Mrs Beaton, when interviewed, proved a disappointing witness. Constable Dickenson had warned the Inspector that she was not one to talk, but the Inspector soon formed the opinion that her reticence had its root in a profound ignorance of her employer's affairs. When Arnold Vereker was at the cottage she was never required to do more than cook breakfast, and tidy the house before going home again at twelve o'clock. Mr Vereker nearly always brought a hamper down with him from Fortnum & Mason's, and sometimes, when he did not come alone, she never even set eyes on his guests. She had received a wire from Mr Vereker on Friday, warning her that he was coming down on Saturday, and might bring a visitor, but who the visitor was, whether man or woman, or at what hour they would arrive, she had not the least idea.
The Chief Constable, adopting a fatherly attitude, failed to make any impression on Antonia Vereker, and there was nothing for it, with regard to her evidence, but to await the arrival of Mr Giles Carrington. Unfortunately Mr Giles Carrington had gone to play golf by the time a call had been put through to his residence, and although the servant who answered the telephone promised to ring up the golf club at once no dependence could be placed on the message's reaching him before lunch-time.
Consigning Miss Vereker to the care of the Station Sergeant, the Inspector and the Chief Constable went into consultation and were very soon agreed on the advisability of calling New Scotland Yard at once. The stocks had revealed no finger-prints and the Doctor's autopsy very little more than his first examination.
The Station-Sergeant, who described himself as a rare one for dogs, got on much better with Antonia than the Inspector had done. He spent half an hour arguing with her on the merits of the Airedale over the bull-terrier, and would have been pleased to have continued the argument indefinitely had his work not called him away. She was left in a severe apartment with a couple of Sunday papers and her own thoughts, her only visitor being a young and rather shy constable, who brought her a cup of tea at eleven o'clock.
It was past one o'clock when a touring car drew up outside the Police Station, and a tall, loose-limbed man in the mid-thirties walked in and announced in a pleasant, lazy voice that his name was Carrington.
The Inspector happened to be in the Charge-room at the moment, and he greeted the newcomer with relief, not unmixed with dubiety. Mr Carrington did not look much like a solicitor to him. However, he conducted him to the Chief Constable's office, and duly presented him to Colonel Agnew.
There was another man with the Colonel, a middle aged man with hair slightly grizzled at the temples, and a square, good-humoured face in which a pair of rather deep-set eyes showed a lurking twinkle behind their gravity. The Colonel, having shaken hands with Giles Carrington, turned to introduce this man.
“This is Superintendent Hannasyde, from New Scotland Yard. He has come down to investigate this case, Mr Carrington. I have been putting him in possession of the facts as we know them, but we are a little - er - hampered by your client's refusal to make any sort of statement until she has consulted you.”
Giles shook hands with the Superintendent. “You must forgive me: I haven't the least idea what your case is,” he said frankly. “The message that reached me - on the third tee - was that my cousin, Miss Vereker, wanted me to come down at once to Hanborough Police Station. Has she been getting herself into trouble?”
“Your cousin!” said the Colonel, “I understood -”
“Oh, I am her solicitor as well,” smiled Giles Carrington. “Now what is it all about?”
“I'm afraid it's rather a serious business,” replied the Colonel. “Miss Vereker's determined refusal to assist the police by giving any evidence - But I trust that you will be able to convince her that her present attitude is merely prejudicial to her own interests. Miss Vereker's halfbrother, Mr Carrington, was discovered in the village stocks at Ashleigh Green in the early hours of this morning, dead.”
“Good heavens!” said Giles Carrington, mildly shocked. “When you say dead, what precisely do you mean?”
“Murdered,” said the Colonel bluntly. “A knife-thrust in the hack.”
There was a moment's silence. “Poor chap!” said Giles, in precisely the same way as he might have said “Dear me!” or “What a pity!” “And do I understand that you have arrested Miss Vereker, or what?”
“No, no, no!” said the Colonel, a look of annoyance coming into his face. “That is merely the ridiculous notion Miss Vereker seems to have got into her head! Miss Vereker, on her own admission, spent the night at her half-brother's house, Riverside Cottage, and all that she was wanted to do was to tell us just why she was there, and what she was doing at the time of the murder. Since she is a close relative of the murdered man, it did not seem unreasonable to expect her to give us what information she can about Mr Vereker's habits and friends; but beyond informing Inspector Jerrold that she loathed her half-brother, hadn't set eyes on him for months, and had come down to Riverside Cottage with the intention of "having something out with him," she refused to say a word.”
A half-laughing, half-rueful look crept into Giles Carrington's eyes. “I think I'd better see her at once,” he said. “I'm afraid you've been having rather a difficult time with her, sir.”
