“Mr Kenneth Vereker has called, sir, and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes. He says it is urgent.”
“Tell him I'm engaged at the moment, but if he cares to wait. I'll see him later.”
Hannasyde craned forward. “I wonder if you would mind if I saw Mr Kenneth Vereker?” he asked Giles and his father's eyes met for an instant.
Charles Carrington said briefly “Tell Mr Vereker that Superintendent Hannasyde is here and would like to see him.”
“Yes sir.” The clerk went out.
Two minutes later Kenneth walked in, dressed in disreputable grey flannel trousers, a shirt with a soft collar and a flowing tie, and an old tweed coat. A plume of dark hair fell over one eyebrow and the eyes themselves were bright, and inquisitive, and alert. “Hullo, Uncle! Hullo, Giles!” he said airily. “Where's the lamb-like policeman? Good Lord, I don't see anything lamb-like about you! Another of Tony's lies! I've come to the conclusion I'd better reserve my defence, by the way. Saw it in the News of the World yesterday, and it seemed to me a good idea.”
“I wish,” said Mr Carrington testily, “that you would refrain from walking into my office looking like a third rate artist from Chelsea!”
“Why?” asked Kenneth, interested.
“Because I don't like it!” replied Mr Carrington, floored. “And nor do I like that effeminate tie!”
“If it comes to that I don't like yours,” said Kenneth. “I think it's a ghastly tie, but I shouldn't have said so if you hadn't started on mine, because I believe in the Rights of the Individual. But as a matter of fact it's about my clothes that I'm here, more or less.” He turned to Hannasyde and said affably: “You don't mind if I get my business done first, do you?”