“Yes, beloved, I do.” Kim’s lips twitched. “Mostly. And you caught that stupid sod in a lie of omission I missed, and I did think I was pretty good at lies.”

“That’s why I’ve got good at spotting them. It doesn’t half run in the family.”

“Oh, be fair: I’m at least a deliberate liar. You can’t trust a word Chingford says because he persuades himself that the facts are whatever he wants them to be, and is furious if anyone contradicts them. He decided Knowle was on his side and then sat there nursing his secrets in the absolute certainty that he’d be protected. He always has been, after all.”

“Not this time.”

“And won’t that be a bitter pill for his monstrous self-esteem to choke down.”

Will kicked a rock. “You are sure Knowle did it? Not Chingford?”

“About ninety-eight per cent.”

“What about the two per cent?”

“Not my decision,” Kim said. “I will give all my information and deductions to the Met as well as the Bureau. If I’m wrong and he did it and they hang him, it won’t be my fault.”

“If you’d said that from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“True, if somewhat gratuitous to point out. But I couldn’t have said it from the start. I can say it now, from here, with you. I’m, if not free of my family, then perhaps getting there, and it’s entirely down to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You stayed,” Kim said. “You loved me. You watched me, which obliged me to behave as the man I’d like to be, rather than the less impressive one I often am. I don’t like it when you’re not there either, Will. I’m better with you.”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere.” He grabbed Kim’s hand, not caring if anyone saw. “And you are exactly the man I want you to be. You always have been. The last knight.”

“In tarnished armour?”

“I don’t think shining armour would suit either of us. I’m pretty tarnished myself.”

Kim took in a breath. Will squeezed his fingers, stopping whatever he was going to say. “You and me, Kim, whatever happens. And if that’s where we’ve got to after all this, it’s been worth it.”

“Worth you being called a murderer in the national press?”

Will shrugged. “You get called that, and a Red, and a shirker. And the truth is, I’ve got blood on my hands even if it’s not Quiller’s.”

“Mph. May I counsel against taking punishment for A because you feel guilty about B? I’ve spent a lot of my life doing that. It doesn’t help.”