The journey to Chelsea was accomplished in Giles Carrington's car. The Superintendent cast a quick look at his face as he settled down beside him, and said: “I'm afraid this is rather a nasty case for you, Mr Carrington.”
“It's a very nasty case indeed,” said Giles calmly. “Not particularly for me.” He changed into second gear, and then into top. “I see whither your thoughts are tending, of course; but you'll hardly expect me to believe that a cousin - or, to be strictly accurate, a connection of mine - would be capable of committing so cold-blooded a murder.”
The Superintendent was silent. After a moment Giles added, with a faint smile: “Moreover, I hardly think he would have overlooked the cartridge-case.”
“You think I'm prejudiced against young Vereker,” said Hannasyde. “But I can honestly say that I hope very much you may be right. But it's no use blinking facts: Roger Vereker's death - assuming it to have been murder - narrows the field down considerably. I don't think there's much doubt that the man who killed Arnold also killed Roger. You yourself said that although there might have been several motives for the first murder there can only have been one for the second. That seems to dispose of Mesurier for one, and of Arnold's chauffeur - never a probable suspect, I admit - for another. Neither stood to gain anything through Roger's death. There is just one person who stands to gain a fortune; you know it as well as I do, so we may as well be frank about it. What is more, Mr Carrington, you have never been sure that Kenneth Vereker didn't commit that first murder. You believed him to be capable of it, I've known that from the start. What sticks in your gullet is this second murder. But if you think it over you must see that it follows perfectly logically, almost inevitably, on the first. Admitted, it wasn't foreseen. It takes a pretty hardened criminal to plan to kill two people. One murder only was planned, but when Roger Vereker turned up that murder was useless unless he also could be got rid of. You know the French saying that it's only the first step that counts: well, you can apply it here. If a man can murder one half-brother for his money, and get away with it, he won't find it so hard to murder a second half-brother. And I don't in the least mind admitting that Arnold's murderer looked like getting away with it completely - which Kenneth Vereker was well aware of.”
“It would have to be an abnormal mind!” Giles said harshly.
“Yes, certainly.”
“Rubbish! That boy's not abnormal at all. Nor, had he planned to kill Roger, would he have been fool enough to show his animosity so plainly.”
“Wouldn't he?” Hannasyde's voice was very dry. “I think that is just what Kenneth Vereker would do. But don't run away with the idea that I've ruled out every other possible suspect. I haven't - but I should be a fool if I didn't go into his movements last night very carefully.”
They had come to a crossing, and the traffic lights were against them. Not until the car had moved forward again did Giles Carrington answer. Then he said, with a smile: “Yes, you'd be a fool - but I told you I was going to take a hand, didn't I?”
“Well, if anything has occurred to you, let me have it,” said Hannasyde placably.
“Two possibilities have occurred to me, but both are so wildly improbable that I think I won't bother you with them,” replied Giles. “One is obvious enough for you to have thought of for yourself -”
Hannasyde gave a chuckle. “Thank you!”
“Sorry, I didn't mean it quite like that. The other —” he paused - “the other, as far as I know, has absolutely nothing to support it. I'll see if I can find something.”
“It doesn't sound very promising,” said Hannasyde, rather amused. “But by all means go ahead with it.”
In another few minutes they had arrived at the studio. Giles ran his car a little way down the mews, and followed Hannasyde up the stairs to the door of the flat.
It was opened to them by Murgatroyd, who exclaimed: “What, again?” in tones of deep disgust. “Well, one thing's certain - you can't go worrying my young lady and gentleman now. They're having breakfast. Good-morning, Mr Giles.”
“Having breakfast, Murgatroyd?” Giles said. “Do you know it's nearly eleven?”
“Yes, and it was nearly five before Mr Kenneth and Miss Leslie came back from that dance,” said Murgatroyd grimly.
“Well, I'm sorry, but Superintendent Hannasyde is a busy man. Mr Kenneth will have to be disturbed.”
“If you say so, sir,” conceded Murgatroyd, disapprovingly, and stood back. “Not but what I doubt whether Miss Leslie's dressed to receive company, but I'll see.”
“Miss Leslie? Is she here?”
“Oh yes, she's here, and has been all night - what there was left of it by the time Mr Kenneth brought her back,” replied Murgatroyd. “What must she do but leave her latch-key behind, so sooner than knock up her landlady she wakes Miss Tony, and gets into her bed.” She opened the door into the studio as she spoke, and looked in. “Here's Mr Giles with the Superintendent, Miss Tony. Will I let them in, or not?”
“Oh, my God, at this hour!” groaned Kenneth. “Say we're out.”
“No, don't. Of course they can come in,” said Antonia. “You don't mind, do you, Leslie? Hullo, Giles! Good morning, Superintendent. Have some coffee!”