“I have,” said the Colonel. “And I think you should know, Mr Carrington, that her attitude has been extremely - equivocal, let us say.”
“I'm sure it has,” said Giles sympathically. “She can be very tiresome.”
The Superintendent, who had been watching him, said suddenly: “I wonder, Mr Carrington, whether by any chance you are also Mr Arnold Vereker's solicitor?”
“I am,” replied Giles. “I am also one of his executors.”
“Well, then, Colonel,” said Hannasyde, with a smile, “we must be grateful to Miss Vereker, mustn't we? You are the very man I want, Mr Carrington.”
“Yes, I've realised that for some time,” agreed Giles.
“But I think I'd better see my cousin first.”
“Undoubtedly. And Mr Carrington!” Giles lifted an eyebrow. The twinkle in the Superintendent's eye became more pronounced. “Do try to convince Miss Vereker that really the police won't arrest her merely because she disliked her half-brother.”
“I'll try,” said Giles gravely, “but I'm afraid she hasn't much of an opinion of the police. You see, she breeds bull-terriers, and they fight rather.”
The Superintendent watched him go out in the wake of Inspector Jerrold, and turned to look at the Colonel. “I like that chap,” he said in his decided way. “He's going to help me.”
“Well, I hope he may,” said the Colonel. “What struck me most forcibly was that he showed almost as little proper feeling at hearing of his cousin's death as the girl did.”
“Yes, it struck me too,” said Hannasyde. “It looks as though Arnold Vereker was the sort of man who had a good many enemies.”
Meanwhile Giles Carrington had been escorted to the room where Antonia awaited him. The Inspector left him at the door, and he went in, closing the door firmly behind him. “Hullo, Tony!” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Antonia, who was standing by the window, drumming her fingers on the glass, turned round quickly. She was looking a little pale, and more than a little fierce, but the glowering look faded, and some colour stole into her cheeks when she saw her cousin. “Hullo, Giles!” she returned, with just a suggestion of embarrassment in her manner. “I'm glad you've come. Arnold's been murdered.”
“Yes, so I've heard,” he answered, pulling a chair up to the table. “Sit down and tell me just what asinine tricks you've been up to.”
“You needn't assume I've been asinine just because I happen to be in a mess!” snapped Antonia.
“I don't. I assume it because I know you awfully well, my child. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Arnold.”
“I wasn't. But something happened, and I wanted to see him at once, so I came down -”
He interrupted her. “What happened?”
“Well, that's private. Anyway -”
“Cut out the anyway,” returned her cousin. “You've called me in to act for you, Tony, and you must take me into your confidence.”
She set her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her clasped hands, frowning. “I can't, altogether. However, I don't mind telling you that my reason for wanting to see Arnold was because he's started to interfere with my life again, and that made me see red.”
“What had he done?”
“Written me a stinking letter about -” She stopped. “About my engagement,” she said after a moment.
“I didn't know you were engaged,” remarked Giles. “Who is it this time?”
“Don't say who is it this time, as though I'd been engaged dozens of times! I've only been engaged once before.”
“Sorry. Who is it?”
“Rudolph Mesurier,” said Antonia.
“Do you mean that dark fellow in Arnold's Company?” asked Giles.
“Yes. He's the Chief Accountant.”
There was a short pause. “This is quite beside the point,” apologised Giles, “but what's the great idea?”
“Why shouldn't I marry Rudolph if I feel like it?”
“I don't know. I was wondering how you came to feel like it, that's all.”
She grinned suddenly. “You are a noxious cad, Giles. I do think I ought to marry someone or other, because Kenneth will, sooner or later, and I don't want to be left stranded.” A rather forlorn look came into her eyes. “I'm sick of being all alone, and having to look after myself, and, anyway, I like Rudolph a lot.”
“I see. And did Arnold object?”
“Of course he did. I thought he'd be rather pleased at getting rid of his responsibilities as a matter of fact, because he's tried often enough to marry me off. So I wrote and told him about it, because though you say I'm unreasonable I quite realise I can't get married, or anything, without his consent till I'm twenty-five. And instead of sending me his blessing, he wrote the filthiest letter, and said he wouldn't hear of it.”
“Why?”
“No reason at all. Snobbery.”
“Now, look here, Tony!” Giles said. “I know Arnold, and I know you. I don't say he was the type of fellow I cultivate, but he wasn't as bad as you and Kenneth thought him. Yes, I know you two had a rotten time with him but it's always been my firm conviction that you brought a lot of it on yourselves. So don't tell me that he refused to give his consent to your marriage without letting you know why. He was much more likely not to care a damn what you did.”
