"You understand, sir, 'tisn't a real hearse—"
"Oh, isn't it!" repeated Mr. Noy in scorn.
"And you, sir—" He had almost caught and shaken me by the collar, but remembered my hurt just in time. "And do you, sir, sit there and tell me that you've known this all along, and yet—oh, you numskull!" He flung up two protesting hands.
"But even if it's a real hearse—" I began.
"That's the kind most frequently met, I believe. And 'the wheels go round without a sound.' Yes, they would—on Blackadon turf! Any more questions? No? Then I'll take my turn with a few." He wheeled round upon the farmer. "Ever seen it yourself?"
"No, sir."
"Has anyone here seen it?"
No; but the maidservant's father had seen it, three weeks ago—the very night that Squire Granville's house was tried—
Mr. Noy was almost capering. "Splendid!" he cried. "Splendid! That will sharpen his temper if it don't his wits. The Squire's house was tried, you say?" He turned on the farmer again. "Hullo, my friend! I understood there were no law-breakers in this parish?"
"'Tisn't known for certain that the house was tried," the farmer explained. "'Tis thought that some of the lads was giving the old boy a scare, he having been extra sharp on the poaching this year. All that's known is, he heard some person trying his shutters, and let fly out of his bedroom window with a gun; and what you can build on that I don't see."