The breakfast-table had been laid in the window. Antonia, fully dressed, was seated at one end, behind the coffee-pot, with Leslie Rivers, in a kimono, on one side of her, and Kenneth, in pyjamas, a pair of flannel trousers, and an old blazer, on the other. Kenneth, who looked half asleep, blinked somewhat morosely at the visitors, and said: “Well, what's happened now? Don't spare us. For God's sake cover up those repulsive eggs, Tony! Murgatroyd must be mad. Where's the ham?”
“We finished it yesterday. Do sit down, Superintendent! This is Miss Rivers, by the way. You're looking rather grim, Giles. Is anything the matter?”
“I'm afraid something very serious, Tony. Roger is dead - shot.”
There was a moment's frozen silence. Then Antonia gasped out: “Gosh!”
Kenneth, who had stayed his coffee-cup half-way to his mouth, blinked again and drank with a good deal of deliberation. Then he set the cup down in the saucer, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said coolly: “If true, slightly redundant. Is it true, by any chance?”
“Perfectly true, Mr Vereker,” said Hannasyde, watching him.
It struck Giles, also watching, that Kenneth's control over his features was almost too perfect. There was a suggestion of rigidity about his mouth, a curiously blank look in his eyes. They travelled from Giles's face to Hannasyde's. Then Kenneth picked up his cup and saucer, and handed it to Antonia. “More coffee, please,” he said. “How my fortunes do fluctuate!”
“You don't seem to be greatly surprised, Mr Vereker.”
“I should hate you to know how very greatly surprised I am, my friend-the-Superintendent. You did say shot, didn't you? What does that mean? Suicide?”
“That or murder,” said Hannasyde. The word, uttered so baldly, had an ugly sound, and made Leslie Rivers shiver involuntarily.
“Let's stick to suicide,” suggested Kenneth. “It's more likely.”
“Do you think so? Why?”
“Obvious inference. He killed Arnold, thought you were on to him, lost his nerve, and pulled the trigger. Violet said he had the wind up.”
“Did she?” It was Giles who spoke. “What made her think that?”
“I didn't ask.”
Leslie said in rather a strained voice, “He must have had the wind up. I thought so myself.”
“Well, I never saw any signs of it,” said Antonia flatly.
Leslie looked steadily at her. “Oh yes, Tony! He often had a sort of scared expression in his eyes.”
“That was only because he thought you'd like to murder him,” replied Antonia irrepressibly. “He said you -” She broke off, flushing scarlet. “Oh, Lord, what on earth am I saying? It was only a joke, of course! He didn't really think so!”
“No, I should hardly suppose he did,” said Leslie quietly. “I can't say I liked him much, but I hadn't any desire to murder him. However, perhaps it's just as well that I've got an alibi.” She turned to Hannasyde and smiled. “I was with Mr Kenneth Vereker last night, from a quarter to eight onwards. We had dinner together at the Carlton, and went on from there to the Albert Hall, where we danced till after four o'clock. Then we came back here.”
“Were you together the entire evening, Miss Rivers?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered.
Kenneth's eyes went swiftly to her face with a look in them hard to read.
“Did you go to the ball alone, or in a party?” asked Hannasyde.
It seemed to Giles that she hesitated for a moment.
“We joined a party,” she said.
“A large party, Miss Rivers?”
“No, not very.”
“How many were in it?”
“About a dozen, all told,” said Kenneth. “We shared a box.”
“And you naturally danced with other members of the party besides Miss Rivers?”
“Naturally,” concurred Kenneth.
“But we always met in the box again after every dance,” Leslie struck in. “I don't think we lost sight of each other for more than five minutes at a time the whole night, did we, Kenneth?”
“No,” said Kenneth slowly. “Probably not.”
Giles thought, with a sinking heart: That's a lie. And Kenneth isn't doing it well.
“You didn't leave the Albert Hall during the course of the dance, Mr Vereker?”
“No.”
There was a pause. Hannasyde put his hand in his pocket, and drew out the meerschaum pipe. “Have you ever seen that before?” he asked.
Kenneth looked at it, then held out his hand. Hannasyde put the pipe into it. Kenneth inspected it more closely and gave it back. “Many times. It belongs to me.”
“I found it on the mantelpiece in your half-brother's flat, Mr Vereker.”
“Did you?” said Kenneth. “I must have left it there.”
“When?”
“Two or three nights ago. I was dining there.”
“You haven't missed it?”
“No,” said Kenneth indifferently. “I don't always smoke the same pipe.”
“A meerschaum is usually a somewhat cherished possession,” Hannasyde said. “I too am a pipe-smoker, you know.”
“You may be, but you're not a Vereker,” returned Kenneth, the ghost of his impish look in his eyes. He pushed his plate aside, and set his elbows on the table. “And now may I ask a few questions?”
“In a moment, Mr Vereker. I want you first to tell me the names of the other members in your party last night.”
“You are going to have a busy day,” remarked Kenneth. “Leslie, who was in our party?”
“Well, the Hernshaws, for one,” began Leslie thoughtfully.
“Two, darling. Mr and Mrs Gerald Hernshaw, Haltings, Cranleigh, Superintendent. That'll be a nice little jaunt for you.”
