His words produced an astonished silence. He smiled in his apologetic way and took advantage of his audience's surprise to get up and replenish his glass. “We shall be needing some more whisky, Tony,” he remarked. “Thought I'd better mention it.”
The Superintendent found his voice. “You don't know where you spent the night of 17th June?” he repeated.
“No,” said Roger. “I don't.”
“Come, Mr Vereker, that is not quite good enough!” There was a note of anger in Hannasyde's voice, but it left Roger unmoved. “Well, I was in London. That I can tell you.”
“For God's sake, Roger, pull yourself together!” his cousin besought him. “You dined at the Trocadero, didn't you?”
Roger thought this over. “Wasn't it the Monico?” he inquired.
“Did you pay for your dinner with a ten-pound note?” demanded Hannasyde.
“Now you come to mention it, I believe I did,” Roger admitted. “Wanted change, you see.”
“Very well, then, we can assume that you dined at the Trocadero,” said Hannasyde. “What time was it when you left the restaurant?”
“I don't know,” said Roger.
There was no trace of his usual kindliness in the Superintendent's face by this time. His grey eyes were stern, his mouth set rather rigidly. “Very well, Mr Vereker. Do you happen to know what you did when you left the Trocadero?”
Roger performed a vague gesture with one hand. “Just drifted about here and there,” he said.
“Did you spend the night in a hotel or a boardinghouse?”
“No,” said Roger.
“You booked no room anywhere?”
“No,” repeated Roger, still amiably smiling. “Left my bag at the station.”
“Mr Vereker, you cannot have walked about London all night. Will you be good enough to put an end to this farce, and tell me without any more trifling - where you were?”
“The trouble is I don't know where I was,” replied Roger, with the air of one making a fresh disclosure. “You see, I didn't give the address to the taxi-driver, which accounts for it.”
“You were with someone, then?”
“That's it,” said Roger. “I was with a friend.”
“And your friend's name?”
“Flossie,” said Roger. “At least it may have been Florence, but that's what I called her.”
At this point Giles turned away rather hastily, and walked over to the window. The Superintendent was in no mood to share his obvious amusement, and merely rapped out: “Flossie who?”
“Well, there you rather have me,” said Roger. “I didn't ask her. I mean, why should I?”
“I see,” said the Superintendent. “You spent the night at an address you don't know, with a woman whose name you don't know. Is that what you expect me to believe?”
“It doesn't matter to me what you believe,” said Roger. “You can do as you like about it. The point is you can't prove I didn't. And don't go rounding up all the Flossies in London for me to identify, because, though I'm not a shy man, I'll be damned if I'll do that.”
Antonia, joining her cousin by the window, said wistfully: “I do wish Kenneth were here.”
“I'm thankful he isn't,” said Giles.
She said more softly: “Do you think Roger did it, Giles?”
“God knows!”
At the other end of the studio Superintendent Hannasyde was speaking. “Was it the news of your brother's death which brought you back from Monte Carlo, Mr Vereker?”
“Oh no!” said Roger. “I didn't know anything about that. As a matter of fact, that particular System didn't work out right. Of course, I may have muddled it, but I'm inclined to think it wasn't a good one. However, it's made me think of something that I rather fancy may be pretty useful, so it doesn't much matter. Only it was a pity they would insist on sending me home, because I might have raised some money somehow or other. I told them I wasn't going to commit suicide - well, do I look the sort of man who'd shoot himself? Of course I don't! - but it was no use.”
“Do you never read the papers, Mr Vereker? Your brother's death was widely reported.”
“I wouldn't say never,” replied Roger conscientiously. “Occasionally one hasn't anything better to do, but there's always something better to do at Monte Carlo. And if you think it over you'll see that if I read the papers, and knew about Arnold being murdered, I shouldn't have come home.”
“As far as I can make out you had no choice in the matter,” said Hannasyde tartly.
“Now, don't start losing your temper,” advised Roger. “No one forced me to come and look my relations up, so I could quite easily have lain low till it all blew over.”
“You had to look your relations up, as you call it, because you were badly in need of money,” said Hannasyde.
