Murgatroyd, opening the door to Superintendent Hannasyde, stood squarely in the aperture and asked him aggressively what he wanted. He asked if Miss Vereker was in and she said: “That's as may be. Your name, please, and business.”
His eyes twinkled. “My name is Hannasyde, and my business is with Miss Vereker.”
“I know very well what you are,” said Murgatroyd. “I've had another of you here today, and I've had enough. If the police would let well alone it would be a good thing for everyone.” She stood aside to allow him to enter, and led him across the tiny hall to the studio. “It's the police again, Miss Tony,” she announced. “I suppose you'd better see him.”
Antonia was sitting by the window with two of her dogs at her feet. One of them, Bill, recognised an acquaintance in the Superintendent, and wildly thumped his tail; his daughter, Juno, however, got up growling.
“Ah, who says dogs have no sense?” said Murgatroyd darkly.
“Shut up, Juno!” commanded Antonia. “Oh, it's the Superintendent! That means I'm going to be interrogated all over again. Have some tea?”
“Thank you, Miss Vereker, but I've had tea,” said Hannasyde, his eyes on a big canvas on the easel.
Antonia said kindly: “Dawn Wind, but it isn't finished yet. My brother's new picture.”
Hannasyde went up to look more closely at it. “Your brother told me today that his hands are worth more than all your half-brother's money,” he remarked.
“Yes, he does think a lot of himself,” agreed Antonia. “You'll have to get used to that sort of swank if you mean to see much of him.”
“Well, I was thinking that he's probably right,” said Hannasyde. “I don't pretend to know much about art, but -”
“Don't say that!” besought Antonia. “Every well meaning idiot says it. What on earth are you standing there for, Murgatroyd?”
“You may be glad of me staying,” said Murgatroyd grimly.
“Well, I shan't. Not after the way you shoved your finger into Kenneth's pie with all that rot about him being in bed at midnight.”
“What I've said I stand by,” replied Murgatroyd.
“What's the use of standing by it when nobody believes you?” said Antonia reasonably. “Anyway, don't stand there, because it puts me off.”
“Well, you know where I am if you want me,” Murgatroyd replied, and withdrew.
“Sit down,” invited Antonia. “What do you want to know?”
“What was in that letter,” replied the Superintendent promptly.
“Which letter? - Oh, Arnold's! Nothing much.”
“If there was nothing much in it why did you destroy it?” asked Hannasyde.
“It was that sort of a letter.”
“What sort of a letter?”
“The sort you destroy - Look here, we're beginning to sound like a pair of cross-talk comedians!” Antonia pointed out.
“Very like,” agreed the Superintendent evenly. “Did you destroy the letter because it contained a rather serious accusation against Mr Rudolph Mesurier?”
Antonia looked defensive. “It didn't.”
“Quite sure, Miss Vereker?”
Antonia propped her chin in her hands and frowned. “I wish I could remember what I said in the ghoulish Police Station,” she said. “I almost wish I hadn't burned the letter, too. Because you seem to think it was frightfully important, and as a matter of fact it wasn't. It was just a general hate against Rudolph.”
“No specific charge?”
“No. He just ran through Roget's Thesaurus for synonyms of Scoundrel, and put them all into the letter.”
“You say that there was no specific charge, Miss Vereker, but does a business man like your half-brother threaten to take legal proceedings against another man without any definite reason?”
“The whole point is, did he mean it, or was he merely waffling?” Antonia said, off her guard. “That's what I want to find out.” She broke off and flushed angrily. “Damm, you don't play fair!”
“I'm not playing, Miss Vereker.”
She looked up quickly, for there was a hint of sternness in his voice. Before she had time to speak, he went on: “Arnold Vereker wrote to you forbidding your engagement to Mesurier. According to you, he gave no definite reason for this. But you have admitted that he threatened to prosecute Mesurier for some offence or other, and you have also admitted that his letter made you exceedingly angry.
“Of course it did!” she said impatiently. “It would make anybody angry!”
“I expect so. Perhaps it may also have alarmed you?”
“No, why should it? I wasn't afraid of Arnold.”
“Not on your own account, but were you not alarmed for Mesurier?”
“No, because I didn't take the letter seriously.”
“You took it seriously enough to drive all the way to Ashleigh Green that day.”
“Only because I wanted to know just what Arnold had against Rudolph, and to stop him spreading any filthy story about him.”
