The Inspector drew out his note-book. “There's no need to take offence, miss. We've had a little upset in these parts last night, and I have to find out one or two details. May I have your name and address, please?”
“Why?” asked the girl.
A shade of severity crept into the Inspector's voice. “You'll pardon me, miss, but you're behaving in a silly way. There's been an accident connected with this house, and it's my duty to get what information I can about it.”
“Well, you aren't likely to get much out of me,” observed the girl. “Don't know anything, My name's Antonia Vereker. Address, 3 Grayling Street, Chelsea. What the devil's the matter now?”
The Inspector had looked up quickly from his notebook. “A relation of Mr Arnold Vereker?” he said.
“Half-sister.”
The Inspector lowered his gaze to the book again, and carefully wrote down the name and address. “And you say you have not seen Mr Vereker since you came here?”
“Haven't seen him for months.”
“How long have you been here, miss?”
“Since last night. Sevenish.”