"Nonsense, Roger," said Hughes, "Win Bannard wasn't up here Sunday noon—where would he have been concealed until three o'clock——"
"In his aunt's room——"
"Take that back!" shouted Bannard, "do you know what you're saying?"
"Hush up, both of you," cautioned Hughes. "For Heaven's sake don't get up a scene over nothing! But, if you saw a small motor car along the road near here, I want to know about it. What time was this, Downing?"
"'Long about noon, I tell you," was the sulky reply. "It might have been a few minutes before. There was no one in the car; it was drawn up by the side of the road, not more'n two hundred yards from the house."
"And you thought you saw Mr. Bannard. Of course, it was someone else, but it's important to know about this. I can't help thinking whoever committed that murder was hidden in the room for some time beforehand——"
"And how did he get away?" asked Bannard.
"If you ask me that once more, I'll pound you! I don't know how he got away. But he did get away, and we'll find out how, when we find our man. That's my theory of procedure, if you want to know; let the mystery of the locked room wait, and devote all possible effort to finding the murderer. Then the rest will unravel itself."
"Easier said than done," sneered Downing, "if you're going to discard all evidence or statements that anyone makes to you!"
"If you were so sure you saw Mr. Bannard on Sunday morning, why didn't you so state at the inquest?"