“It’s come to my attention,” said Aristide, “that Frye’s company is moving a large quantity of illegal narcotics, currently stored in one of their warehouses in Amberlough.”

Kostos took a long drag on his cigarillo and then set it on his saucer. Addressing the ash sprayed finely across the cheap ceramic, he said, “That’ll get her tied up in some nasty inquiries. I don’t see it taking her down. That company’s not under her name anymore.”

“No. But the woman whose name it is under is … under Frye, if you take my meaning.”

Kostos raised an eyebrow, then made a lewd gesture with his hand.

“Exactly,” said Aristide.

“You got proof?”

“I can tell you where the drugs are. I’m afraid the incriminating photographs will be up to you.”

Kostos exhaled smoke and licked his teeth, then picked a stray piece of tobacco from his tongue. It sat between his fingers, wet and black, the object of some scrutiny while he considered what Aristide had said. “What do you want for this? ’Cause it seems too easy.”

“I want you to sit on it,” said Aristide. “And not to breathe a word.”

Kostos made an abortive gesture, as though he would speak, before putting a knuckle to his teeth. It was another moment before he said, “You do know that I’m on the wireless, right? That I report the news? That’s why you came to me.”

“Of course,” said Aristide. “But I’m trying to blackmail someone. You’re my insurance policy, and you’re not worth anything if you pay out too soon.”

“How long do I gotta wait?”

“That depends. But I’ll make waiting worth your while. And when you do get to break the story—” because once Cyril was pardoned and they were out of the country, he was more than happy to detonate everything behind them—“I’m sure it will turn out you’ve got a voice for radio after all.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

The marshal came to the front door of Damesfort in a fast black car, surprising Cyril. He’d thought they had at least until the election; the provisional government seemed happy to let the new crop of scullers crash through this particular bramble.

Maybe this was one of the candidates, afraid he’d scurry far and fast, making her move a little early to keep him where he sat. No good to make a fuss about hanging a villain if the villain vanished before you had a knot tied in the rope.