Roger, who had started violently at the sight of him, said: “It's no good anyone asking me questions, because I'm very busy at the moment. As a matter of fact, I was hoping for a quiet afternoon, now we've got rid of Kenneth.”
A rough sketch in pastels, propped on the mantelpiece, caught Giles's attention. “Good Lord, that's clever!” he said involuntarily. “Kenneth's?”
“I don't see anything clever in it at all,” said Roger. “In fact, if I weren't a very easy-going man, I might be quite annoyed by it.”
“Yes,” said Giles. “I - I should think you might.”
“Moreover, it isn't anything like me,” pursued Roger. “Can't be, because Kenneth had to tell me who it was meant to be.”
“He's caught the look, hasn't he?” said Antonia. “He did it this morning. After saying portrait painting's a debased art, too. It is good, isn't it?”
“Wicked!” said Giles, under his breath. “Really, it's indecent, Tony!”
Hannasyde, who had been also looking in considerable astonishment at the sketch, overheard this, and found himself in complete agreement, and wondered whether it was fanciful to feel convinced that the man who could perpetrate so merciless a portrait would be capable of anything, even murder. He transferred his gaze from it to the original, and said without preamble: “You informed me last night, Mr Vereker, that you landed in England two days ago.”
“I daresay I did,” admitted Roger. “One way and another there was a lot of chatter going on last night, and I don't remember all I said. But I won't want to start an argument, so have it your own way.”
“Do you still adhere to that statement?”