A stout woman in a black frock and a voluminous apron had come into the studio with a clean cup and saucer. She said severely: “That's as maybe, and if it's true you couldn't say but what it's a judgement But there's no call for anyone to drink their tea out of the slop-bowl that I know of. For shame, Miss Tony! And where was you last night, I should like to know? Answer me that!”
“Down at Arnold's cottage. I forgot to tell you. What a mind you've got, Murgatroyd! Where did you think I was?”
“That's neither here nor there. What's all this nonsense about Mr Arnold?”
“Murdered,” said Antonia, selecting a sandwich from the dish. “What's in this?”
“Stinking fish,” replied her brother. “Go on about Arnold. Was he murdered in the cottage?”
“There's anchovy in them sandwiches, and I'll thank you, Master Kenneth, not to use such language!”
“Shut up, we want to hear about Arnold. Do get on, Tony!”
“I've told you already he was in the village stocks. I don't know any more.”
“And quite enough, too!” said Murgatroyd austerely. “I never heard of such a thing, putting corpses into stocks! Whatever next!”
“Not in the best of good taste,” conceded Kenneth. “Did you discover him, Tony?”