“Yes, it is,” Kim said. “It is precisely blackmail. You are going to give me all the information I want, or I will pick up the telephone and advise Inspector Rennick that I can put the last nails in Chingford’s coffin. Chingford can tell the police why he was paying Fairfax and what he did at the War Department and everything else, and I will wash my hands of this whole sorry mess. You have thirty seconds to make the decision.”

“You cannot—”

“Try me.”

Lord Flitby stared at him. Kim’s expression was flat neutral. “Talk to me or talk to the police. Fifteen seconds.”

His eyes were locked on his father’s. The two stared at one another. Kim said, “Fine,” and reached for the telephone.

Flitby’s hand shot out and closed over his wrist. Kim looked down at it, face freezing over, and Will wondered when he’d last had a physical touch from his father.

“If I speak to you,” Flitby grated, forcing the words out, “you will suppress this notebook.”

“I will act as I see fit,” Kim said. “You have run out of choices, sir. I expect Stratton told you that earlier. I am currently all that stands between Chingford and the gallows. Trust me and I will do my best to save his skin. Or don’t, and fend for yourselves.”

“And why should I believe that you are finally attempting to be worthy of your position?”

“I’m not. I’m here because I can think of nothing worse than to be your heir. Co-operate and we may never have to see one another’s faces again. You can pretend I’m not your son, and I can forget I had a father. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Flitby stood abruptly and turned, stalking to the window. “You have never been fit for your place.”

“So you have told me. Now tell me what Fairfax was blackmailing Chingford about.”

There was a long silence, then the Marquess resumed his seat. “Stratton informed me that he had been contacted by certain persons who advised that I cooperate with you. Indeed, he said that I would be making a serious mistake if I failed to do so.”

Will wondered who the hell that was. Something Kim had set up? The Private Bureau? Kim simply said, “Yes.”

Flitby’s mouth tightened. “Very well.”

“What? No!” Chingford said. “I won’t have this damned mountebank—”

“You will do as you are told. My decision has been made.”

“And I say no, damn it! I will not stay here to be picked over and insulted—”

“Then get out!” Flitby bellowed. “You have caused enough trouble, you damned puling cur, get out of my sight!”

Chingford took an angry breath, met his father’s glare, and stormed out without a word, slamming the door behind him. Flitby rested his head on one hand.

Kim waited for a moment. “Well?”