“That isn't an inducement to me, Tony.”
Her candid eyes were a trifle puzzled; they searched his unavailingly. “Isn't it?” she asked, seeking enlightenment.
“No.”
“Oh! Well - well - will you do it for me, Giles?”
He looked down at her, and at her hand, still clasping his sleeve. “I suppose so, Tony,” he said in his level way, and glanced across the big room to where Mesurier and Kenneth were arguing. “Shut up, Kenneth,” he said pleasantly. “Yes, I know about the letter my cousin wrote before his death, Mesurier. It doesn't prove, you know, that you had anything to do with his murder.”
“No,” agreed Antonia, “but the bit about the car is not so good. Tell my cousin, Rudolph; he really is quite helpful.”
Mesurier gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, that's nothing but a ridiculous mistake on the part of the police. Some local bobby imagines he saw my car near Hanborough on the night of the murder, Carrington.”
“Policemen haven't got imaginations,” said Kenneth, who had stretched himself along the sofa, his pipe between his teeth.
Giles was frowning slightly. “Where was your car?” he asked.
“In the garage, I suppose. I mean, I spent the evening at home.”