“That's perfectly true,” conceded Roger, “but if you'd been broke as many times as I have you'd know that there are always ways of rubbing along somehow. You don't suppose I should go shoving my head into a noose just because I wanted some money, do you?”
“I think,” said Hannasyde, getting up, “that in common with your half-brother, you suffer from a delusion that you are clever enough to get away with anything. Therefore I judge that you are very likely to have done just that.”
“Have it your own way,” said Roger equably. “And, talking of money, I want to talk business with my cousin when you're quite finished asking me questions.”
“I have finished,” said Hannasyde. He turned. “Goodbye, Miss Vereker. I'm sorry to have interrupted your tea-party.” He nodded to Giles Carrington and walked over to the door.
“You don't understand me at all,” complained Roger. “I don't pretend to be clever. In fact, most people seem to think I'm a bit of a fool. Not that I agree with that, because I'm not a fool by any means. And while we're on the subject, it's my belief Kenneth isn't half what he's cracked up to be either. You may think he's very bright, but all I can say is -”
The door closed behind the Superintendent. Roger looked slightly pained, but quite resigned. “Gone off in a huff,” he remarked. “One of those touchy people.”
However, there were no signs of ill-humour about Hannasyde when, some hours later, he faced Giles Carrington across a dinner-table. He had accepted Giles's invitation to dinner without any hesitation, and the twinkle in his eye was clearly discernible as he remarked: “I can't make up my mind which of your cousins I would most like to convict of this murder. Are you letting that - that lunatic get his hands on the Vereker fortune?”
“What can we do?” shrugged Giles. “He's the heir all right. How does he strike you?”
“I should hate to be rude about any relative of yours,” replied Hannasyde grimly.
“Do you believe his story?”
“No. But I can't say I disbelieve it either. I'm doing what I can to check up on it, of course - without much hope of success. I'm also making inquiries at all the likely restaurants - so far without any success at all. I can't discover where Arnold Vereker dined on the night of his death. That's what I really want to know. All these suspects, promising as they seem to be, with their motives and their lack of alibis, are nothing but a lot of blind alleys. If Kenneth Vereker didn't exist, everything would point to Roger. But Kenneth does exist, and there's not a penny to choose between him and Roger. Both had the same motive, neither has a credible alibi. But which am I to arrest?” He took a salted almond from the dish in front of him and ate it. “I'm pinning my hopes to the finding of the restaurant where Arnold Vereker dined that night, if he did dine at one. Hemingway has a photograph of him, which he's trotting round, and of course we've made inquiries at all his usual haunts. But we have to face the fact that he may have dined at a private house - with one of his lady-loves probably. I think I've seen most of them, but you never know. At Cavelli's where he seems to have been a pretty frequent visitor, they tell me he had been in the habit, lately, of bringing a new lady to dine there - dark, good-looking girl, unknown to Cavelli. On the other hand, the head waiter at the Cafe Morny says that the last time Vereker was there he had an ash-blonde in tow. It isn't very helpful, is it?”
“The trouble is, it was too simple a murder,” said Giles. “Now had you found my cousins's body in a locked room, the key on the inside, all the windows bolted -”
Hannasyde smiled. “Oh, yes, that would have been easy compared with this,” he said. “We should at least have had something to go on. It's always the straight forward killings that present the worst difficulties. Once people start being too clever, and try to present us with insoluble mysteries, they are apt to give themselves away. These apparently impossible murders are like a good chess problem - mate in three moves, and only one possible solution. But when you get a perfectly simple murder like this, you can see at least half a dozen ways of bringing off a mate, and the Lord only knows which is the right one!”
Giles picked up the decanter, and refilled both the glasses. “I see I shall have to take a hand in this myself!” he said meditatively.
The Superintendent laughed. “Talented amateur, eh? I wish you luck!”
“You never know,” murmured Giles.
Hannasyde looked up quickly. “Have you got hold of something?”
“No,” said Giles. “Can't say I have.”
“I don't trust you,” said Hannasyde bluntly. “For two pins you'd conceal some vital clue from me - if you could.”
