Long, dull moments ticked by. The bracket clock on the ebony mantelpiece ticked and tocked, striking a boom at one o’clock. A candle guttered out. Luke watched the wisp of smoke evaporate. Oliver sat forward, hanging his head. Luke said, ‘What are you going to do about Clem Trenchard?’ Oliver knocked back the remains of his drink. ‘It was doing something about Clem Trenchard which brought me to this loneliest of states. What I’d like to do, and I don’t mean this as a jest, Luke, is to choke the breath of life out of him. He’s being very clever, playing a waiting game. Using the continuing infection in Kane’s leg as an excuse to stay on at Vellanoweth. I shall have to ensure that I am more clever than he.’

That same night two gentlemen were setting up the pieces for a game of chess, in a public house in Duke Street, a few streets away from the burnt-out Longbourne house.

The walls were mirrored, enabling Sir Decimus Soames to keep himself informed of all arrivals and departures without actually appearing to. Pale-skinned and fat in a soft, wobbly manner, and delicately scented, he was dressed in crimson, the coat floral-panelled with silver frogging. Huge jewels glittered on all his fingers and thumbs, more were pinned on his neckcloth. His wig, casually understated in design, gleamed brilliant white in the glow of the rich candlelight.

‘You missed my thirtieth birthday bash, dear boy,’ he said in his highly cultured voice, putting his knee against his companion’s under the small square table. ‘I threw a magnificant masked ball. Such a pity you were out of the country again. I’ll make it up to you tonight.’

A large, deeply tanned hand, completely unlike Sir Decimus’s, carefully weighed a black marble pawn. ‘Running guns and provisions to the highest paying cause in the colonial war is a risky business. You’re lucky to see me here alive and well, sir.’

Sir Decimus reached across and stroked the tanned hand before its owner had time to withdraw it. ‘Quite so, and now we’re sending you off on another little task so soon after the St James’s Street debacle. I know you and the others searched Longbourne’s house for this evidence he boasted he had and found nothing, but it’s occurred to me that your cousin may know something. He was one of Longbourne’s favourites, the only friend he had in the end – the others were all heartily sick of his pleas to lend him money. I’ve had Pengarron’s lodgings searched but found nothing. But I want to be sure, and who among us can get as close to him as you? You were going to Cornwall anyway, you say. Why?’

‘Just family business. It’s many a year since I set foot in the county.’