That sounded like a busy man’s dismissal. Fair enough, Will supposed: he wasn’t sure what he could do either. He just wished to God there was something. Even if Kim just wanted him sitting quietly in the corner to talk at.

He also wished Kim had mentioned the Private Bureau, if only to say he didn’t have a chance of using their influence. Or that he wouldn’t if he could. Especially that, maybe.

Not a subject he wanted to raise now. “I’m here if there’s anything I can do.”

Kim gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.”

The day dragged after that. Will called the Savoy and asked for Mademoiselle Zie, but the girls had gone out. He sat down with a bit of paper and tried to come up with brilliant insights into who else might have killed Fairfax, but got nowhere.

There was the billiard room, and nobody had been in it except Fairfax. The reading room next to it, and nobody had been in there except Chingford having his supposed nap. Knowle and Quiller had been together in the office around the corner; Harry Mitra had come up to the billiard room with a friend and left him there just before Chingford came out. Apart from that, according to the statements Inspector Rennick had shared with Kim, nobody admitted being in the area in the period between Fairfax’s last sighting and the body being found.

Which didn’t mean they hadn’t been there. Theoretically, a fair number of people on the Symposium premises at the time could have nipped up and done Fairfax in—if they’d known he was alone in the room, of course, and if they’d been confident of slipping away unseen.

Will had no brilliant insights on any of it. He pushed the paper away, feeling useless. He hated this, and the part he really hated was that Kim’s fears were spot on. Flitby clearly thought Chingford had done it, and that was a very bad sign. If the silly sod hanged, if Kim found himself the new heir, what then? They’d have to find some sort of way forward, but Will couldn’t imagine one that involved Kim taking up his responsibilities to his family. He’d heard him with his father, and he didn’t think Kim could take that relentless battering forever. Something would break.

They had to get out of this. Will wished he knew how.

Chapter Eleven

Kim called that evening. All he said was, “Can you come?” but it was enough to bring Will in a hurry.

He was waiting when Will turned up, around seven. No cocktails, for once, but he poured Will a glass of cold, crisp white wine, welcome given the June heat in which Will had walked most of the way because he couldn’t get a tram and he was too jumpy to stand and wait.

“So what’s up?”