“Then, we have to look for the photographs,” Monk replied. “At least it will tell us who is vulnerable, even if we have no guarantee that they are the only copies.”

“God, what a nightmare!” Rathbone said softly. He seemed about to add something more, and then changed his mind.

“We’ll need help,” Hester said practically. “We can’t possibly do it all by ourselves. We don’t even know where to look, or how to make the right people listen to us.”

Rathbone raised his hand. “Who else could we trust?”

“The people at the clinic,” she replied, thinking as she answered. “Squeaky Robinson, perhaps Claudine?”

“What on earth could she do?” Rathbone said incredulously.

“Make inquiries in society,” Hester replied. “I don’t mix with the sort of people who would be worth blackmailing for power, and you can hardly ask.”

Rathbone blushed very faintly, and she knew he was thinking that at any other time they would have asked Margaret to help, but now it was impossible. But Hester would not say so, or even that he himself would hardly be wishing to move in his usual social circle. He had not even considered how life would be after his father-in-law was hanged. There would be no waking up from this nightmare.

“And Crow,” Monk added. “I’ll ask Orme. His knowledge of the river is better than mine.”

“I’ll ask Rupert Cardew,” Hester said, looking at Monk, then at Rathbone. She expected them to argue, and she had her rebuttal ready.

“He could be putting his life at risk, after what he’s already done,” Monk warned her.

“I know. And I’ll remind him of it. But I have to ask. It’s a long path back from where he was, and I believe he means to take it.”

“If he stays in London, he’s ruined,” Rathbone said grimly. “Doesn’t he understand that? He’ll never be forgiven for what will be seen as betraying his own.”

“He knows,” she assured him, remembering Rupert’s ashen face when she had asked him to testify. “He’s ruined anywhere in England. I expect he’ll go to Australia, or somewhere like that. Start again.”

“What hell for his father,” Rathbone murmured. “Poor man.”

“Better he go having made amends than stay here as he was.” Hester shook her head a little. “He hasn’t left himself such a lot of choices. This is the bravest thing, the cleanest. But he can do this one thing more before he leaves. He may be the only one who knows some of the people Ballinger knew. And Ballinger probably gave the pictures to someone who was in them himself. It would be the best way to make sure he obeyed.”

Monk swore under his breath, but he did not argue. He stood up. “Then we’d better start. Where’s Scuff?”

She was horrified. “You’re not taking him?”