“And Tommy Drew,” continued Leslie.
“Honourable Thomas Drew, Albany. That's an easy one for you, but he wasn't noticeably sober after eleven, so he may not be so useful.”
“And some people called Westley. I don't know where they live.”
“Were those the blights that came with Arthur and Paula?” inquired Kenneth, interested. “I danced with the female one. They live somewhere on Putney Hill, and breed Pomeranians.”
“You made that bit up,” said Antonia accusingly.
“I did not. The She-Wesley said she got three firsts at Richmond with her bitch Pansy of Poltmore.”
“Then Poltmore is probably the name of her house,” said Antonia. “I call Pansy a perfectly rotten name for a dog.”
At this point Giles intervened. “This would be done more expeditiously if Miss Rivers told the Superintendent what he wants to know and you two kept quiet,” he said.
“Well, don't forget the copper-headed wench,” said Kenneth, getting up and strolling over to the fireplace. “She came with Tommy, and appeared to regret it.” He selected a pipe from the rack on the mantelpiece and began to fill it from an earthenware jar of tobacco. By the time it was alight Leslie had come to the end of her list, and the Superintendent was jotting down the last name in his notebook. Kenneth puffed for a moment, and then said: “And now, if you've no objection, when did my half-brother shoot himself?”
“Your half-brother, Mr Vereker, was shot sometime last night - probably before midnight, but on that point I have as yet no certain information.”
“And the weapon?”
“The weapon was a Colt .32 automatic pistol.” Kenneth's brows lifted. “It was, was it? Where's your gun, Tony?”
She looked startled, saw the hint of a frown in Giles Carrington's eyes, and said jerkily: “What are you driving at? I didn't shoot Roger!”
“Nobody said you did, my child. Where is it?”
“In the top left-hand drawer of my bureau.”
He moved towards the bureau. “I'm willing to bet it isn't.”
“Well, this time you'd lose,” retorted Antonia. “I happen to know it's there, because I had it out and oiled it that day we spring-cleaned this room.”
Kenneth opened the drawer, and turned over the papers in it. “I win,” he said. “Think again.”
“But I know I put it there!” said Antonia, growing rather pale. “Under the used cheques. Leslie, you were here: don't you remember?”
“I remember you oiling it, but I don't think I saw you put it away,” said Leslie. “Try the right-hand drawer, Kenneth.”
“Not there either,” said Kenneth.
“I am utterly positive I put it in the left-hand drawer!” stated Antonia. She got up, and went to the bureau, and turned the contents of the drawer upside down. Then she said in rather a frightened voice: “No, it isn't there. Someone's taken it.”
“You're quite sure you didn't move it later, and forget about it?” Giles asked.
“Yes. It always lives in my bureau. I'll look, but I know I never moved it.”
“I shouldn't bother,” said Kenneth.
Hannasyde said quietly: “Did anyone other than your brother and Miss Rivers know where you kept your pistol, Miss Vereker?”
“Oh yes, lots of people!”
“Can you be a little more precise?” he asked.
“Anyone who knew the flat well. You did, for instance, didn't you, Giles?”
“Yes, I knew you kept it in your bureau, Tony. I think it was nay suggestion. But didn't I also suggest a lock and key?”
“I daresay you did, but I lost the key ages ago, and anyway I never remembered to keep it locked up.”
“Do you think your half-brother knew, Miss Vereker?”
She reflected. “Roger? I should think he must have found out, because he told me himself he'd been through my bureau to see if I kept any money there. Kenneth, is that what you're driving at? Do you think Roger took it?”
“Yes, of course I do,” replied Kenneth. “My friend-the Superintendent, on the other hand, thinks I took it.”
Hannasyde paid no heed to this, but merely asked Antonia if she knew the number of the pistol.
“On your licence, Tony,” prompted Giles. “Can you lay your hand on that?”
“It's sure to be somewhere in my desk,” she said hopefully.
Exhaustive search, in which she was aided by Kenneth, Giles and Leslie Rivers, at last brought the Arms Licence to light. She gave it triumphantly to Hannasyde, apologising at the same time for its somewhat dilapidated appearance. She said that dogs got hold of it once when Juno was a puppy.
Hannasyde noted down the number of the pistol, gave her back the licence, and prepared to depart. Kenneth stopped him. “How serious are you in thinking that this may not have been suicide, friend Osric?” he demanded.
“You have reminded me yourself that I am not a Vereker,” replied Hannasyde. “I don't joke on such matters.”
“Some reason up your sleeve for thinking it murder?”
“Yes,” said Hannasyde. “Several reasons. Is there anything else you would like to know?”
“Certainly there is,” answered Kenneth, a trifle unexpectedly. “I want very much to know who, after me, is the next heir.”
His words produced a surprised silence. Hannasyde broke it. “That is hardly my province,” he said.
“I hate to contradict you,” said Kenneth, “but it is very much your province. If this was murder, I look like being the next victim. And, frankly, I don't fancy myself in the part. I want police protection, please.”