“So you’ll hang as long as you can ruin us,” Kim said. “I grant we are an unlikeable family, but that seems excessive.”

“I don’t understand,” Maisie said. “If Mr. Knowle is planning to make sure Lord Chingford hangs, why is Lord Chingford helping him?”

“Because none of that’s going to happen,” Chingford said.

“Indeed. The solution is very simple,” Knowle said. “Lord Flitby’s steam yacht will take us to the Continent with a generous sum to ease our way. Once Anton and I have left the country you may speak of us as you please. Lord Chingford’s name will be cleared, and so will Mr. Darling’s. Lord Waring’s deeds need not be dredged up. You can even have your book back. When I go free, so do you all.” He paused meaningfully. “But if I am caught, you will all be ruined with me.”

“Not if I break your neck first,” Will said. “Why don’t I do that?”

Anton raised his revolver and gave Will an ugly look. Will returned it. “I don’t know what you’re grinning about, sunshine. You couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with that, judging by this morning.”

“But he can unquestionably hit you from this distance,” Knowle said. “And suppose you did kill me—two more deaths to the House of Flitby’s credit? How many is that in the past six months?—I will destroy you all from the grave.”

“Oh, come now,” Kim said.

“Believe me, Lord Arthur. I have composed a full confession, which will be sent to the newspapers if I fail to communicate to a certain person within a certain period.”

Kim looked unconvinced. “Really. One wouldn’t have thought you’d have time to arrange that.”

“I’ve had the arrangement in place for years. Years in Zodiac, years as the trusted heart of the Symposium Club. I know far too much for the comfort of many a rich or noble man. You had better hope I live, because my death will bring you down in flames.”

“Yes, I have grasped the principle,” Kim snapped. “For God’s sake, Chingford, what are you doing? We’ve cleared you. He can say what he likes in court: nobody will listen. Why the devil are you siding with this swine when he’s trying to have you hanged?”

Chingford gave him a look of pure loathing. The bruises on both sides of his face were coming up nicely, long ugly marks, as though he were looking through bars. “You think I believe a word you say, you little worm? I know what side my bread’s buttered. I know what you’re doing, what you’ve been doing all along, trying to take my place—”

“He was trying to save your neck!” Will said.