“A lovely sailing trip with the family. If only Mother and Henry were here. You?”

“I’ve told them I want to see the girls.”

Kim nodded. “They’re in the ladies’ cabin. Nobody has troubled them. Until now.”

Will looked round to see Knowle ushering Phoebe along the deck. She stalked along, generous mouth set tight. Will said, “What’s happening?”

“He wants her to make sandwiches. They’re for Will, Fee, don’t spit in them,” he added, raising his voice. Phoebe waved in acknowledgement and disappeared down another hatch at the front of the yacht.

“Galley, or kitchen,” Kim said, answering the unspoken question. “Then, in order from front to back, gentlemen’s stateroom under our feet, engine room, the ladies’ cabin, and the crews’ quarters fitted into the remaining space at the stern.”

Will noted the layout in case it might be useful. “How are we getting on?”

“Making a good thirteen knots, I think. If we keep that up, it’ll be a relatively quick trip.”

“Still overnight. People will need to sleep. Can you sail in the dark?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if they will.”

Will looked over at Chingford. He was watching them with revolver in hand and a contemptuous expression, but a good twenty feet away. Too far to rush, but also too far to hear. Will dropped his voice low anyway. “Any ideas?”

“Anton doesn’t seem very well. That puts Knowle in rather a tight position.”

“He could make it less tight.”

“The thought has occurred to me too. But this isn’t a one-man vessel and Father might dig his heels in. If it was down to Knowle and Chingford alone, they’d have to take in the sails and run on steam, which would be significantly slower, and telegrams about fugitive criminals may start flying across the sea at any time. I’m hoping he decides to put up with you and me a little longer for the sake of gaining a few extra hours.”

Will nodded. “Say he does, and we all get to Flanders. What happens then? Does he kill us there?”

Kim propped his lean arse on the side of the boat, the picture of an aristocratic lounger. Will stood straight, hands behind his back, like the soldier he’d been. “Good question. Knowle’s main concern will be to get away unnoticed and unpursued, so he won’t want a deserted luxury yacht bobbing outside Vlissingen, still less one full of bodies. That wouldn’t be subtle. I suspect he will run for it with Anton, leaving Chingford to head happily back to England until such time as it dawns on him that he can’t rely on us to keep our silence about this.”

“There’s a few other things he won’t want you to talk about, come to that.”