“And you came here to—what, to entrap your older brother?” Flitby said. “The future head of this family?”

“The very opposite,” Kim said. “I’m doing exactly what I said: trying to save his neck. But that depends on you admitting the truth, without bluster or denial. Those won’t work any more.” He held his father’s gaze for a long moment. “We were talking about Chingford’s career in the War Department.”

“That is my affair!” Chingford pushed himself to his feet. “I will not be picked at—”

“Quiet,” Flitby said. “And?”

“Well, you tell me, sir.” Kim extracted a small blue book from his pocket. “This is Fairfax’s notebook. It contains a number of names that I found surprising, including Chingford’s. Numerous times.”

Chingford’s eyes bulged. “What?”

“Your name. You were making regular payments to Fairfax, with regular sums of—”

“Give me that, you little shit!” Chingford lunged. Kim snatched the notebook out of his reach. Chingford’s other arm went up, fist clenching, and Will stepped in, grabbed his wrist, and wrenched it down behind his back with no regard for where the shoulder joint wanted to go. Chingford bellowed, knees folding in a helpless effort to alleviate the stress.

“All right, stop,” Kim said. “You needn’t break his arm.”

Will couldn’t see why not. He put a bit more pressure on to make the point, waited for Chingford to stop shouting, leaned down, and said in his ear, “That was the last swing you ever take at him. Do it again and I’ll twist your head right off your neck.”

Chingford made incoherent sounds. Flitby was also protesting loudly. Kim, the only one Will cared to listen to, said, “Enough.”

“Just getting started,” Will said, but he let the wrist go.

Chingford cradled his arm in front of him. “Father—!”

“No, you,” Kim said. “Why is your name in Fairfax’s notebook alongside large sums? What were you paying him for?”

“That is not relevant,” Flitby said, voice very thin. “You said you can use your position to aid Chingford, Arthur. Explain that.”

“We’re going to talk about this first. Fairfax, and the War Department.”

“It is not necessary—”

Kim held a hand up. “That was not a request. Chingford’s name is in Fairfax’s notebook with payments against it. I need hardly explain how bad that would look to the Metropolitan Police. Or the jury.” He let that hang a second. “I am currently the only person who knows the contents of this book. If I were to pass it to the authorities...”

Flitby’s lips tensed. “Is this blackmail?”

“For God’s sake!” Will said. “Of course it isn’t.”