“All right, I won't,” said Giles, removing the pen. “This is Superintendent Hannasyde from Scotland Yard.”
“Oh, is it?” said Mr Carrington, carefully wiping his fingers with a piece of pink blotting-paper. “Good-morning. Investigating my nephew's murder, aren't you? Well, I wish you joy of it. Ill-conditioned young cub! Don't stand! Don't stand! Take a chair! Take a chair! Giles, push those deeds on to the floor, and let the Superintendent sit down.”
He began to hunt amongst the dusty heap of documents on his desk, remarking that in this office you had only to lay a thing down for a minute for it to disappear completely. The Superintendent, surveying the general disorder with an awed gaze, made a sympathetic murmur, and wondered whether there was the least hope of discovering Arnold Vereker's letter in the welter on the desk.
But Mr Carrington, having thrown one bundle of papers at his son, with the Delphic utterances "Section 35 of the Act; they'd better settle it out of court;" and dropped two used envelopes vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket, pounced upon a sheet of closely written notepaper, and scowled at it, rubbing the tip of his nose with his forefinger. “This is it,” he announced. “You'd better have it, Superintendent. May mean nothing; may mean a lot. Here, Giles, you take a look at it! What did the fellow think I could tell him that he didn't know already? Arnold all over! Wasting my time with his rubbishy questions! But I don't like to hear this about Tony; what's the wretched child about to get herself entangled with this young waster? Read it!” .
By this time Giles was doing so. When he came to the end, he held it out to Hannasyde, saying: “I think this comes rather pat, don't you?”
The letter was on office paper, but written by hand, and by a man in a raging temper. “Dear Uncle,” it began, and continued abruptly: “What is the legal position of this firm in the case of systematic tampering with the accounts on the part of an employee? I've caught this damned whipper-snapper Mesurier out, and I want to prosecute, but wish to know how I stand before taking definite action. I have had him up and he has the insolence to expect me to condone it because, f you please, he is paying back what he calls the "loan" in his own good time! Does this prejudice my case, or not? Major portion of the sum stolen is still owing. Surely I have a case? Don't reply with any sentimental drivel; the skunk has got himself engaged to that damned little fool, Antonia, and I want him exposed. Kindly give this matter your immediate attention, and advise.”
The Superintendent read this through with his usual deliberation. “Yes, it does come pat,” he said. “You're quite right. A bit hard on this chap Mesurier, wasn't he?
Mr Carrington, who was once more hunting through the litter on his desk, temporarily abandoned his new search and swung his chair round so that he faced Hannasyde. “Hard? Infernally vindictive, sir, that's what my nephew Arnold is - was.” he paused, and added with a growclass="underline" “De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” as a sort of general absolution. “But I never in my life met a fellow with a worse heart, or a worse temper, or worse manners, or more obstinate, pig-headed -”
“He wasn't as bad as all that, sir,” objected Giles.
“Don't interrupt,” said Mr Carrington sternly. He transferred his attention to Hannasyde “You can keep that letter. You look a sensible man, as far as I can judge. I've no desire to get this Mesurier fellow into trouble, but I've still less desire to see you Yard men barking up what I trust is the wrong tree. I'm not acting for that benighted young nephew of mine - though why I call him my nephew I don't know, he isn't - and thank thank God for it! But from what I know of him - Yes , what is it?”
A clerk had tapped at the door, and entered. He said in a low voice. “For Mr Giles , Sir.”
“Well?” said Giles, turning his head. “Anything urgent?”
“Mr Kenneth Vereker has called, sir, and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes. He says it is urgent.”
“Tell him I'm engaged at the moment, but if he cares to wait. I'll see him later.”
Hannasyde craned forward. “I wonder if you would mind if I saw Mr Kenneth Vereker?” he asked Giles and his father's eyes met for an instant.
Charles Carrington said briefly “Tell Mr Vereker that Superintendent Hannasyde is here and would like to see him.”
“Yes sir.” The clerk went out.
Two minutes later Kenneth walked in, dressed in disreputable grey flannel trousers, a shirt with a soft collar and a flowing tie, and an old tweed coat. A plume of dark hair fell over one eyebrow and the eyes themselves were bright, and inquisitive, and alert. “Hullo, Uncle! Hullo, Giles!” he said airily. “Where's the lamb-like policeman? Good Lord, I don't see anything lamb-like about you! Another of Tony's lies! I've come to the conclusion I'd better reserve my defence, by the way. Saw it in the News of the World yesterday, and it seemed to me a good idea.”
“I wish,” said Mr Carrington testily, “that you would refrain from walking into my office looking like a third rate artist from Chelsea!”
“Why?” asked Kenneth, interested.
“Because I don't like it!” replied Mr Carrington, floored. “And nor do I like that effeminate tie!”
“If it comes to that I don't like yours,” said Kenneth. “I think it's a ghastly tie, but I shouldn't have said so if you hadn't started on mine, because I believe in the Rights of the Individual. But as a matter of fact it's about my clothes that I'm here, more or less.” He turned to Hannasyde and said affably: “You don't mind if I get my business done first, do you?”
“Not at all,” answered Hannasyde, on whom, for all his apparently disinterested attitude, not one gesture or inflexion of the voice had been lost. “If you would like to speak to Mr Carrington alone, I can wait outside.”
“Oh, lord, no! It isn't private!” Kenneth assured him. “It's only about Arnold's money. I am the heir, aren't I, Giles? Damn it, I must be! He can't have upset Father's Will. Well, can I have some of it in advance? I must have some new shirts, for one thing, and I can't get them on tick since Arnold said he wouldn't be responsible for my debts, blast him! Also, Maxton's have sent me a stinker to say if I don't settle their account they will have to take steps. And if taking steps means jug, I can't possibly be jugged for at least another fortnight, because I'm working on a picture. So do you mind coughing up some of the needful?”
It was quite impossible to stem this tide of disastrous eloquence. After one quick, warning frown, Giles abandoned his attempt, and heard his client out in silence. Mr Charles Carrington, his elbows on the arms of his chair, and his fingertips lightly touching, sat watching the Superintendent, quite unperturbed. When his nephew paused for breath, he turned his head, and said with something of his son's mildness: “How much do you want, Kenneth?”
“I want five hundred pounds,” replied Kenneth promptly. “Three hundred is absolutely urgent, and if it won't run to five, I could make three do. But I want a hundred to buy a ring with, and another hundred for splurging about. I can buy a ring for a hundred, can't I, Giles?”
“Several, I should think,” replied Giles.
“Must be diamonds,” explained Kenneth. “Large, flashy ones. You know: the kind of thing which makes you want to vomit. It's for Violet. I haven't given her one yet, and that's the deluded wench's taste. I wouldn't put it above her to hanker after a ruby tiara once I touch Arnold's millions, bless her vulgar little heart!”
Giles intervened. “We'll talk it over later. I can lend you some money to tide you over. Is that all you came about?”
“That's enough, isn't it?” said Kenneth. “Murgatroyd's got it into her head that the bailiffs will storm the place at any moment. I can't see what on earth it matters as long as they don't get in our way, but she won't listen to reason, and, as a matter of fact, I daresay they would be a bit of a nuisance. Because we've only got one sittingroom, you know.”