Oliver said nothing. There was nothing to say, the words simply weren't there. If he told George, verbally, that Verity wasn't at the shop, that her precious possession had been strewn about the floor without care, then he would know with certainty that foul play had a part to play in his wife's unknown whereabouts. If he kept quiet, with nothing more than a sad smile to greet George then he could maintain, if even for only seconds longer, that he might be misinterpreting the signs entirely. It had happened before... but so had bad things.