“Hullo,” she said. “I thought you'd deserted me. What did he want?”
“One or two particulars. I'm Arnold's executor, you know. Come along and I'll give you some lunch.” Miss Vereker was hungry, and not even the intelligence that she might have to be present at the inquest interfered with her appetite. She ate a hearty meal, and by three o'clock was once more at Riverside Cottage, backing her car out of the garage. “Are you coming back to Town, too?” she inquired.
“Yes, as soon as I've found out the date of the inquest. I'll look in to-night to have a word with Kenneth. Mind the rose-bush!”
“I've been driving this car for over a year,” said Antonia, affronted.
“It looks like it,” he agreed, his eyes on a battered mudguard.
Antonia slammed the gear-lever into first, and started with a jerk. Her cousin watched her drive off, narrowly escaping a collision with the gate-post, and then got into his own car again, and drove back to Hanborough.
Rather more than an hour later Antonia let herself into the studio that she shared with her brother, and found him in an overall, a cup of tea in one hand and a novel in the other. He was a handsome young man, with untidy dark hair and his sister's brilliant eyes. He raised them from his book as she came in, said, “Hullo!” in a disinterested voice and went on reading.
Antonia pulled off her hat and threw it vaguely in the direction of a chair. It fell on the floor, but beyond saying damn she did no more about it. “Stop reading: I've got some news,” she announced.
“Shut up,” replied her brother. “I'm all thrilled with this murder story. Shan't be long. Have some tea or something.”
Antonia, respecting this mood of absorption, sat down and poured herself out some tea in the slop-basin. Kenneth Vereker finished reading the last chapter of his novel, and threw it aside. “Lousy,” he remarked. “By the way, Murgatroyd has been yapping at me all day to know where you've been. Did you happen to tell me? Damned if I could remember. Where have you been?”