Lord Armsdale chuckled ironically. Bannerman could not see his face. ‘He came to me for help. I can still hardly believe his nerve. Neither, I think, will I ever understand his motives. You can live even to my great age, Mr Bannerman, and people will still take you by surprise. He told me he was being blackmailed by a journalist in Brussels. Slater. At first he wouldn’t tell me why, but finally I got it out of him. He was desperate. Slater had wrung nearly one hundred thousand pounds out of him over a period of several months, and was pushing for a final pay-off. But Gryffe didn’t believe that would be an end to it. He was convinced that Slater was going to blow the whistle on him, regardless.’

The ageing peer turned from the window.

‘He degraded himself, Mr Bannerman. Promised to do anything if I would help him. Even resign his seat. Clearly he had weighed up the pros and cons of coming to me. He knew it would destroy me to see my party wrecked by him. And he must have calculated that by sacrificing his career in politics he could maintain his association with Jansen, and continue to live in the style to which he aspired. He was gambling that I would help him dispose of the threat that Slater posed, rather than risk the party. Or that my own humiliation would be sufficient motivation. He had, after all, been my protégé. Of all those he had taken in, wasn’t I the biggest fool of all?’

He put the pipe to his lips but it had gone out.

‘So I promised to help him deal with Slater, and then set about destroying Gryffe himself before he could destroy me or my party. I was not prepared to leave anything to chance, Mr Bannerman.’

He crossed to his writing desk and drew a sheaf of papers from a drawer.

‘This, if you like,’ he held it up, ‘is my full confession. I spent many hours composing it last night. I had hoped that perhaps I might not need to use it until after the election. Just ten more days. But, of course, that is not possible.’

He crossed the room and handed it to Bannerman. There were six foolscap pages, closely typed. It was dated and signed.

‘The point that I make in it, Mr Bannerman, the point that I would like to stress, is that neither the party nor the government itself were in any way implicated or involved in this affair. The responsibility is mine and mine alone. Perhaps . . . perhaps it will salvage something. The last and only sacrifice I can make now is myself.’

Bannerman flipped through the sheets without looking at the old man. He did not want to feel pity for him. Only contempt, to remember the child lying bleeding on the concourse at Zaventem.