“Oh no!” said Giles. “Not unless I thought divulging it would lead to a family scandal. But don't be alarmed: I haven't discovered a vital clue.”
Hannasyde looked suspicious, but beyond requesting his host not to attempt to pull any Quick-Watson! stunts during the course of his amateur investigations, he said no more about it.
Almost immediately after dinner he took his leave, and nearly collided on the stairs, on his way out, with Antonia Vereker, who was being towed up at a great rate by one of her dogs.
She betrayed no embarrassment at meeting Hannasyde, but said “Hullo,” in her casual way, adding darkly that she always knew her cousin was playing a double game.
“I shouldn't be surprised,” agreed Hannasyde, stooping to pat Bill. “I've just told him I don't trust him myself.”
She smiled. “He's nice, isn't he?” she said ingenuously.
“Very nice.”
There was a quizzical look in Hannasyde's eye, though his voice remained perfectly grave. Antonia was quite impervious to it. “Rather a bore for him, all this,” she said. “Specially as he's always disapproved of us, more or less. However, it can't be helped.” She nodded in a friendly way, and went on up the stairs.
The Superintendent resumed his progress down the stairs, wondering by what sign (hidden from his own trained eye) Miss Vereker deduced that her cousin disapproved of her.
Disapproval was certainly not the predominant emotion visible in Giles Carrington's face when Antonia was ushered into his sitting-room. He got up quickly from a deep chair, and stretched out his hand. “Tony! My dear child, what on earth brings you here? Has anything happened?”
“Oh no!” replied Antonia. “Only I got fed-up with everybody at the flat, and thought I'd come and see if you were in. Can I have some coffee?”
Giles said: “Yes, of course. But you ought not to be here at all, you know. In fact, as soon as you've had your coffee I'm going to take you home again.”
Antonia sighed. “Sorry; I'll go now if you want me to. It was only that I suddenly couldn't bear it any longer, and there wasn't anyone but you I could come to. Except Leslie, I suppose; but she's so livid about Roger turning up, and dishing Kenneth, that she's almost as bad as the rest of them. However, if you're bored with our rotten affairs it doesn't matter.”
“Sit down,” said Giles, pulling up another chair. “You know I'm not bored. What's the matter, chicken?”
She looked up at him, flushing, sudden surprise in her eyes. “Oh Giles, you haven't called me that for years!” she said.
“Haven't I?” he said, smiling down at her. “No, perhaps I haven't.”
“You know jolly well you've had a hate against me ever since you were such a vile beast about John Fotheringham!” said Antonia.
“Well, that's one way of putting it,” said Giles.
“It's the only way of putting it,” said Antonia firmly. “In fact, I practically made up my mind never to speak to you again, after the things you said to me.”
“You didn't speak to me again, Tony, for over a year.”
“Yes, I did,” contradicted Antonia. “I spoke to you at the Dawsons' dance, and once I had to ring you up about my Insurance shares. All the same, I wouldn't have, if I could have helped it. Only then I got myself into this ghastly mess, and I had to send for you to get me out of it.”
Giles was watching her inscrutably. “Why, Tony?”
She smiled at him. “Well - well - whom else could I have sent for?” she asked, puzzled.
“Brother — fiancé — ?” suggested Giles.
It was evident that this had not previously occurred to her. “Oh!” she said doubtfully. “Yes, I suppose I could, not that they'd have been much use. Anyway, I didn't think of them. And I'm glad I did send for you, because really and truly I was quite sick of the hate, and - and you have been frightfully decent to me ever since all this happened. So I don't mind admitting that actually I made a mistake about John - though I still think you were utterly rancid about the whole affair.” She paused, and then added: “I've been rather wanting to bury the hatchet absolutely ever since Arnold was killed, I did mean to have it all out with you at Hanborough, that day, only when you turned up it didn't seem as though we ever had had a hate, and I forgot. Only if you did happen to be still feeling secretly stuffy about me, I thought I'd just mention the matter.”
“Tony,” Giles said abruptly, “are you still engaged to Mesurier?”