“How did you propose to do that, Miss Vereker?”
She considered this. “I don't know. I mean, I don't think I'd worked it out.”
“In fact, you were so angry with him that you got straight into your car and drove to Ashleigh Green without having the least idea what you would do when you got there?”
“Oh no!” said Antonia sarcastically. “I took a knife and stuck it into Arnold, and then went and spent the night in his house just to make sure that you'd know I was the murderess; and finally told your silly policeman that there were blood-stains on my skirt.” She broke off, her ill humour suddenly vanishing. “Which isn't as idiotic as it sounds,” she said. “Now I come to think of it, that wouldn't have been at all a bad plan if I'd murdered Arnold. In fact, definitely brilliant, because no jury would ever believe I could have been fool enough to loiter around the scene of the crime and brandish bloodstained garments about. I must put that to Giles.” At this moment Kenneth strolled into the studio. Antonia immediately propounded her notions to him.
Superintendent Hannasyde had seen enough of the Verekers by this time to feel very little surprise at the enthusiasm with which Kenneth at once entered into a discussion.
“That's all very well,” Kenneth said, “but what about the dog-fight?”
“I could easily have staged that,” his sister said napoleonically.
“Not at that hour of night,” objected Kenneth. “If you murdered Arnold and got blood on your clothes, meeting the retriever, or whatever it was, was sheer luck. Also you haven't piled up enough evidence against yourself. Obviously if you were clever enough to commit a murder and plant yourself down in the murdered man's house afterwards you ought to have told as many people as you could that you were going down to have it out with Arnold. No one would believe you killed him after that. What do you think, Superintendent?”
“I think,” replied Hannasyde, exasperated, “that your tongues are likely to lead you into serious trouble.”
“Ah!” said Kenneth, a wicked gleam in his eye. “That means you don't know what to make of us.”
“Quite possibly,” said Hannasyde, unsmiling, and took his leave. But he admitted later to his subordinate that the young devil had gauged the situation correctly.
Meanwhile Antonia had summoned her fiancé to come to see her as soon as he left the office. When he arrived, which was shortly after six o'clock, he found brother and sister arguing over the correct amount of absinthe to be put into the cocktail-shaker. Neither paid much attention to him until a decision had been reached, but when Kenneth had finally won his point on the score of being several years Antonia's senior, and the mixture had been well shaken and poured into the glasses, Antonia nodded to her betrothed and said: “I'm glad you were able to come. I've had the Superintendent-man here, and I think we ought to talk things over.”
Rudolph shot her one quick glance and said: “How very serious you look, darling! You mustn't let all this get on your nerves, you know. What has the worthy Superintendent got in his bonnet now?”
“This is a bloody cocktail,” said Kenneth dispassionately. “You can't have mixed it as I told you. If you think the human sleuth is interested in you you're wrong. He's hot on my trail, and I won't have him diverted. Oh here's Leslie! Leslie, my sweet, come on up!” He leaned out of the window and addressed Miss Rivers at the top of his voice. “The gyves are practically on my wrists, darling, so come up for a last cocktail. No, on second thoughts, don't. Tony mixed it. I'll stand you a drink at the Clarence Arms.” He drew in his head, set his glass down on the table and vanished precipitately from the studio.
Antonia, her attention once more distracted from her fiancé, hung out of the window and conferred with Miss Rivers until Kenneth presently emerged into the mews and swept the visitor off in the direction of the Clarence Arms. She then turned back to Rudolph and demanded to know what they had been talking about.
“Oh, I think you were worried about the Superintendent, weren't you?” Mesurier said. “It's all frightfully upsetting for you, dearest.”
“No, it isn't,” said Antonia bluntly. “But what I want to know is, what have you been up to, Rudolph?”
He changed colour, but replied with an amused laugh. “Up to, Tony? How do you mean?”
“Well,” said Antonia, finishing her cocktail, “the impression I've got is that you've been forging Arnold's name or something.”
“Tony!” he cried indignantly, “If that's the opinion you have of me -”
“Do shut up!” begged Antonia. “This is serious. It's why I went down to see Arnold on Saturday night. He said he was going to prosecute you.”
“Swine!”
“I know, but what was it all about?”
