"She'll not dream anything's wrong here if we're careful," said Green. "Will you wait for her, or shall I?"
"This is up to you, Green. I'll leave you. You might have had Malley, but I can't drive the car myself, and I want to get back to town. Do you think you'll be able to manage alone?"
"I think so," said the chief inspector confidently.
"I'll get the local superintendent to send up a couple of plain-clothes men as we pass. You'll bring her straight back to town."
"Ay!"
In a quarter of an hour all preparations were finished. Malley was in the driving-seat of the car. Foyle and Grell sat in the tonneau, and it was no coincidence that the right hand of the prisoner and the left hand of the detective were hidden beneath the rug which covered their knees. For Foyle had handcuffed his man to himself. It was merely a matter of travelling precaution. The superintendent did not believe that Grell would
attempt to escape, but there was no excuse for giving him any temptation. Anyway, it did no harm.
"You'll charge him with the murder directly you reach town, I suppose?" whispered Green, standing by the step of the car.
"Murder?" repeated Foyle. "Grell did not commit the murder. I shall detain him a day before making any charge against him at all. Drive on, Malley. See you later, Green."
The car whizzed away. Chief Inspector Green stood bare-headed in front of the house, scratching his head, and with a look of bewilderment on his face.