“You’d have to put some force behind it, and as this gentleman remarks, you’d want to hold the victim still. But it’s a sharp point and not going through bone. I’d say the real question was to have the stomach for the blow, not the strength: it’s a cold-blooded way to kill. But physically, and with the advantage of surprise, I’d think most able-bodied men could do it, and some women.”

“Good Lord, what an appalling suggestion. You won’t find women in here. Thank you, you’ve been most helpful. Come on.” Kim jerked his head at Will and they left.

Harry Mitra was waiting outside. He nodded at them as they emerged. “What do you think?”

“Someone takes billiards too seriously,” Kim said. “Why is blame being placed at Chingford’s door, other than his argument with the victim?”

“The argument doesn’t help, especially since he refuses to say what it was about. Nor does its corollary, which is that we gave him an ultimatum. He had to make a public apology to Fairfax or resign from the Club, and if he refused to do either, he would be expelled.”

Kim whistled. “I don’t suppose he was happy about that.”

“Hard cheese. Flitby’s heir or not, the Committee’s sick of him, and so is everyone else. We’ve had more complaints about him than anyone since—er—anyway, people have had quite enough.”

“Since me, I assume you were going to say,” Kim said drily. “Is that all there is against him?”

Mitra shoved a hand into his thick hair. “No. No, I’m afraid not. The thing is, the reason I got dragged into this in the first place—I was coming along here to see the Secretary perhaps an hour ago, just walking past, you understand, when Chingford strolled out of the billiard room, hailed me in his usual offensive manner, and said, ‘That swine Fairfax got what he deserved. You should deal with it.’”

Kim stopped dead and turned to stare at him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“No. I begged his pardon. He asked if I was expletive deaf, repeated that Fairfax was dead, and sauntered off. I went into the billiard room and saw—well, that.”

“Dear God. Would you say that Fairfax was freshly dead when you went in?”

“It certainly hadn’t been long. The blood was still dripping. I’m awfully sorry, old man.” Mitra gave him a look that combined sympathy with considerable embarrassment. “I don’t quite know how one phrases condolences for this sort of thing.”

“‘Bad luck, your brother’s a murderer’,” Kim muttered. “Where is he?”

“In the silence room. He’s denying everything. You’ll need to hear him.”