He said: "Thomas Saunders, I arrest you for the murder of Martin Starberth. I have to warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you."
He had taken his other hand out of his pocket, and it held a revolver. Rampole, even while his wits were whirling, saw that the motionless men were closing in, silently, from all corners of the platform.
Chapter 17
The rector did not move, nor did his expression change. He continued to swab at his forehead with the handkerchief, that old trick of his; large and black-clad and comfortable, with his gold watch-chain swinging. But his blue eyes seemed to have shrunk. Not narrowed, but shrunk, as though they had really grown smaller. He was mustering up unction, ease, fluency, Rampole felt, as a man takes a deep inhalation before a swim underwater.
He said:
"This is absurd. I hope you realise that. But," a polite gesture, with the handkerchief, "we seem to be — ah — attracting some attention. I suppose you gentlemen are all detectives; even if you are so mad as to arrest me, you hardly needed so large a force…. There's a crowd gathering!" he added, in a lower and angrier tone. "If you must keep your hand on my shoulder, let's go back to Sir Benjamin's car."
The man who had arrested him, a taciturn-looking person with heavy lines in his face, looked at Dr. Fell.
"This is the man, sir?" he asked.
"It's all right, Inspector," answered the doctor. "That's the man. You may as well do as he suggests.- Sir Benjamin, you see that man on the platform. You recognize him?"
"Good Lord, yes!" exclaimed the chief constable. "It's Bob Saunders, right enough. He's older than when I knew him, but I should recognize him anywhere…. But I say, Fell!" He was sputtering like a boiling kettle. "You can't possibly mean — the rector — Saunders-!"