“At least an hour,” the Marquess said, through frozen lips.

“Thank you.” Will lowered the gun. Kim held out a hand and Will chucked it to him. “If he’d run back here, he’d still have been sweating when we got in. It wasn’t him.”

“Damnation,” Kim said. “Leo.”

“How the hell does he know we’re here?”

“And is this just aimed at muddying the waters round Quiller and Chingford?” Kim’s eyes sparked. “Or is he afraid we’ll find something?”

“Arthur!” Flitby said, voice commanding. “You will explain—”

“Quiet, we’re busy. Chingford, you need to tell us everything. How you knew Fairfax. All your dealings. What you argued with him about, what happened that night, who you’ve talked to since we got here. All of it. Now.”

Chingford’s lip curled. “Go to hell, you bloody pansy.”

“Fine,” Kim said. “Will? I think we’re at the last resort.”

“Christ, me too,” Will said, and kicked Lord Chingford in the stomach.

Chapter Twenty

He doubled over. Will put an elbow into his kidney—partly to incapacitate, partly he just liked the thought of the man pissing blood—then got him in a headlock and marched him to the door. He pulled it open, rammed the Earl’s head against the doorframe, and shut it again.

Not all the way. Just enough that Lord Chingford’s skull was firmly jammed between oak and oak. A bit forcefully, perhaps.

“I hear you used to do this to Kim,” he said. “Turnabout’s fair play, right?”

Lord Flitby and Chingford were both shouting. Will put a bit more pressure on the door until his victim howled, and said, “Everyone shut up. All right, two choices. You talk now, or I slam the door a few times and then you talk. It’s up to you. I’ve got all day.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Chingford said, sounding congested. “Father!”