"We should have all Chatterham round us if we did it that way," said the doctor. "Don't you think this had better be kept among ourselves and done at night?"
The chief constable hesitated. "It's damned risky," he muttered. "A man could easily break his neck. What do you say, Mr. Rampole?"
It was an alluring prospect, and Rampole said so.
"I still don't like it," grunted the chief constable; "but it's the only way to avoid unpleasantness. We can do it tonight if the rain clears off. I'm not due back at Ashley Court until tomorrow, and I dare say I can put up at the Friar Tuck… Look here. Won't lights in the prison, when we go up to attach that rope-well, won't they attract attention?"
"Possibly. But I'm pretty sure nobody will bother us. Anybody from the village would be too frightened."
Dorothy had been looking from one to the other, the lids tightening down over her eyes. There were small lines of anger round her nostrils.
"You're asking him to do this," she said, nodding at Rampole, "and I know him well enough to be sure he will. You can be cool. And you say none of the villagers will be there. Well, you may have forgotten somebody who is very apt to be there. The murderer."
Rampole had moved round to her side, and unconsciously he had taken her hand. She did not notice it; her fingers closed over his. But Sir Benjamin noticed it, with a startled expression which he tried to conceal by saying, "Hem!" and teetering on his heels. Dr. Fell looked up benevolently from his chair.
"The murderer," he repeated. "I know it, my dear. I know it."
There was a pause. Nobody seemed to know what to say. The expression of Sir Benjamin's eyes seemed to indicate that it wasn't British to back out now. In fact, he looked downright uncomfortable.