“It wasn’t me!” Chingford sounded almost panicked at the barrage of questions. “I don’t know how he got it and he was a bloody lying old bastard and it serves him right!”

The words fell into total silence. Lord Flitby’s eyes widened. Kim looked at his brother for a moment. “I’m beginning to think you may be more stupid than I realised. Amazing. Let’s go back to the day before the murder. Fairfax asked you for three thousand pounds. He said you had a day to find the money. What did you do?”

“Nothing. I didn’t have it.”

“Why didn’t you ask Father?”

“He was already paying—”

“You were already stealing from him. What stopped you from asking for more? Or, no, let me rephrase that. What was the second blackmail about?”

Will and Flitby both looked up at that. Chingford said, “I don’t know what you mean.” It wouldn’t have fooled a toddler.

“You had your regular contact over the bribery payments already: Fairfax could have renegotiated the deal that way if he wanted to. Instead he spoke to you in person. A different approach, and it was about something different, wasn’t it? This time he threatened to tell Father if you didn’t pay up, and you weren’t afraid of him going to the police. Therefore the threat was social or moral, rather than legal. What was it?”

“Go to hell,” Chingford muttered.

“He had something else on you, a social shame. And you stewed overnight and exploded at him the next day. You were called in to see Knowle after that, and informed you’d be sacked from the Club if you didn’t apologise. What happened next?”

“Nothing. I’ve told the police everything. I had dinner, and went for a nap, curse it!”

Kim made an exasperated noise. “Do you want to take your secrets to the gallows, you fool? Once you left Knowle, where did you go?”

“Hold on,” Will said. “Go back a bit. Tell us about Knowle.”

Kim looked at him with a question in his gaze. Will shrugged. “He relaxed a bit just then. When you moved on.”

“Did he?” Kim said, and then he froze. Lips a little parted, eyes flickering as if he was watching something unfold that nobody else could see. Flitby opened his mouth. Will jabbed a finger into the air, getting the Marquess’s attention, and put it to his lips with a meaningful look. Flitby inhaled—possibly being told to shut up was a new experience—but he didn’t speak.

And then Kim gave a single sharp nod, and the expression in his dark gaze was unholy. “Blackmail of a social nature, perpetrated by a fellow member. Did you tell Knowle about it, Chingford? It’s what one does: take these things to the Secretary. It’s what George Yoxall did when Fairfax tried it with him. Did you?”