“Well, he didn't like Rudolph,” said Antonia restively. “He wanted me to make a better match.”
Giles sighed. “You'd better let me see his letter. Where is it?”
She pointed to the ashtray at the end of the table, a sort of naughty triumph in her eyes.
Giles looked at the black ashes in it, and then rather sternly at his cousin. “Tony, you little fool, what made you do such a damned silly thing?”
“I had to, Giles; really I had to! You know that awful way we all have of blurting out what we happen to be thinking? Well, I went and told those policemen I'd had a letter from Arnold, and they were instantly mustard keen to see it. And it hadn't anything to do with the murder; it was just private, so I burned it. It's no use asking me what was in it, because I shan't tell you. It just wasn't the sort of letter you want anyone else to see.”
He looked at her frowningly. “You're not making things very easy for me, Tony. I can't help you if you don't trust me.”
She slipped her hand confidingly into one of his. “I know, and I'm awfully sorry, but it's just One of Those Things. We needn't say I've burned the letter. We can chuck the ashes out of the window and pretend it's lost.”
“Go on and tell me the rest of the story,” Giles said.
“When did you receive the letter?”
“Yesterday, at tea-time. And I rang up Eaton Place, but Arnold wasn't there, so I naturally supposed he was coming down to Ashleigh Green, with one of his fancy ladies, and I got the car out, and came after him.”
“For the Lord's sake, Tony, leave out the bit about the fancy-lady! No sane policeman will ever believe you would motor down to argue with Arnold when you thought he had a woman with him.”
She opened her eyes at him. “But I did!”
“Yes, I know you did. You would. But don't say it. You don't know he had a woman with him, do you?”
“No, but it seemed likely.”
“Then leave that out. What happened when you got to the cottage?”
“Nothing. Arnold wasn't there. So I squeezed in through the pantry window, and waited for him. You know how it is when one does that. You keep on saying, "Well, I'll give him another half-hour," and time sort of slips by. And anyway I knew he was coming, because the place was prepared. Well, he didn't turn up, and didn't turn up, and I didn't much fancy motoring back again at that hour, so I went to bed.”
“Can you prove you didn't go out of the cottage again that night?” Giles said.
“No, because I did: I took Bill for a run somewhere about half-past eleven, and he had a dust-up with a retriever.”
“That may be useful. Anyone with the retriever?”
“Yes, a woman like a moulting hen. But it isn't useful, in fact, rather the reverse, because I walked towards the village, as far as the cross-roads, and I was coming back when I met the hen-and-retriever outfit. So I might quite easily have stuck a knife into Arnold before that. And perhaps I ought to tell you that I got retriever-blood on this skirt, and had to wash it. Because when the police came I was drying it. So what with that, and my being a trifle snarkish with them at first, on account of thinking they'd come about the dog-fight, I daresay I may have set them against me.”
“I shouldn't be surprised,” said Giles. “One other question: Does Kenneth know you're here?”
“No, as a matter of fact, he doesn't. He was out when I got Arnold's letter. But you know what he is: I daresay he hasn't even noticed that I'm not at home. If he has, he'll merely suppose I told him I was going away for the night and he forgot.”
“I wasn't worrying about that. Did anyone know you were coming here?”
“Well, I didn't say anything to anyone,” replied Antonia helpfully. She regarded him with a certain amount of anxiety. “Do you suppose they'll think I did it?”
“I hope not. The fact that you spent the night at the cottage ought to tell in your favour. But you must stop fooling about, Tony. The police want you to account for your movements last night. We must trust that they won't inquire too closely into the letter Arnold wrote you. Otherwise you've nothing to conceal, and you must tell them the truth, and answer any questions they put to you.”
“How do you know I've nothing to conceal?” inquired Antonia, eyeing him wickedly. “I wouldn't have minded murdering Arnold last night.”
“I assume you have nothing to conceal,” Giles said a little sharply.
She smiled. “Nice Giles. Do you loathe being dragged into our murky affairs?”
“I can think of things I like better. You'd better come along to the Chief Constable's office and apologise for being such a nuisance.”
“And answer a lot of questions?” she asked doubtfully. “Yes, answer anything you can, but try not to say a lot of unnecessary things.”
She looked rather nervous. “Well, you'd better frown at me if I do. I wish you could make a statement for me.”
“So do I, but I can't,” said Giles, getting up, and opening the door. “I'll find out if the Chief Constable is disengaged. You stay where you are.”
