twelve. It’s Secretan.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware of that. It’s still a code twelve. Then he can shout at me if he doesn’t agree, just put me through.” He waited a moment. “Hello? Sir, it’s Secretan. Have you identified Leo yet? No? Allow me: it’s Eric Knowle, the Secretary of the Symposium Club. He killed Fairfax, he ordered Quiller’s death, and he’s your man.”

  He held the receiver a little way away from his ear, wincing. Will could hear the faint quacking that indicated strong feelings on the other end from clear across the room. “I have not sat on anything, sir. I only just saw it myself.” He outlined his reasoning rapidly.
“Sir. At my father’s house. No, alone. Yes, I will. Thank you. Good luck.”

  He hung up and breathed out. “Well, that was breakneck. You can let him up, Will.”

  Will opened the door and stepped back. Chingford hauled himself to his feet. His face was scarlet and looked unpleasantly swollen, and he gave Will a look of pure hatred, which was fair. “You—”

  “If you’d talked days ago, we wouldn’t be here,” Will said. “So keep your trap shut now.”

  “Well said,” Kim remarked. “Console yourself, dear brother, with the thought that you’re not going to hang.”

  “Are you certain?” Flitby was gripping the edge of his desk, knuckles white. “Are you absolutely sure of that?”

  “Pretty much. It’ll take a little while to play out, but once Knowle is arrested, it should be easy enough to demonstrate what really happened.”

  The Marquess groped for his chair, sat heavily, and put his face in his hands. Kim looked down at him. “No, you didn’t believe him either, did you, sir?”

  “Chingford is innocent,” Flitby rasped. “His name will be cleared.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kim said. “Actually, I expect a great deal of his dirty linen will be exposed in the process, because he is nothing like innocent. He didn’t kill Fairfax himself, but he was happy for it to be done on his behalf. He is guilty of taking bribes in public service, undermining the war effort, betraying the men who fought. He is guilty of stealing from you when you paid his extortion money. He’s guilty of whatever else he was being blackmailed for. He is guilty as sin.” Kim let that hang in silence for a few seconds. “But he won’t swing for murder. Come on, Will. I need air.”

  “Got your knife in there,” Will said, as they walked down the corridor, leaving brother and father behind them.

  “It needed saying.” Pause. “I wanted to say it.”

  “Did it help?”

  “No.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Kim exhaled hard. “Could you behave as if I am?”

  Will slung an arm round his shoulders, a swift hug to which nobody could object and fuck ’em if they did. “You’re fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Will would have liked nothing more than to get in the Daimler and have Kim put his foot down. He might even have encouraged him to more speed, for once, but they weren’t going anywhere.

  “Your face is right now in several newspapers as a murderer,” Kim said, as they took a bit of fresh air in the garden after a lunch served by staff with extremely blank expressions. “DS will be contacting me here to let me know when Knowle’s been collected, at which point we can sort that out with the Met and then Fleet Street.”

  “I would like my name cleared.” Will had got hold of a couple of the papers, and read them with sick fascination until Kim took them away. They all had his name and photograph with a ‘have you seen this man?’ piece. It only said he was sought in connection for Quiller’s murder, but you couldn’t miss what it meant.

  “It will be. Once the Bureau picks Knowle up, the frame will fall apart. I’ll make sure of it, I promise. But for now, we need to stay holed up and out of trouble.”

  He was right, but that didn’t make Will any happier. “Stuck here with Chingford. Wonderful.”

  “The house and grounds aren’t big enough for you?”

  “Too cramped to bear. I’m going to fuck a duke next time.”

  “Westminster is probably the largest landowner outside the Crown,” Kim said helpfully. “He looks like a trout, but if you must, you must.”

  Will gave him a reluctant grin. “You’re a lot of use.”

  “I want to get out of here too, you know. I want to be back in my own home, my own bed, and follow up those blasted books on approval—”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I don’t?”

  “You want to be in the Private Bureau where you belong, and you know it. You were sodding amazing today, Kim. You need your job back.”

  Kim made a face. “DS might not want to give it to me.”

  “You nailed Virgo and Leo without any help from the Bureau. Why don’t you talk to him? I bet he wants you back. And if he doesn’t, someone else will. It’s the work you ought to be doing.”

  “I thought you thought it was bad for me.”

  “The way you were doing it, maybe. But you need to work, and you’re good at it, and anyway I don’t think it’s so bad to get your hands dirty sometimes. Better than the way your father keeps his clean.”

  “That is true,” Kim said. “Would you mind?”

