"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?"