Mesurier took a turn round the studio, his hands thrust into his pockets. “I'm in a damned awkward position!” he said suddenly. “God knows knows I didn't want you to be dragged into it, but if I don't tell you some one else will. Think me what you like.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but just open that cupboard and see if there's a bottle of salted almonds, will you?” asked Antonia. “I've suddenly remembered buying some and putting them either there or -”
“They aren't here,” said Rudolph in all offended voice.
“Of course, if salted almonds are more important to you than my -”
“No, but I distinctly remember getting some,” said Antonia. “And if we've got some, it seems a pity - However, it doesn't really matter. Go on about the forgery.”
“There is no forgery. Though God knows I've been through such a hell of anxiety about money that it's a wonder I'm not a forger!”
“Bad luck!” said Antonia, with polite but damping sympathy.
Mesurier said in a more natural voice: “They've found out something. Not that it can harm me. What I mean is, it doesn't prove I murdered Arnold, though it naturally makes the police suspicious. I - you see Tony, I've been in a devil of a jam. Had to raise some cash somehow or other, and raise it quick, so I — sort of borrowed a spot from the firm - Arnold's firm, you know. Of course, I need hardly tell you it was nothing but a loan, to tide me over, and as a matter of fact I've been steadily paying it back. You do understand, don't you, darling?”
“Yes, absolutely,” replied Antonia. “You cooked the accounts and Arnold found out. I've often wondered how that's done, by the way. How do you do it, Rudolph?”
He flushed. “Please — ! It - this isn't very pleasant for me, Tony. I ought not to have done it, but I thought I could pay it all back before the next audit. I never dreamed Arnold had his eye on me. Then he sprang it on me — actually on Saturday morning. He was filthily offensive - you know what he could be like! We - we had a bit of a row, and he threatened to take the whole thing into court, largely, I'm afraid, because you'd told him of our engagement, darling. Not that I'm blaming you, but it was rather unfortunate, all things considered. And the devil of it is that we were heard - well - quarrelling - by that foul Miller girl, and, of course, she pitched in a highly exaggerated story to the Superintendent. And on top of that -” He paused, and studied his well-manicured nails for a moment, a pucker between his brows. “The most extraordinary thing,” he said slowly. “I confess I don't understand it. Some idiot of a village Constable imagines he saw my car ten miles from Hanborough on Saturday night. It's utterly absurd, of course, but you can see what an ugly complexion it puts on things.”
She sat up suddenly. “Rudolph, how did you know which day Arnold was murdered?”
He blinked at her. “I don't understand what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. On Sunday, when you came here for supper, you said you'd quarrelled with Arnold on the very day he was murdered.”
“Did I? I expect you'd told me, then. I don't know how else I could have known.”
“I wish you'd stop being guarded,” Antonia complained. “If you killed Arnold you might just as well say so, because Kenneth and I don't mind a bit about that, and we shouldn't dream of giving you away.”
“I didn't kill him. For God's sake don't go about talking like that!”
“Well, what's all this about your car being seen near Hanborough?”
“It wasn't! I mean, I don't know whether it was or not, but I wasn't in it. I was in my digs all evening. I can't prove that, but if they're going to take one sleepy bobby's word against mine -”
“The fact of the matter is none of us can prove anything,” said Antonia cheerfully. “You've merely joined the noble army of suspects. Kenneth'll be rather fed-up if you become chief suspect. He thinks he's being awfully clever, and I daresay he is. He can be when he likes.”
Rudolph let himself sink down into one of the big armchairs and dropped his head in his hands. “You can treat it like a joke, but I tell you it's damned serious,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “That Superintendent thinks I did it. He doesn't believe anything I say. I can see he doesn't. I don't know what the hell to do, Tony!”
He sounded helpless, frightened, and although such a mood of panic was alien to her nature she responded at once as well as she could. “I shouldn't worry,” she said, patting his knee. “I'll ask Giles what he thinks. He's coming here this evening to talk business with Kenneth. You don't mind, do you?”
He seemed undecided. “He knows anyway,” he said. “Arnold wrote a letter about me to his uncle, and the Superintendent got it. Of course your cousin must have seen it. I don't know that I exactly mind consulting him, because I haven't anything to conceal. I mean -”
At this moment the studio door opened, and Giles Carrington came in, accompanied by Kenneth. Antonia greeted him with a friendly smile, but desired her brother to tell her what he had done with Miss Rivers.
“She pushed off homewards,” answered Kenneth. “Cigarette, Giles? - if there are any, which I doubt.”
