“That'll be useful,” remarked Kenneth, lighting a cigarette. “What a fool you were to tell us what your assumed name was! You could have forgotten that, too.”
“Oh no, I couldn't,” Roger contradicted with sudden bitterness. “If you'd ever been called Fisher for years on end, you wouldn't forget it either.”
“I've just had a horrible thought,” said Antonia suddenly. “Are you married?”
“It doesn't matter if he is,” snapped Kenneth. “The mere fact of his being alive has ditched the whole thing.”
“Not absolutely,” Antonia answered. “After all, he's bound to die ages before you, because he's nearly forty now. Only if he's got hordes of children it all becomes a complete washout.”
“You needn't worry about that,” said Roger, “because I'm not married. I've done a lot of silly things in my time, but I never let anyone marry me.”
“Wonderful!” mocked Kenneth. “One can so readily picture the eager queue of maidens -”
“Now, don't try to be witty,” besought Roger. “It's a very unrestful habit. All I want is a quiet life, but how I'm going to get it with you being clever and policemen dancing in and out like -”
“And all I wanted,” Kenneth struck in savagely, “was for you to remain decently interred!”
“Antipathy, Mr Vereker? Or are you making the discovery that the acquisition of a large fortune is not a matter of such indifference as you would have had us believe?”