They went down some stairs, past more people—all men, all wealthy-looking, almost all white—and into a room hung with Pre-Raphaelite pictures and wallpapered with huge curling, twisting flowers. William Morris, Will thought, probably the real thing. He had just time to reflect that Kim must like this room before one of the men present, a bulky red-faced fellow sitting in a chair, said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Everyone else turned. Mitra said, “I have Lord Arthur Secretan—Lord Chingford’s brother—and his colleague, Mr. Darling. Detective Inspector Rennick.”

“We’re acquainted,” Rennick said. He was a short, shrewd-looking man who sounded North London. “Good evening, Mr. Secretan. It’s been a little while. I’m sorry to meet in these circumstances.”

“So am I, but extremely reassured you’re on the case,” Kim said. “It’s good to see you, Inspector. Hello, Knowle.”

That was to the address of a rather harried, balding man who said, “Lord Arthur? May I ask—?”

“I invited him to come,” Mitra said. “It seemed a good idea.”

“The bloody hell it does!” said the red-faced man twice as loudly as he needed to, and Will realised this must be Kim’s brother.

He looked like someone had drawn a caricature of Kim as John Bull and not been kind about it. He was significantly bulkier, with big shoulders and a square jaw where Kim was narrow, and a complexion that suggested he was about to have an apoplectic fit.

“What’s he doing here?” Lord Chingford demanded, glaring at Kim. “Why am I here, come to that, having my time wasted? I’ve told you what I know. It’s your own damn fault if you can’t understand plain English.” He groped in his breast pocket, made an irritated noise, and swiped the back of his hand across his brow, which was damp with sweat. It was a warm night, and the number of bodies in the room wasn’t helping the temperature, but still, it didn’t look marvellous.

“Has someone called a lawyer for him?” Kim asked.

“The gentleman has declined—”

“I am an earl, you jumped-up jackanapes, not a bloody gentleman!”

“No indeed, sir,” Rennick agreed tonelessly. “His lordship has so far declined to send for a legal representative, Mr. Secretan, feeling that he doesn’t need one.”

“Of course I don’t. If you imbeciles listened to me, this would be cleared up in five minutes!”

“I’ll listen,” Kim said. “Could I have a private conversation with my brother please, Inspector?”

“No you damned well can’t,” Chingford said. “Why the devil would I want to speak to you?”

“It would be a good idea, Lord Chingford,” Mitra put in. “If you won’t call a lawyer—”

“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you, when you’re not snouting around your betters here?”

“I’m not your lawyer,” Mitra said, with considerable emphasis.