“I didn’t do it for you,” Will said. “I did it for Kim. It was him who put blood and sweat into this business, and saved your life at the risk of his own. While Chingford was trying to get us all killed,” he added, because Kim wasn’t the only one who could put the knife in.

The Marquess’s mouth tensed. “I am aware of that.”

“Be grateful to him, then.”

“I shall—” Lord Flitby began with audible annoyance, and stopped himself. “Perhaps you will at least accept my apologies.”

“I’m not the one who’s owed them.”

The Marquess made an exasperated noise. “You are an extremely obstructive man, Mr. Darling.”

“Yes,” Will said. “If you want to feel better, I can’t help you. If you want to make amends, talk to Kim.”

The old man didn’t reply. Will shifted against the post to ease the weight on his good leg.

“I know what he did,” the Marquess said abruptly. “Arthur. I know he saved my life and whatever shreds remain of our family’s honour and I shall—I shall speak to him. But you helped him at your own peril, and for that I thank you.”

Will shrugged. His calf hurt and his feet were cold. “You’re welcome.”

An ambulance with a police escort arrived. One of the ambulance men took a quick look at Will’s wound, cleaned it again, and re-bandaged him, then they took Lord Chingford away. The rest of them piled into the cars and were driven back to the house.

They were allowed to wash, change—someone found Will a pair of shoes, which was welcome—and eat a very badly needed breakfast before Will and Kim were summoned to see DS. He had commandeered the Blue Drawing-Room, the one with the portrait of Kim’s mother, and looked right at home.

“Nice place you have here, Secretan.”

“Thank you,” Kim said. “There’s plenty of space, though it isn’t terribly convenient for the shops.”

“Good for harbouring fugitives, though. Hello again, Mr. Darling. I’d say you’re a hard man to find, but it was glaringly obvious.”

“Don’t tell me you came here to get him,” Kim said. “You must have seen through that absurd frame job.”

DS gave him a look. “We came up here once it was apparent that Knowle had slipped through our fingers, and your telephone line had mysteriously failed. Those two events together didn’t seem like chance, given your father’s possession of a steam yacht. We got here rather too late to stop you embarking, unfortunately.”

“Yes, that is a shame,” Kim said, with some restraint.

“Still, you saved the British taxpayer a couple of lengths of rope, so swings and roundabouts. Tell me all, Secretan. From the start, no prevarication, and no omissions. I know you too well.”