Raphael’s face had lost its mask-like cast. Now his near-black irises swiveled fractionally from side to side, as though he were reading something only he could see.

“I must’ve accidentally taken the Frederick Herring inste—”

A police siren sounded a few streets away. Raphael’s head turned: the siren wailed for a few seconds, then, as abruptly as it had started, was shut off.

He turned back to face Robin. He didn’t seem overly worried by the siren now it had stopped. Of course, he thought that it had been Matthew on the phone when he grabbed her.

“Yeah,” he said, regaining the thread of his thought. “That’s what I’ll say. I took the painting of the piebald to be valued by mistake, never saw ‘Mare Mourning,’ had no idea it might be a Stubbs.”

“You can’t have taken the piebald picture by mistake,” said Robin quietly. “It didn’t come from Chiswell House and the family’s prepared to say so.”

“The family,” said Raphael, “don’t notice what’s under their fucking noses. A Stubbs has been hanging in a damp spare bedroom for nigh on twenty years and nobody noticed, and you know why? Because they’re such fucking arrogant snobs… ‘Mare Mourning’ was old Tinky’s. She inherited it from the broken-down, alcoholic, gaga old Irish baronet she married before my grandfather. She had no idea what it was worth. She kept it because it was horsey and she loved horses.

“When her first husband died, she hopped over to England and pulled the same trick, became my grandfather’s expensive private nurse and then his even more expensive wife. She died intestate and all her crap—it was mostly crap—got absorbed into the Chiswell estate. The Frederick Herring could easily have been one of hers and nobody noticed it, stuck away in some filthy corner of that bloody house.”

“What if the police trace the piebald picture?”

“They won’t. It’s my mother’s. I’ll destroy it. When the police ask me, I’ll say my father told me he was going to flog it now he knew it was worth eight grand. ‘He must’ve sold it privately, officer.’”

“Kinvara doesn’t know the new story. She won’t be able to back you up.”

“This is where her well-known instability and unhappiness with my father works in my favor. Izzy and Fizzy will line up to tell the world that she never paid much attention to what he was up to, because she didn’t love him and was only in it for the money. Reasonable doubt is all I need.”

“What’s going to happen when the police put it to Kinvara that you only restarted the affair because you realized she might be about to become fantastically wealthy?”

Raphael let out a long, slow hiss.

“Well,” he said quietly, “if they can make Kinvara believe that, I’m fucked, aren’t I? But right now, Kinvara believes her Raffy loves her more than anything in the world, and she’s going to take a lot of convincing that’s not true, because her whole life’s going to fall apart otherwise. I drilled it into her: if they don’t know about the affair, they can’t touch us. I virtually had her reciting it while I fucked her. And I warned her they’d try and turn us against each other if either one of us was suspected. I’ve got her very well-schooled and I said, when in doubt, cry your eyes out, tell them nobody ever tells you anything and act bloody confused.”

“She’s already told one silly lie to try and protect you, and the police know about it,” said Robin.

“What lie?”

“About the necklace, in the early hours of Sunday morning. Didn’t she tell you? Maybe she realized you’d be angry.”

“What did she say?”

“Strike told her he didn’t buy the new explanation for you going down to Chiswell House the morning your father died—”

“What d’you mean, he didn’t buy it?” said Raphael, and Robin saw outraged vanity mingled with his panic.

“I thought it was convincing,” she assured him. “Clever, to tell a story that you’d appear to give up only unwillingly. Everyone’s always more disposed to believe something they believe they’ve uncovered for themsel—”

Raphael raised the gun so that it was close to her forehead again and even though the cold ring of metal had not yet touched her skin again, she felt it there.

“What lie did Kinvara tell?”

“She claimed you came to tell her that your mother removed diamonds from the necklace and replaced them with fakes.”

Raphael appeared horrified.

“What the fuck did she say that for?”

“Because she’d had a shock, I suppose, finding Strike and me in the grounds when you were hiding upstairs. Strike said he didn’t believe the necklace story, so she panicked and made up a new version. The trouble is, this one’s checkable.”

“The stupid cunt,” said Raphael quietly, but with a venom that made the back of Robin’s neck prickle. “That stupid, stupid cunt… why didn’t she just stick to our story? And… no, wait…” he said, with the air of a man suddenly making a welcome connection, and to Robin’s mingled consternation and relief, he withdrew the gun from where it had been almost touching her, and laughed softly. “That’s why she hid the necklace on Sunday afternoon. She gave me some fucking guff about not wanting Izzy or Fizzy to sneak in and take it… well, she’s stupid, but she’s not hopeless. Unless someone checks the stones, we’re still in the clear… And they’ll have to take apart the stable block to find it. OK,” he said, as though talking to himself, “OK, I think all of that’s recoverable.

“Is that it, Venetia? Is that all you’ve got?”

“No,” said Robin. “There’s Flick Purdue.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Yes, you do. You picked her up months ago, and fed her the truth about the gallows, knowing she’d pass the information to Jimmy.”

“What a busy boy I’ve been,” said Raphael lightly. “So what? Flick won’t admit to shagging a Tory minister’s son, especially if Jimmy might find out. She’s as besotted with him as Kinvara is with me.”

“That’s true, she didn’t want to admit it, but somebody must have spotted you creeping out of her flat next morning. She tried to pretend you were an Indian waiter.”

Robin thought she saw a minute wince of surprise and displeasure. Raphael’s amour propre was wounded at the thought that he could have been so described.

“OK,” he said, after a moment or two, “OK, let’s see… what if it was a waiter Flick shagged, but she’s maliciously claiming it was me because of her class warrior bullshit and the grudge her boyfriend’s got against my family?”

“You stole her flatmate’s credit card out of her bag in the kitchen.”

She could tell by the tightening of his mouth that he had not expected this. Doubtless he had thought that given Flick’s lifestyle, suspicion would fall on anyone passing through her tiny, overcrowded flat, and perhaps especially Jimmy.

“Proof?” he said again.

“Flick can provide the date you were at her flat and if Laura testifies her credit card went missing that night—”