“How far away is Middleston?” It was the town for which Antony had taken a ticket that morning⁠—only six hours ago. How absurd it seemed.

“About twenty miles. These people will be coming back soon.”

“Beverley, and the others?”

“Yes. I expect they’ll want to go away at once.”

“Much better that they should.”

“Yes.” Cayley was silent for a little. Then he said, “You’re staying near here?”

“I’m at The George, at Woodham.”

“If you’re by yourself, I wish you’d put up here. You see,” he went on awkwardly, “you’ll have to be here⁠—for the⁠—the inquest and⁠—and so on. If I may offer you my cousin’s hospitality in his⁠—I mean if he doesn’t⁠—if he really has⁠—”