“Yes, and it's the most unutterable bore,” she replied, with her usual shattering honesty. “To tell you the truth, it was partly because he turned up at the flat tonight that I cleared out.”
“Tony, what in the world did you get engaged to that fellow for?”
“I can't make it out. It's all most odd, and I'm inclined to think I really must have been slightly deranged when I did it. But really, Giles, I thought I liked him awfully. And Kenneth had just picked up Violet, and life seemed fairly moth-eaten anyway, so - so I got engaged to Rudolph. And the funny part of it is I went on thinking he'd do for ages, and never noticed the things Kenneth kept on pointing out, like showing his teeth too much when he smiles, and wearing the sort of smart clothes that one's own men don't wear. And I didn't see that he was on the flashy side, till all of a sudden it dawned on me. I mean, absolutely in a burst. I can tell you the exact date, It was that Sunday - the day after Arnold was murdered - when we were all in the studio. You were there too, and Violet. It came over me like a - like a tidal wave, for no reason at all. And now I feel rather rotten about it, because really he didn't do anything to make me go clean off him like that.”
“It doesn't matter how rotten you feel about it, Tony. You've got to break if off. Understand?”
“Well, of course I understand. But I can't break it off while there's a chance of him being pinched for the murder. It would be a frightfully mean trick.”
“It's a much meaner trick to keep him dangling when you've no intention of marrying him.”
She considered this. “No, I don't think it is,” she answered presently. “It's bound to look a bit fishy if I throw him over while he's a suspect.”
“Tony, what if he did it?” Giles asked.
“Oh well, then I shall just have to stick to him!” she said. “However, I left him proving to everybody how he couldn't possibly have done it, so perhaps he didn't. He's being rather pleased with himself at the moment, and that, coming on top of all the rest, was too much for me, so I bolted.” She turned, as Giles's man came into the room with the coffee-tray, and waited until it had been arranged on a low table beside her chair. “Thank you. Is that cream? Because if so, lovely!”
“All the rest of what, Tony?” Giles asked, as the door closed again.
“I'll tell you. I've put two lumps into yours. Is that enough? Well, to start with, Leslie Rivers drifted in after you left this afternoon, so I sent Roger out to order more whisky - it's completely incredible the amount he puts away, you know - and then she let fly. Usually she's a quiet sort of creature, and definitely sensible, but - this is absolutely private, Giles - she's not sane when it comes to Kenneth, and from the way she talked about Roger, you'd think he'd come home on purpose to do Kenneth an injury. Well, I got rather bored with that, because really and truly it's Violet who wants the Vereker fortune, much more than Kenneth, and I've got a distinct hope that she may throw him over now that he's poor again. Though I'm bound to say that he hadn't any expectations at all when she got engaged to him, so perhaps she won't. Leslie says she doesn't care tuppence for him, but then she's prejudiced. I admit I haven't much time for Violet myself - in fact, I can't stand her but I daresay she feels a lot more than she shows. She's the sort that doesn't give herself away at all, so you can never tell what she's thinking. But that's not the point. The point is I got bored with Leslie being intense about the whole situation. She went away after a bit then Kenneth and Violet came back from that matinee in the middle of a most drivelling row. Apparently some fat old man with a pearl tie-pin came up to speak to her in the theatre, and according to Kenneth, called her Vi, and pawed her shoulder, and was quite obviously one of her past conquests. Well, you know what Kenneth is. He promptly went off the deep end, and came home in one of his moods, and pranced up and down the studio raving at Violet. And Violet made things worse by saying that Tie-pin was a Big Man in the City, and she'd met him quite by accident when she was waiting for a friend in the lounge of some hotel or other. Well, that didn't go with a swing by any means, and Kenneth was extraordinarily rude, and talked about Pick-ups and things. I hoped Violet would break off the engagement there and then, but she didn't. And, of course, I went and said the wrong thing without the least meaning to, so Violet then had a shot at withering me.”
Giles laughed. “What a hopeless task! What did you say?”
