‘Take your pick,’ said Peter, indicating the weapons on display. ‘You can fight us with swords, boxing gloves or pistols. And the beauty of it is that we won’t charge you a penny for whichever lesson we give you.’

Unable to find a rejoinder, Yeomans grabbed Hale by the collar and dragged him out. Peter allowed himself a chuckle, then his brow furrowed.

‘Who is Giles Clearwater?’ he asked.

Because there was no entertainment on offer that evening, the theatre was deserted. When he took his friend to the stage door, therefore, Harry Scattergood could be confident that they wouldn’t be interrupted. Having mastered the details of what had happened on the night of the murder, he had to pass them on to Kinnaird.

‘You were standing there, Alan,’ he said, pointing.

‘Was I?’

‘Yes, that means you had a clear shot at Sir Roger Mellanby.’

‘But I’ve never even heard of the man.’

‘You’d been told exactly what he looked like.’

‘Had I?’

‘No, of course you hadn’t, but you must convince the Runners that you had. That’s what I did. You’ll be questioned closely time and again, Alan. You have to get everything absolutely right. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Harry.’ He moved into position. ‘I’m standing right here.’

‘Then this is what happened next …’

Since he’d been so pleasant and accommodating, Paul decided to take Sir Marcus Brough at his word. He therefore repaired to the House of Commons and waited patiently until the debate ended. The door of the chamber opened and Members of Parliament surged out like a herd of animals just released into the wild. Deep in conversation, they swept past Paul without giving him a glance. When he saw Sir Marcus coming towards him with a group of friends, he stepped boldly into his path. Taken aback at first, Sir Marcus quickly recovered and gave him a broad smile.

‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Skillen,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t expect it to be just outside the Royal Chapel of St Stephen. It’s in this chamber that the nation is governed, though some of the language used there is hardly suited to what had once been consecrated ground.’

‘You did say that I could call on you again, Sir Marcus.’

‘I did, indeed, and they were not idle words.’ He waved his friends away then took Paul aside. ‘Let’s find somewhere less public, shall we?’

Sir Marcus was a big, red-faced man in his sixties with a sizeable paunch threatening to break clear of its moorings. His most significant feature was a mane of snow-white hair that cascaded down to his shoulders and gave him a leonine air. Surprisingly, his voice was quiet and confiding and seemed to belong to a much smaller man. He took Paul into the privacy of a recess.

‘Now, then, what’s brought you to the Palace of Westminster?’