“Yes, I've realised that for some time,” agreed Giles.
“But I think I'd better see my cousin first.”
“Undoubtedly. And Mr Carrington!” Giles lifted an eyebrow. The twinkle in the Superintendent's eye became more pronounced. “Do try to convince Miss Vereker that really the police won't arrest her merely because she disliked her half-brother.”
“I'll try,” said Giles gravely, “but I'm afraid she hasn't much of an opinion of the police. You see, she breeds bull-terriers, and they fight rather.”
The Superintendent watched him go out in the wake of Inspector Jerrold, and turned to look at the Colonel. “I like that chap,” he said in his decided way. “He's going to help me.”
“Well, I hope he may,” said the Colonel. “What struck me most forcibly was that he showed almost as little proper feeling at hearing of his cousin's death as the girl did.”
“Yes, it struck me too,” said Hannasyde. “It looks as though Arnold Vereker was the sort of man who had a good many enemies.”
Meanwhile Giles Carrington had been escorted to the room where Antonia awaited him. The Inspector left him at the door, and he went in, closing the door firmly behind him. “Hullo, Tony!” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Antonia, who was standing by the window, drumming her fingers on the glass, turned round quickly. She was looking a little pale, and more than a little fierce, but the glowering look faded, and some colour stole into her cheeks when she saw her cousin. “Hullo, Giles!” she returned, with just a suggestion of embarrassment in her manner. “I'm glad you've come. Arnold's been murdered.”
“Yes, so I've heard,” he answered, pulling a chair up to the table. “Sit down and tell me just what asinine tricks you've been up to.”