“Well, I meant it really to be on her side, because Kenneth was being such an ass, and I said I couldn't see what he was making such a song and dance about when he knew perfectly well that Violet was always getting off with rich men. I honestly didn't mean it cattily, but I quite see it may have sounded like that. All the same, Kenneth must know that she used to pick up men who could trot her round and give her a good time, because she's never made any secret of the fact. However, he wouldn't look at it in a reasonable light at all, and it went on and on till I got so fed-up I could have screamed. And then Roger came in, and it was quite obvious he'd been at a pub all the time, because he was just nicely.”
“Where did he get the money?” inquired Giles.
“Took it out of my bag. He said so. Anyway, he was in a ghastly state.”
Giles was frowning. “Really blind?”
“No, not in the least. That wouldn't have mattered, because we could have put him to bed. I don't think he can get decently tight: he's pickled by this time. He was just himself, only much more so, and he said the most outrageous things. He started on poor old Murgatroyd, and kept on asking her if she remembered the milkman which is apparently the skeleton in her cupboard, but before my time. She was fearfully upset, but nothing would stop Roger telling us the whole story, because, though Kenneth might have thrown him out, he was Blooming about Violet, and wouldn't pay any attention. So Violet took a hand, and was excessively sweet and charming to Roger, and' I'm damned if he didn't say it was no use her making up to him, because he was too experienced to be caught, and didn't admire her type anyway. I will say this for Violet: she took it very well; but even she looked pretty peeved when Roger told Kenneth he could cut him out with her if he wanted to, but didn't.”
“What a party!” Giles exclaimed. “How long did this go on?”
“Oh, till Rudolph turned up after dinner. Roger started on him then. He wanted to know why he had such wavy hair, and said he didn't like it; and when he heard he was engaged to me he asked me what on earth I could possibly see in him. That sort of thing. Rudolph realised he was a trifle screwed, of course, and pretended not to listen. The last I saw of them, Roger was still going on about my being batty to marry Rudolph, and Rudolph was holding forth about not having murdered Arnold, and Kenneth was snapping at everybody in turn. So I cleared out, and came to talk to you. This is very good coffee.”
“I'm glad. When is Roger going to leave the studio?”
“As soon as he can. I must say, I'm thankful to you and Gordon Truelove for letting him have some cash. I don't mind him as much as Kenneth does, but I couldn't stand much more of him. He's going to take a service-flat.”
“A service-flat! Why the devil can't he go and stay in Eaton Place?”
“He says it isn't his style. Kenneth had a friendly spasm when he heard that, but it turned out he meant he couldn't stand having a lot of servants about. He said it would fidget him. So Violet - who badly wants Eaton Place - backed him up, and said she knew of a very good block. I gather she means to take him by the hand and lead him to a flat.”
“Is Violet behaving with real nobility of character, or is she actually trying to catch Roger?”
“I don't know. I shouldn't think she can be trying to catch him, because she needn't have got engaged to Kenneth in the first place if she was set on marrying a rich man.”
“Rich men aren't always so keen on marriage, Tony.”
“No, I daresay they aren't. But I think myself that she's making up to Roger in the hope of getting him to give Kenneth a large allowance. Not that Kenneth would accept it, because he wouldn't.”
“Kenneth seems to be taking this pretty badly,” Giles said. “Yet I shouldn't have said that he cared much about money.”
“He doesn't, but of course he is rather hard-up at the moment, and after thinking you're next door to being a millionaire, it must be fairly sickening to find you're just as poor as you always were.” She got up, and fastened his leash to Bill's collar. “I'd better go, I suppose. Do you know, Giles, I'm almost beginning to wish Arnold hadn't been murdered?”
“Tony, you're atrocious!”
“Well, it did look good at first, you must admit. Only now we all seem to be in a mess over it, and everything's rather wearing. I'm glad we've got you. You're about the only dependable thing we have got.”
“Thank you, Tony,” he said, smiling a little.
“And I'm glad we've definitely buried the hatchet. I like you, Giles.”
“Think again,” he said.
She frowned. “Why? Don't you believe me?”
“Oh yes, I believe you,” he replied. “But I've never thought half a loaf better than no bread, my dear.”