“I see. And you haven't been out of the house since - I think you said it was about seven o'clock - last night?”
“Yes, of course I've been out of the house since then,” she said impatiently. “I took the dog for a run just before I turned in. That's when he had the fight. A mangy looking retriever set on him about half a mile from here. Blood and fur all over the place. However, there was no real damage done.”
The Constable was surveying the bull-terrier, lying watchfully by the door. “You dog wasn't hurt then, miss?” he ventured.
She looked contemptous. “Hardly at all. He's a bull terrier.”
“I was only thinking, miss,” said the Constable, with a deprecating glance towards the Inspector, “that it was odd your dog wasn't bitten too.”
“You don't seem to know much about bull-terriers,” said Antonia.
“That'll do, Dickenson,” intervened the Inspector. He addressed Antonia again. “I shall have to ask you, miss, if you would come back to the Police Station with me. You'll understand that you being a relative, and in Mr Vereker's house at the time, the Chief Constable would like to have your statement, and any particulars you can give of the deceased's -”
“But I tell you I don't know anything about it,” said Antonia snappishly. “Moreover, if I'm wanted to make statements and sign things, I'll have a lawyer down to see I don't go and incriminate myself.”
The Inspector said in a measured tone. “No one wants you to do that, miss. But you must surely realise that the police are bound to want all the information they can get. You can't object to telling the Chief Constable quite simply anything you know about your brother -”
“Don't keep on calling him my brother! Half-brother!”