“And you didn’t think to mention him until now?” Makepeace’s eyes widened in outrage. “Good God, man, that’s your betrayer right there.”
Apollo was already shaking his head. “No… he’d realized he made a… mistake in arresting me. He vowed to help… discover the real murderer.”
“So he told you.” Makepeace furiously shook tea into a teapot from a tin without bothering to measure it. “How can you be such a fool?”
“I’m not a fool,” Apollo growled.
“He was merely placating you until he could inform the King’s men.”
“I saw him just yesterday.”
“And that makes my point!” Makepeace filled the teapot and banged down the kettle on the hob. A few drops of water splashed out and hit the hearth, sizzling as they evaporated. “He betrayed you, ’Pollo.”
“No—”
There was a knock on the door and they both fell silent. Apollo exchanged glances with Makepeace, and then took his hooked pruning knife from the belt at his waist.
He wasn’t going back.
He slid behind the door as Makepeace opened it.
“Mr. Harte?” said a familiar voice, and Apollo peered around the door. Trevillion stood in the outer hall, alone and leaning on his cane.
“Inside,” Apollo muttered, gesturing him in.
“Are you insane?” Makepeace hissed as Trevillion limped in. “Who’s this?”
“Trevillion, the man… I was telling you about.”
Makepeace looked outraged. “This man betrayed you!”
“I didn’t,” Trevillion replied with stiff dignity.
“Indeed?” Makepeace thrust out his face, a sarcastic smile twisting his lips. “Then why, pray tell, are you here, only hours after ’Pollo had to flee for his life from Harte’s Folly? How do you even know where I live when I’d never heard your name before this morning?”
“ ’Tisn’t my fault you’re not well informed,” Trevillion replied, his upper lip curling.
Apollo nearly banged his head against the wall. Naturally Trevillion would rather antagonize than explain. But with Trevillion’s next breath he was proven wrong.
“As for your first question,” Trevillion continued, “I’m here because a man who was under my command four years ago, when I arrested Lord Kilbourne, came to me. He informed me that he’d heard there’d been a raid on Harte’s Folly this morning, but that Lord Kilbourne had escaped. I arrived at your door, hoping you would know of Lord Kilbourne’s whereabouts, and,” he said, casting a significant glance Apollo’s way, “as it turned out, you did.”
“So you could arrest him anew!” Makepeace shouted.
“Had I wanted him arrested, he’d be languishing behind bars now,” Trevillion replied, hard.
Apollo stiffened at how easily Trevillion talked about putting him behind bars.
The door to Makepeace’s rooms opened and the Duke of Montgomery strolled in as casually as if he were entering an afternoon musicale.
“I say,” the duke drawled, “am I interrupting?”
“No, but you’re barging in uninvited to my rooms,” Makepeace snapped.
“It’s so tedious,” Montgomery sighed, “to have to wait for invitations and, I find, they often don’t come when you most want them to. Much easier to simply disregard formal invitations altogether. Good Lord, man,” he continued in the same bored tone, “haven’t you anywhere for guests to sit in this pigsty?”
“Invited guests are welcome to sit on the bed.” Makepeace pointed. “Uninvited guests are welcome to—”
“What are you… doing here, Your Grace?” Apollo asked hastily before Makepeace could finish his sentence—perhaps disastrously.