“Least said, soonest mended.” Chingford announced that as though it were some kind of ancient wisdom. “He’ll deal with this without making my personal affairs public property. You’ll see.”

“And while you waited obediently for that happy day, Will and I arrived here. Did you call Knowle to tell him so? When did you call Knowle?”

“Yesterday evening,” Chingford snapped. “I wanted to find out what the devil was going on! Why shouldn’t I?”

“Why indeed,” Kim said. “What did he say about Quiller’s murder?”

“Not to worry. He said Quiller had clearly been up to something but it would all go to clear me in the end.”

“And?”

“And what? None of my damned business, is it?”

“No indeed. Just a dead old man. What did you, and he, say about us?”

“I said you were here with some damn country bumpkin, and he said to watch out because you and your thug were dangerous. And he was bloody right, wasn’t he? Father—”

“Shut up,” Will said. “Jesus.”

“Who else did you call?” Kim said.

“What? Nobody.”

Kim’s voice was lethal. “I want to know who else you told we were here. Now.”

“Nobody! Why would anyone give a damn where you are?”

Kim grabbed the telephone, and barked a number at the operator. “I need the call placed at once. Code PB12. That’s PB12, look it up. Official business. Clear a line, and put me through now!”

“What are you doing?” Chingford demanded. “Let me up!”

“You told Knowle we were here, and he sent his killer after us,” Kim said, hand over the mouthpiece. “Thank you for that, brother. I’ll pay you back in full.”

“Wait.” Flitby was on his feet. “Arthur, what are you doing?”

“Knowle is part of a criminal organisation called Zodiac,” Kim said. “He killed Fairfax, and set up Chingford to take the blame— Oh, hello. Put me through to DS, immediately, code twelve. It’s Secretan.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware of that. It’s still a code twelve. Then he can shout at me if he doesn’t agree, just put me through.” He waited a moment. “Hello? Sir, it’s Secretan. Have you identified Leo yet? No? Allow me: it’s Eric Knowle, the Secretary of the Symposium Club. He killed Fairfax, he ordered Quiller’s death, and he’s your man.”

He held the receiver a little way away from his ear, wincing. Will could hear the faint quacking that indicated strong feelings on the other end from clear across the room. “I have not sat on anything, sir. I only just saw it myself.” He outlined his reasoning rapidly. “Sir. At my father’s house. No, alone. Yes, I will. Thank you. Good luck.”

He hung up and breathed out. “Well, that was breakneck. You can let him up, Will.”