Again the other nodded pleasantly. 'I rather think you'll regret it, then. Because three witnesses-excuse, four witnesses — will testify that it would have been absolutely impossible for me to have killed my young friend Martin. Or, indeed, anybody else.'
He smiled.
'May I ask a question now? Dr. Fell, you seem to have caused this somewhat-pardon me-amazing procedure. On the night my young friend — ah — died, I was at your house, by your side, was I not? At what time did I arrive?' Dr. Fell, still resembling a fat bandit, was leaning against the side of the car. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
'First move,' he said. 'You're opening with a pawn instead of a knight. Stand by, Inspector; I like this.You arrived in the vicinity of ten-thirty. More or less. I'll give you ten-thirty.'
'Let me remind you'-the rector's voice had grown a trifle harsher; but he changed it in an instant, smoothly. 'Ah, no matter. Miss Starberth, will you tell these gentlemen again what time your brother left the Hall?'
'There was a mix-up about clocks, you know,' Dr. Fell put in. 'The clock in the hall was ten minutes fast….'
'Quite so,' said Saunders. 'Well, at whatever time he left the Hall, I must have been at Dr. Fell's house? You know this to be a fact?'
Dorothy, who had been staring at him queerly, nodded.
'Why… yes. Yes, naturally.'
'And you, Mr. Rampole. You know that I was at the doctor's, and that I never left. You saw Martin coming up to the prison with his light while I was there; you saw his lamp in the Governor's Room while I was there? In short, I could not conceivably have killed him?'
Rampole had to say, 'Yes.' There was no denying it. During all that time, Saunders had been directly under his eyes; under Dr. Fell's eyes also. He did not like Saunders' look. There was too much of a sort of desperate hypnosis behind the smile of the big, pink, steaming face. All the same…
'You, too, must grant all this, doctor?' the rector asked. 'I do admit it.'
'And I employed no mechanical device, such as has several times been suggested in this investigation? There was no death-trap by which I could have killed Martin Starberth while I was not there?'
'There was not,' the doctor replied. His blinking eyes had become steady. 'You were with us the whole time you say you were. In the brief moments when you were separated from Mr. Rampole while you two ran up towards the prison, you did nothing whatever — Martin Starberth was already dead. Your conduct was clear. And yet you killed Martin Starberth with your own hand, and flung his body into the Hag's Nook.'
Unfolding his handkerchief again, the rector wiped his forehead. His eyes seemed to watch for a trap. Anger was growing now….
'You'd better turn me loose, Inspector,' he said, suddenly. 'Don't you think we've had enough foolery? This man is either trying to play a joke, or…'
'Here comes Sir Benjamin with the man you say is your uncle,' remarked Dr. Fell. 'I think we had all better go back to my house. And then I'll show you how he did it. In the meantime-Inspector!'
'Yes, sir?'
'You have the search warrant?' 'Yes, sir.'
'Send the rest of your men down to search the rectory, and come with us.'
Saunders moved slightly. His eyes were reddish round the lids, and had an expression like marbles. He still wore his steady smile.
'Move over,' Dr. Fell ordered, composedly. 'I'll sit beside you. Oh, and by the way! — I shouldn't keep fiddling with that handkerchief, if I were you. Your constant use of a handkerchief is too well known. We found one of 'em in the hiding-place in the well, and I rather imagined the initials stood for Thomas Saunders instead of Timothy Starberth. The last word old Timothy said before he died was `handkerchief.' He saw to it ' that a clue was left behind, even beside that manuscript.'
Saunders, moving over to make room, calmly spread the handkerchief out on his knee so that it was in full view. Dr. Fell chuckled.
'You don't still insist your name is Thomas Saunders, do you?' he enquired. A motion of his cane indicated Sir Benjamin coming towards them with the tall brown man carrying the large valise. Piercing across the open space, a high and querulous voice was complaining:
'— about what the devil this means. I had some friends to visit, and I wrote Tom not to meet me until Thursday; then he cabled me to the boat to come down here directly, on a matter of life or death, and specified trains, and?'
'I sent the cable,' said Dr. Fell. 'It's a good thing I did. Our friend would have disappeared by Thursday. He had already persuaded Sir Benjamin to urge him to disappear.
The tall man stopped short, pushing back his hat.
'Listen,' he said, with a sort of wild patience. 'Is everybody stark, raving mad? First Ben won't talk sense, and now — who are you?'
'No, no. That's not the question,' Dr. Fell corrected: 'The question is, who is this?' He touched Saunders' arm. 'Is it your nephew?'
'Oh, hell!' said Mr. Robert Saunders.
'Get into the car, then. Better sit up beside the driver, and he'll tell you.'
In went the inspector on the other side of Saunders.
Rampole and Dorothy sat on the small seats, and Robert Saunders up with Sir Benjamin. The rector only remarked:
'A mistake can be proved, of course. But such a mistake is very different from a murder charge. You can prove no murder charge, you know.'
He had got rather white. Sitting with his knee almost touching the rector's, Rampole felt a little quiver of repulsion and almost of fear. The bulbous blue eyes were still wide open, the mouth hung somewhat loose. You could hear his breathing. A deadly quiet hung in the tonneau. Dusk bad come on rapidly, and the wheels sang with the word 'killer.'
Then Rampole saw that the inspector had unobtrusively folded his pistol under one arm, and that its barrel was against the rector's side.
Down the lane to Yew Cottage, wild bumping, and Sir Benjamin was still talking in the front seat… They had just stopped before the house when Robert Saunders sprang out. His long arm reached into the tonneau.
He said: 'You dirty swine, where is he? What did you do to Tom?'
The inspector seized his wrist. 'Steady, sir. Steady. No violence.'
'He claims to be Tom Saunders? He's a damned liar. He- I'll kill him. I?'
Without haste, Inspector Jennings pushed him away from the car door as it was opened. They were all around the rector now. With his tonsure and fluff of yellow hair, he looked like a decaying saint; he kept trying to smile. They escorted him into the house, where Dr. Fell was lighting lamps in the study. Sir Benjamin pushed the rector down into a chair.
'Now, then?' he began.
'Inspector,' said Dr. Fell, gesturing with the lamp, 'you'd better search him. I think he's wearing a moneybelt.'
'Keep away-!' Saunders said. His voice was growing high. 'You can't prove anything. You'd better keep away!'
His eyes were opened wide. Dr. Fell put the lamp down beside him, so that it shone on his sweating face.
'Never mind, then,' the doctor said, indifferently. 'No
good searching him, Inspector…. Saunders, do you want to make a statement?'
'No. You can't prove anything.'
As though he were reaching after a piece of paper to take down a statement, Dr. Fell drew open the drawer of his study table. Rampole followed the movement of his hand. The others did not see it, because they were looking at Saunders; but the rector was hungrily following every gesture the doctor made.
There was paper in the drawer. There was also the doctor's old-fashioned derringer pistol. It had been broken open, so that the chambers lay exposed; and as the lamp, light gleamed on it, Rampole saw that there was
