A more immediately pressing anxiety than the question of whether or not he was guilty of murder was, in the estimation of his entourage, the problem of how to induce him to attend Arnold Vereker's funeral. Exhaustive, and at times heated, discussions, into which tiles was dragged, raged throughout the evening, Murgatroyd, Violet, Leslie and Giles being banded upon the side of respectability, against Kenneth, who was supported by his sister, and his own quite irrefutably logical arguments. The contest was won eventually by Violet, who, though lacking Murgatroyd's stern piety, was quite as insistent that Kenneth must at least appear to accord a proper respect to the dead. Finding that he was unmoved by argument or entreaty, she got up in a cold anger that was only partly feigned, and signified her intention of departing without permitting him to kiss her, or even touch her hand. Some spark of wrath kindled in his eyes, but was quenched by the closing of the door behind her. He hurried after her; what passed between them in the hall the others had no means of knowing; but in a few moments they came back together, Kenneth meekly bound by his word to attend the funeral, and Violet as charming and as sweet-tempered as she had been angry before.
“If Kenneth marries that young woman he won't be able to call his soul his own,” Giles remarked later to Antonia at the door of the flat.
“I know; it's sickening,” she agreed. “He isn't really in love with her, either. He's in love with what she looks like.”
“Which reminds me,” said Giles. “What has become of your intended?”
“I don't know, but I'm beginning to be afraid he's going to jilt me,” replied Antonia, with undiminished cheerfulness.
This theory, however, proved to be incorrect, for Mesurier attended the funeral the following afternoon, and returned with Kenneth to the flat afterwards. He had recovered his poise, and nothing could have been more graceful than his apology for having left Antonia in anger when they had last met. He apparently considered that his action in seeking out Superintendent Hannasyde at Scotland Yard with the revised version of his story exempted him from any future inquiry, but Kenneth did what he could to disillusion him on this point, and succeeded so well that within two days of being reconciled to his fiancée, Rudolph's nerves began to show signs of fraying, and he exclaimed, in exasperation at the Verekers' absorption in other and more everyday matters: “I don't know how you two can go on as though nothing had happened, or was likely to happen!”
“What is likely to happen?” inquired Antonia, looking up from a collection of guide-books and railway timetables. “We could quite well go to Sweden, Ken. I've worked it all out.”
“What's the use of talking about trips abroad when you may be in prison?” said Rudolph, with an attempt at a laugh.
“Oh, that!” she said dismissing it. “Of course we shan't be in prison. Anyway, I'm getting sick of the murder.”
“I wish we knew what the police were doing!”