“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?”