“Oh, well, in that case we can talk!” said Antonia briskly. “Giles, do you know about Rudolph cooking the firm's accounts, or not?”
“What?” ejaculated Kenneth, pausing in his search for the cigarettes, and turning to stare at Mesurier. “Actually embezzling funds? Did you really?”
His manner was partly interested, partly critical, and it goaded Rudolph, deeply flushed, to defend himself . His explanation was met with so derisive a laugh that Antonia at once took up the cudgels, and told her brother he needn't be offensive, because for one reason she wouldn't put it above him to cook accounts, and for another it had nothing to do with him.
“Oh yes, it has!” objected Kenneth. “You seem to forget I'm the heir. I daresay I could prosecute, if I wanted to. Not that I do, of course, though I do rather draw the line at embezzling. It's one thing to bump a man off, but quite another to monkey with his accounts. However, don't think I'm being captious. I expect it seemed good to you at the time, Rudolph.”
Mesurier said angrily: “I don't care for your tone! I'm willing to admit I shouldn't have borrowed the money, but when you accuse me of -”
“My bonny lad, I haven't accused you of anything,” said Kenneth, beginning to fill a pipe. “Tony said you'd been cooking the firm's accounts; I merely displayed the proper amount of surprise, interest and disapproval.”
Antonia had drawn her cousin over to the window, and stood there facing him, with one hand lightly grasping his sleeve. She looked gravely up at him and asked quietly: “He's in a mess, isn't he?”
“I don't know, Tony.”
“Well, I think he is. You will help him, won't you, Giles?” He did not answer immediately, and she added after a moment: “You see, I'm engaged to be married to him.”
“That isn't an inducement to me, Tony.”
Her candid eyes were a trifle puzzled; they searched his unavailingly. “Isn't it?” she asked, seeking enlightenment.
“No.”
“Oh! Well - well - will you do it for me, Giles?”
He looked down at her, and at her hand, still clasping his sleeve. “I suppose so, Tony,” he said in his level way, and glanced across the big room to where Mesurier and Kenneth were arguing. “Shut up, Kenneth,” he said pleasantly. “Yes, I know about the letter my cousin wrote before his death, Mesurier. It doesn't prove, you know, that you had anything to do with his murder.”
“No,” agreed Antonia, “but the bit about the car is not so good. Tell my cousin, Rudolph; he really is quite helpful.”
Mesurier gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, that's nothing but a ridiculous mistake on the part of the police. Some local bobby imagines he saw my car near Hanborough on the night of the murder, Carrington.”
“Policemen haven't got imaginations,” said Kenneth, who had stretched himself along the sofa, his pipe between his teeth.
Giles was frowning slightly. “Where was your car?” he asked.
“In the garage, I suppose. I mean, I spent the evening at home.”
“I see. Can you produce anyone to corroborate that statement?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I can't,” said Mesurier, with a slight uncomfortable laugh. “Seems silly, but the truth is I had a bad headache and I went to bed early.”
“You are a rotten liar,” observed Kenneth lazily. “Why bother? We won't give you away. I might even bestow a suitable reward on you. Or would that be indelicate?”
Giles said rather sternly: “Your own story is just as thin, Kenneth.”
“Admittedly, but I tell it with a much better grace.”
Kenneth pointed out. “What do you think, Tony? Did he do it? I don't believe he had the nerve.”
“Of course he had the nerve!” said Antonia indignantly. “The trouble with you is that you're so taken up with admiring your own cleverness in baffling the police that you don't think anyone else is capable of doing anything.”
Giles, who had ignored this interchange, was looking steadily at Mesurier. “When you say that a bobby saw your car on the night of the murder, do you mean that he saw a car of the same make as yours, or that he actually read your number on its plate?”
“My number,” Mesurier answered, “or so he thinks. But he could easily have muddled it up with another, which is, of course, what he did do.”
“I can so readily picture our friend the Superintendent lapping that story up,” remarked Kenneth. “Tony, your young man promised well at one time, but he begins to bore me now.”
Giles took out his cigarette-case and opened it. “It isn't for me to question your story, Mesurier. I can only say that if it's true I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” Rudolph ejaculated. “I don't understand you!”
Giles lit a cigarette and pitched the dead match into the grate. “For your sake, very. You had an excellent alibi there, Mesurier.”
“Alibi? Where?”
“In the car,” replied Giles. “For if you had been driving your car back to London from Hanborough that night I don't think you could very well have been the murderer.”