“Between a gentleman and his blackmailer,” Kim said. “I am going to send for Chingford now, and when he arrives, sir, you will kindly tell him to answer my questions in full without any more shouting or lies, because I am an inch from giving the whole thing to the Met out of disgust. He, a Secretan, betrayed his country and you, Marquess of Flitby, paid up to hide the fact. God knows I’ve besmirched the family name, but I’ve never been ashamed to bear it before now.”

He pressed the bell without waiting for a response, which was good because Lord Flitby seemed disinclined to give one. They all waited in ever-thicker silence as a footman arrived and was sent off to find Lord Chingford, and then they waited some more. It must have taken five minutes, in which father and son ignored one another with the malevolent silence of rival cats, and Will pretended he was on parade.

Finally the door opened, to reveal the butler.

“Hastings?” the Marquess said. “I sent for Chingford.”

“Yes, my lord. I regret to say Lord Chingford has gone out.”

“Out? In the grounds?”

“Out in the motorcar.”

“Excuse me?” Kim said. “What about his conditions of bail?”

“He is obliged to remain in the grounds,” Flitby said through his teeth. “I gave my word— Who brought the car round, against my orders? Bring him to me at once!”

“My lord, the staff are not accustomed to refuse Lord Chingford’s commands,” Hastings said. “The man was put in an impossible position.”

“Do we know where he was heading?” Kim put in before his father could reply.

The butler turned from the Marquess’s glare. “I understand he mentioned sea air, Lord Arthur.”

“The coast,” Kim said. “Is he making a run for it?”

Flitby slammed a hand on the desk. “No, he is not! He is my son and his name will be cleared!”

“I suggest you send to the village, then, without loss of time,” Kim said. “We’ll leave you to it. If he returns, I’m looking forward to that conversation. Come on, Will.”

Will followed him down the passage, holding back till they were out of earshot of the room, and said, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Hold on.” Kim collared a footman. “Could you supply me with the makings of a gin and tonic, or two actually, and find Mr. Willerton a beer? Thank you. In the Sheraton Room, please, and if you could let whoever’s in charge know that we will be dining separately to their lordships? Thanks.”

He led the way to the Sheraton Room and flopped heavily into a spindly and expensive chair. Will sat with more care. “So?”

“Drink first.”

The drinks arrived rapidly. Kim closed the door, mixed himself a drink, and knocked back a good half of it while Will sampled an excellent bitter. “I needed that.”

“Same. So what’s Chingford doing?”