One Saturday, Humphrey saw Kate on the other side of the Square, and went across. He said he had heard nothing. Then he looked round at the houses, shining blandly in the sun, and added: ‘Life goes on.’ ‘It couldn’t do anything else, could it? Not one of your more original remarks, you know…’ She was wearing her ugly, disrespectful, alluring grin and Humphrey, spirits lightened, tried to justify himself. ‘Would anyone guess that the country’s going broke?’ He didn’t tell her, she was quick enough to discern it, that he wasn’t thinking of that trouble but of others coming nearer. No one had yet been charged with the murder. He had his own doubts, hazy, not yet crystallised. He had no doubt at all that Frank Briers was telling him, with an appearance of absolute spontaneity, things which meant nothing and keeping back what he was really doing. Humphrey had learned that Loseby and Susan had been questioned several times. Briers told Humphrey nothing of this. Humphrey would have liked to know more of other personal enquiries.
