"Of course," he interrupted sharply. "Well, where is Parmiter?" and I laid a finger on the map.
"Between Fenny Bridges and Exeter," said he, leaning forward. "He has made great haste."
He spoke quite seriously, not questioning my conjecture, but accepting it as a mere statement of fact.
"That is a heath?" he asked, pointing to an inch or so where the map was shaded on each side of the high-road. "Yes, a heath t'other side of Hartley Row; I know it. There should be a mail-coach there, and the horses out of the shafts, and one or two men in crape masks and a lady in a swoon, and the driver stretched in the middle of the road with a bullet through his crop."
"I do not see that," I returned. "But here, beyond Axminster----"
"Well?"
He leaned yet further forward.
"There is a forest here."
"Yes."
"I saw a man on horseback ride into it between the trees. He has not as yet emerged from it."