“No, miss. I'm sorry to have to tell you that Mr Vereker has met with an accident.”
Her brows drew together. “Are you breaking it to me gently? You needn't bother. Is he dead, or what?”
The Inspector's manner became a shade sterner. “Yes, miss. He is dead,” he answered.
“Good lord!” said the girl. The fierce look had left her face; she glanced from one to the other of the two men. To the Constable's shocked amazement, a twinkle appeared in her eye. “I thought you were trying to run the dog in,” she remarked. “Sorry I was a trifle brusque. He had a bit of a fight last night, and a dam' fool of a woman who owned the other dog swore all sorts of vengeance on him. Is my half-brother really dead? What happened to him? Car smash?”
The Inspector had no longer any compunction in disclosing the truth. “Mr Vereker was murdered,” he said bluntly. He noticed with satisfaction that he did seem at last to have startled her a little. She lost some of her colour, and looked as though she did not know what to say. He added after a short pause: “His body was discovered in thee stocks at Ashleigh Green at one-fifty this morning.”
“His body was discovered in the stocks?” repeated the girl. “Do you mean somebody put him in the stocks and he died of fright, or exposure, or what?”
“Your half-brother, miss, died as a result of a knife thrust through the back,” said the Inspector.
“Oh!” said Antonia. “Rather beastly.”
“Yes,” said the Inspector.
She stretched out her hand mechanically towards an open box of cigarettes, and began to tap one of them on her thumb-nail. “Very nasty,” she observed. “Who did it?”