He stalked forward. Moving like a wolf, Will thought, and his own wolf snarled in response.

They came to a door. Kim opened it with force and went in without ceremony. Will shut it behind them.

Lord Chingford was standing on the carpet looking as sulky as an overgrown schoolboy. The Marquess, seated, turned to face them with cold anger. “Arthur. Where have you been?”

“Getting shot at,” Kim said. “In the pine wood, by a big stupid man. Anything to say, Chingford?”

“What?” said the Marquess.

“Eh?” Chingford added.

“Shot at,” Kim said, enunciating clearly. “With a gun. There is a bullet hole in my sleeve.”

“Nonsense,” the Marquess said.

Kim inhaled dangerously. Will said, “Hold on. Has Lord Chingford been in here long?”

The Marquess turned to look at him, lip curling, eyes full of such breathtaking contempt that Will recoiled a half step. He wasn’t sure he’d been looked at like that in his life: he hadn’t been important enough to come in for the scorn of generals.

“This individual will be silent,” the Marquess said, every word a slap. “And you will explain yourself, Arthur.”

“I explained yesterday,” Kim said. “Answer his question.”

“You lied yesterday, as is your invariable and contemptible habit. Explain!” The Marquess picked a newspaper off the table and slapped it down the other way up. That let Will see the picture of his own face under the headline HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

“Sod,” he said.

Kim barely glanced at it. “The Daily Mirror? I thought you took The Times.”

“I will not brook this insolence!” the Marquess shouted. “You have brought a criminal to this house! How dare you, sir? How dare you? This man is accused of murder!”

“So is Chingford,” Kim said. “And if it’s good enough for him...”

The Marquess inhaled. Will got into the momentary silence. “Can you answer my question? How long has Chingford been in here?”

“Keep your damned mouth shut in the presence of your betters,” Chingford snarled at him. “Have Hastings call the police, Father.”

“Do that,” Kim said. “I’ll give them the notebook and tell them how you breached your bail.”

The Marquess and Lord Chingford went off like howitzers at that, simultaneous and loud, and Kim started shouting back. Will wasn’t sure he’d seen Kim shout before. He usually ran cold, not hot, but he was spitting nails now, face reddening.

Will wasn’t here for a family row. He looked between the three enraged men, ugly and alike in their fury, pulled the empty gun from his pocket, and levelled it at Chingford’s face, right between the eyes.

It wasn’t subtle, but they shut up.

“I’ll ask once more,” he said into the silence. “How long’s Lord Chingford been in here with you, Lord Flitby? And the answer needs to be a number of minutes. Anything else and I’ll pull the trigger.”