“You're not being exactly helpful, Kenneth,” said his cousin.
“Why should I be? I don't want the murderer to be unmasked - unless it was Roger, of course. I approve of him.”
Roger opened his eyes again. “Now, that's a very sensible remark,” he said. “I don't mean the bit about me, but the rest of it. I don't want to know either, and if we don't, what's it got to do with anyone else? That's what I complain about in policemen. Always poking their noses into other people's business.”
“You can't blame them for that,” said Antonia reasonably. “They pretty well have to. But it does seem to me much more important at the moment to decide what's to be done about you. It's all very well for you to say you can't advance any money, Giles, but you needn't think we're going to let Roger wear all Kenneth's clothes while you sit on the cash.”
“No,” Roger said, his interest reviving. “Because I don't like any of his shirts, for one thing.”
Antonia at once took up the cudgels on behalf of her brother's taste, and since the argument showed signs of developing swiftly into an abstract discussion on sartorial matters, Hannasyde apparently judged it wisest to go away. The Verekers paid very little attention to his departure, but Giles escorted him to the front door, and said that he had all his sympathy.
“Thanks,” returned Hannasyde. “Was Roger Vereker deported, by any chance?”
“Probably,” said Giles, with perfect equanimity. “At all events, he's been cast up penniless on our hands.”
Hannasyde looked at him under his brows. “Are you acting for him, Mr Carrington?”
“Not if I know it,” answered Giles.