“Thank you for nothing!” retorted Murgatroyd. “He'd better not let me hear him say anything else, that's all. Him or anyone. There's a case for those brushes, Mr Giles. You leave them to me.”
Antonia picked up a folding leather photograph frame from the bed and grimaced at Violet's classic features. “What on earth do you want to put this in for, Giles?” she inquired. “Just when he seems to be going off her, too. He won't want it.”
“You never know,” Giles answered. “Put it in.”
The rest of the packing was soon done, and in a few minutes Giles had locked the suit-case, and set it on the ground. “I shall have to go, Tony,” he said. “Promise me you won't worry!”
“I'll try not to,” said Antonia dubiously. “What are you going to do?”
“Save some constable or other the trouble of having to fetch Kenneth's things,” he replied.
She raised her eyes to his face. “Shall I see you tomorrow?”
He hesitated. “I'm not sure. I think probably not until late, if at all,” he answered. “I'm going to be pretty busy.”
“Busy for Kenneth?” she asked quickly.
“Yes, busy for Kenneth.” He took her hands, and held them clasped together against his chest. “Keep smiling, chicken. Things aren't desperate.”