Inside he found a Kodak camera. He peered at the small film window, but saw nothing there. The film had already been removed and the camera was empty. He searched in the safe again and found an envelope with the negative and one print. He stuffed them into his inside coat pocket and locked the safe.

He then walked to Charles Street and gave his special knock at the door. Again Peter answered it. He was fully dressed and his face showed the mark of tears.

‘I have a photograph and the negative,’ said Harry.

‘Oh, thank God! Who did this to me?’

‘Cyril Banks and Lord Berrow.’

‘But why? Why me?’

‘As I told you in my office, I think the intention was to get Lady Rose to break off your engagement. I suggest you rouse your man and pack. Leave tomorrow. Where will you go?

‘The south of France, where I am supposed to be.’

‘Stay there a few months and this will all blow over. Hadshire is not going to talk.’

‘What about Berrow and Banks?’

‘You need not fear them. I will deal with them.’

Jonathan awoke after an uneasy sleep. He dressed and glanced down at the street. Lord Berrow and Cyril Banks had just turned the corner and were heading in the direction of the house where he lived. Cyril had found the photograph and negative gone and knew that Jonathan must have talked.

Jonathan let out a squawk of terror.

The doorbell jangled furiously. Jonathan began to pack a bag. He kept glancing fearfully out of the window until he saw them walk away.

He darted down the stairs, carrying his bag, and called a cab. ‘Charles Street,’ he said.

Peter walked out to his carriage. It was later in the morning than he had intended to leave, but sheer relief had made him fall into a deep sleep. The carriage was loaded with his luggage.

He had one foot on the step when he heard a voice shout, ‘Peter! Wait!’

Peter stared as Jonathan hurtled towards him.

‘You little bastard,’ hissed Peter. He started to climb into the carriage.

‘They told me it was only a prank,’ said Jonathan, tears running down his face. ‘They are going to kill me. Take me with you.’

‘I am going to the south of France to forget about the whole sordid business.’

Peter climbed into the carriage and rapped on the roof with his cane. The carriage lurched forward. Jonathan jumped on the backstrap.

Twisting round, Peter saw the youth’s anguished face through the back window.

He turned away in disgust.

When the hansom stopped in the forecourt of Charing Cross Station, where Peter was booked on the Dover train, he told his manservant, ‘Get a porter. Now, you,’ he said, glaring at Jonathan, ‘run along.’

‘Take me with you. I’ll do anything. I hate the life here. Please.’

In his anger and distress, Peter could not help noticing that tears did not mar or blotch the beauty of that face. He decided to pretend that Jonathan did not exist.