He was gone for several minutes, and when he returned it was with the Superintendent and a Constable. Antonia looked at the Constable with deep misgiving. Her cousin smiled reassuringly and said, “This is Superintendent Hannasyde, Tony, from Scotland Yard.”
“How — how grim!” said Antonia in a small voice. “It's particularly bitter because I've always thought how much I should hate to be mixed up in a murder case, on account of having everything you say turned round till you find you've said something quite different.”
The Superintendent bent to pat Bill. “I won't do that,” he promised. “I only want you to tell me just how you came to visit your brother last night, and what you did.”
Antonia drew in her breath. “He was not my brother,” she said. “I'm sick to death of correcting that mistake. He was nothing more than half!”
“I'm sorry,” said the Superintendent. “You see, I've only just come into this case, so you must forgive me if I quite mastered the details. Will you sit down? I understand from Inspector Jerrold that you came to Ashleigh Green yesterday because you wanted to see your half-brother on a private matter. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” said Antonia.
“And when you arrived at the cottage what did you do?”
Antonia gave him a concise account of her movements. Once or twice he prompted her with a question, while the Constable, who had seated himself by the door, busily wrote in shorthand. The Superintendent's manner, unlike the Inspector's, was so free from suspicion, and his way of putting his questions so quiet and understanding, that Antonia's wary reserve soon left her. When he asked her if she was on good terms with Arnold Vereker she replied promptly. “No, very bad terms. I know it isn't any use concealing that, because everyone knows it. We both were.”
“Both?”
“My brother Kenneth and I. We live together. He's an artist.”
“I see. Were you on bad terms with your half-brother for any specific reason, or merely on general grounds?”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Well, not so much one specific reason as two or three. He was our guardian - at least he'd stopped being Kenneth's guardian, because Kenneth is over twenty-five. I lived with him till a year ago, when I decided I couldn't stick it any longer, and then I cleared out and joined Kenneth.”
“Did your bro - half-brother object to that?”
“Oh no, not in the least, because we'd just had a flaming row about a disgusting merchant he was trying to push me off on to, and he was extremely glad to be rid of me.”
“And had this quarrel persisted?”
“More or less. Well, no, not really. We merely kept out of each other's way as much as possible. I don't mean that we didn't quarrel when we happened to meet, but it wasn't about the merchant, or having left Eaton Place, but just any old thing.”
The twinkle grew. “Tell me, Miss Vereker, did you come down to Ashleigh Green with the intention of continuing an old quarrel, or starting a new one?”
“Starting a new one. Oh, that isn't fair! You made me say that, and it isn't in the least what I meant. I won't have that written down for me to sign.”
“It won't be,” he assured her. “But you did come down because you were angry with him, didn't you?”
“Did I say that to the Inspector?” Antonia demanded.
He nodded. “All right, then, yes.”
“Why were you angry, Miss Vereker?”
“Because he'd had the infernal neck to say I wasn't going to marry the man I'm engaged to.”
“Who is that?” inquired the Superintendent.
“I don't see what that's got to do with it.”
Giles Carrington interposed: “Is your engagement a secret, Tony?”
“No, but -”
“Then don't be silly.”
She flushed, and looked down at her hands. “His name is Mesurier,” she said. “He works in my half-brother's firm.”
“And your half-brother objected to the engagement?”
“Yes, because he was a ghastly snob.”
“So he wrote a letter to you, forbidding the engagement?”
“Yes - That is - Yes.”
The Superintendent waited for a moment. “You don't seem very sure about that, Miss Vereker.”
“Yes, I am. He did write.”
“And I think you've destroyed his letter, haven't you?” said Hannasyde quietly.
Her eyes flew to his face: then she burst out laughing. “That's clever of you. How did you guess?”
“Why did you do that, Miss Vereker?”
“Well, principally because it was the sort of letter that would make anyone want to commit murder, and I thought it would be safer,” Antonia replied, ingenuously.
The Superintendent looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then got up. “I think it was a pity you destroyed it,” he said. “But we won't go into that now.”
“Are you going to arrest me?” Antonia asked.
He smiled. “Not immediately. Mr Carrington, if I could have a few moments' conversation with you?”
“Can I go home?” said Antonia hopefully.
“Certainly, but I want you to sign your statement first, please. The Constable will have it ready for you in a moment or two.”
“Where's your car, Tony?” asked Giles. “At the cottage? Well, wait for me here, and I'll take you out to collect it, and give you some lunch.”
“Well, thank God for that,” said Antonia. “I've just discovered I've got exactly two and five pence ha'penny on me, and I want some petrol.”
“How like you, Tony!” said Giles, and followed the Superintendent out of the room.