"You questioned the people at the Hall?" he asked.
"We did," said Dr. Fell. "She was bearing up admirably. We got a clear, concise account of everything that had happened that evening, both from her and from Budge. The other servants we did not disturb."
"Never mind. I had better get it first hand from them. - Did you speak to young Herbert?"
"We did not," the doctor responded, after a pause. "Just after dinner last night, according to Budge, he packed a bag and left the Hall on his motor-cycle. He has not returned."
Sir Benjamin laid down knife and pencil on the table. He sat rigid, staring at the other. Then he took off his pincenez, polished it on an old handkerchief; his eyes, from being sharp, suddenly looked weak and sunken.
"Your implication," he said at length, "is absurd."
"Quite," echoed the rector, looking straight ahead of him.
"It's not any implication. Good God!" Dr. Fell rumbled, and slapped the ferrule of his cane against the floor. "You said you wanted facts. But you don't want facts at all. You want me to say something like, `Of course there is the little point that Herbert Starberth went to Lincoln to the cinema, taking some clothes to leave at the laundry, and that he left the theatre so late he undoubtedly decided to spend the night with a friend.' Those implications would be what you call the facts. But I give you the plain facts, and you call them implications."
"By Jove!" the rector said, thoughtfully, "he might have done just that, you know."
"Good," said Dr. Fell. "Now we can tell everybody just what he did. But don't call it a fact. That's the important thing.”