  “What, not having you underfoot all day?” Will bumped shoulders with him. “I’ll live. And if I’m wrong you’re pretty useful at the bookshop, but I don’t think I’m wrong.”

  “The bookshop. The bookshop, the Bureau, my flat, our lives, because Chingford isn’t going to hang and I can leave this damned house and never return. Good God.” He tipped his head back. “God, Will. I’m only just realising the weight of it all now it’s lifting. Christ, I can breathe. We did it.”

  “You did it.”

  “I, and the ladies with their ruthless and remorseless charm, and you. My God, you. That was a truly terrifying performance.”

  “You know I was putting it on, right?” Will said, and had to add, “Mostly.”

  “Yes, beloved, I do.” Kim’s lips twitched. “Mostly. And you caught that stupid sod in a lie of omission I missed, and I did think I was pretty good at lies.”

  “That’s why I’ve got good at spotting them. It doesn’t half run in the family.”

  “Oh, be fair: I’m at least a deliberate liar. You can’t trust a word Chingford says because he persuades himself that the facts are whatever he wants them to be, and is furious if anyone contradicts them. He decided Knowle was on his side and then sat there nursing his secrets in the absolute certainty that he’d be protected. He always has been, after all.”

  “Not this time.”

  “And won’t that be a bitter pill for his monstrous self-esteem to choke down.”

  Will kicked a rock. “You are sure Knowle did it? Not Chingford?”

  “About ninety-eight per cent.”

  “What about the two per cent?”

  “Not my decision,” Kim said. “I will give all my information and deductions to the Met as well as the Bureau. If I’m wrong and he did it and they hang him, it won’t be my fault.”

  “If you’d said that from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “True, if somewhat gratuitous to point out. But I couldn’t have said it from the start. I can say it now, from here, with you. I’m, if not free of my family, then perhaps getting there, and it’s entirely down to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You stayed,” Kim said. “You loved me. You watched me, which obliged me to behave as the man I’d like to be, rather than the less impressive one I often am. I don’t like it when you’re not there either, Will. I’m better with you.”

  “Good thing I’m not going anywhere.” He grabbed Kim’s hand, not caring if anyone saw. “And you are exactly the man I want you to be. You always have been. The last knight.”

  “In tarnished armour?”

  “I don’t think shining armour would suit either of us. I’m pretty tarnished myself.”

  Kim took in a breath. Will squeezed his fingers, stopping whatever he was going to say. “You and me, Kim, whatever happens. And if that’s where we’ve got to after all this, it’s been worth it.”

  “Worth you being called a murderer in the national press?”

  Will shrugged. “You get called that, and a Red, and a shirker. And the truth is, I’ve got blood on my hands even if it’s not Quiller’s.”

  “Mph. May I counsel against taking punishment for A because you feel guilty about B? I’ve spent a lot of my life doing that. It doesn’t help.”

  “No, perhaps not. But the newspapers are out there either way, and there’s no point me whining about what c
an’t be changed. We can just get private dining rooms at the Savoy till it dies down.”

  Kim snorted. “For a dyed-in-the-wool proletarian, you’ve developed a powerful taste for luxury.”

  “Shame you’re not going to be a marquess, isn’t it?” Will said, and they walked on.

  They walked as they waited to hear from DS, in small circles around the gardens because Will wasn’t going too far afield with Leo’s hired killer still out there. When that palled, they took advantage of the stupidly large grounds for Will to try his hand at the Daimler. Kim proved a rather good driving instructor, and Will managed to forget about everything for a while in the pleasure of learning a new skill and mastering the powerful machine. They returned to the house to wash and smarten up for cocktails at six—beer for Will—at which point Kim’s control finally frayed.

  “What the blazes are the Bureau doing?” he demanded, as if the first swig of gin had allowed him to speak. “Why hasn’t DS called? How the hell long does it take to arrest a man?”

  “You could telephone him and ask.”

  “I would, but I value my life. Is that a motor outside?”

  They were in the Sheraton Room, which looked over the drive. Will turned just in time to see a car go past. “Who’s that?”

  “God knows. I’d have thought the police might go round the back. Did it look like a police car?”

  “I didn’t see. Would they be here for Chingford?”

  Kim winced. “More likely for you. I will resist as best I can, but—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Will would strongly prefer Quiller’s murder to be solved without him having to sit in a cell at any point, but needs must, as long as he knew it would be sorted out. He’d had worse.

  They waited as footsteps came along the corridor. Kim said, “That doesn’t sound like the fairy tread of the law,” and the door opened.

  “Lord Arthur,” Hastings said, with a paternal beam. “Lady Waring and Miss Jones.”