Violet, who had been playing idly with the clasp of her hand-bag, raised her large, unfathomable eyes to Mesurier's face, and asked in her well-modulated voice why he had been at Hanborough that night. “Please don't think I'm being impertinent!” she said. “But I couldn't help wondering. It seems so funny of you, somehow.”
It was plain that her question took him aback, quite plain enough for Kenneth, who mounted on to the back of the sofa and said: “Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!”
Mesurier cast him a look of goaded hatred and answered: “I can't see what that has to do with it.”
This somewhat weak rejoinder had the effect of setting his betrothed against him. Antonia said severely: “Giles can't possibly help you if you're going to behave like an idiot. You must have had some reason for going to Hanborough that night, and it merely makes you look very fishy if you won't say what it was.”
“Very well, then!” said Mesurier. “If you will have it, I went down with a mad idea of throwing myself on Vereker's generosity, but I thought better of it, and came back again.”
“The only thing I have to say is that I must have another drink,” said Kenneth, getting up off the sofa and strolling over to the sideboard. “The more I hear of Rudolph's story the more convinced I am that we can push all the blood-guilt on to him with very little trouble.” He measured out a whisky-and-soda. “Anyone else have a drink?” As no one answered, he raised his own glass to his lips, drank half the whisky, and came back to the sofa. “The theory I'm working on at the moment is that Arnold's car never left London,” he said.
Antonia frowned. “Yes, but that means he must have motored down with Rudolph, and he wouldn't have.”
“Of course he wouldn't, and, considering all things, who shall blame him? The point is that Rudolph murdered him first.”
“Oh, how ghastly!” shuddered Violet. “Please don't!”
Mesurier was looking rather pale and very angry.