‘No, must think, think, think. Ah, you, Levine, you will go back and fetch that photograph and if you are not here with it after an hour, I will shoot your mistress.’

‘I ain’t leaving her!’ said Daisy.

‘Go, Daisy,’ said Rose. ‘You know what to do.’

Daisy looked at her for a long moment and then got up and hurried from the room.

Harry was seated in front of Lord Alfred. He slowly drew the bundle of letters from his pocket.

‘How much?’ demanded Lord Alfred.

‘I am not here to blackmail you. In fact, if you can tell me one thing, I will give them to you.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Did you shoot Freddy Pomfret?’

‘No, I swear on my life I didn’t. I wanted to. I knew I would go to prison if those letters were ever made public’

‘How did he get hold of them?’

‘I met a young artist called Jimmy Portal. He was not a very good artist but he was very beautiful. He pursued me and I was seduced. Then I was terrified of it coming out, knowing I would be sent to prison. I returned his letters. He waited for me outside The Club one evening. He thrust his letters at me and said I must keep them forever. I told him harshly that I wanted to have no more to do with him. Pomfret told me afterwards that he had witnessed the scene from the window of The Club. He saw me hurrying off and saw Jimmy throwing the letters in the gutter. He nipped out and got them.

‘He bragged that it was the letters that gave him the idea of being a blackmailer. He was a keen amateur photographer and said he had compromising pictures of Mrs Jerry and Mrs Stockton. He said he had just realized a way of getting money to buy a title. I paid. Of course I paid.

‘Then when I went to Farthings and saw you there along with Mrs Stockton and Mrs Jerry, I was afraid.’

‘Did anyone else try to blackmail you while you were at Farthings?’

‘Yes. Mrs Stockton whispered that she had destroyed the photograph of her but had kept the letters. She said I must work for her society and travel with her. Then she told me that Mrs Jerry was going to go to the police. I was prepared to flee the country, but then she died. I knew Mrs Stockton had probably done it, but what could I do? You know what happens to fellows like me in prison.’

Harry felt a spasm of dread. Lord Alfred’s voice held the ring of truth.

He had sent Rose blithely off to see Angela Stockton, and Angela was a murderess.

‘Excuse me.’ Harry got to his feet and rushed from the room.