“It is. A good club secretary might end up as confidential secretary to a millionaire, or managing the Savoy, or goodness knows what.”

“Knowle is excellent,” Mitra said. “We don’t want to lose him, so don’t give him ideas. Round here.” He led the way into another corridor off at an angle, knocked sharply on the door, and waited for a cry of “Enter!”

The harried man from the other night was sitting at a desk with two stacked in-trays and an account book in front of him. He was perhaps early forties, medium build, his hair receding significantly, and he looked at Kim with a startled confusion that rapidly turned to annoyance. “Lord Arthur,” he said without notable enthusiasm. “May I ask what you are doing here? Because the exceptional circumstances of last night—”

“Haven’t changed,” Kim said. “My brother stands in danger of his life, and I’d like to ask some questions.”

“I’d appreciate your assistance, Knowle,” Mitra added. “Given those exceptional circumstances.”

Knowle frowned. “If you’d care to put your request in writing, I’m sure I can help.”

“I could do that,” Kim said. “Unfortunately, while I wait for your response, my father will be raising hell up and down the halls of power, claiming that Chingford is being made a scapegoat by the Club Committee and demanding a full investigation.”

Knowle’s jaw dropped. “He’s not saying that, is he?”

“Not yet.”

“The investigation is out of our hands,” the Secretary protested. “We’re cooperating with the police to the best of our ability.”

“Feel free to tell my father that: I believe he’s coming up from East Anglia today. Or if you prefer, I could keep him informed of the practical assistance you’ve afforded me.”

Knowle gave him a profoundly unimpressed look. “Do you think you can make him accept your brother’s guilt?”

“Chingford’s guilt is a matter for the jury to decide,” Kim said. “My father needs to hear that the Symposium hasn’t closed ranks against an unpopular man for its own benefit. I’m sure you’d rather he didn’t go around London making that claim.”

“The Committee would certainly prefer he didn’t,” Mitra added. “So if you could spare five minutes now...”

Knowle clearly knew when he was beaten. “Let me just say explicitly, gentlemen, that there is no plot against Lord Chingford, and I find it highly offensive that anyone should imply as much. The police’s interest is entirely due to his own actions and behaviour, and Lord Flitby would do best to await the outcome of the official investigation. As the Committee wishes it, Lord Arthur, I will answer your questions now, but we absolutely cannot have amateur sleuths—and non-members at that—running around the Club while this business is resolved. I hope you understand.”

“Perfectly. Thank you.”

Knowle relaxed slightly. “Fine. Please, sit down.”