"I wonder what the brute shied at," he said.
But already the Man in Grey had dismounted. He led his horse across the road, and then to a spot where, on the farther side of the intervening ditch, a large, dark mass lay huddled, only vaguely discernible in the gloom. He peered with anxious eyes into the darkness; then he called to the commissary.
"I pray you hold my horse, Monsieur Gault," he said peremptorily.
"What is it?" queried the latter as—still with some difficulty—he brought his horse alongside the other and gathered up the reins which Fernand had thrown to him.
"That is just what I wish to ascertain," replied the Minister's agent simply.
He jumped lightly over the ditch and approached the huddled mass. This proved to be the body of a young man with fair hair and beard, dressed in rough peasant's clothes. The linen blouse he wore was smeared round about his shoulders with stains of a dull crimson colour, whilst the dead leaves beneath him were soiled in the same way. In a moment, Fernand had passed his slim, experienced hand over the face of the man, over his body and his feet, which were bare. These were cold and rigid, but the stains upon the blouse and upon the bed of dead leaves were yet dank to the touch.
"What is it?" queried the commissary again, more impatiently.
"Murder!" replied the Man in Grey laconically.
"The high roads are not safe," remarked M. Gault sententiously. "And even in this district, where those satané Chouans do not ply their nefarious trade, the police seem unable to ensure the safety of peaceable travellers."
He gave an involuntary shiver and gazed anxiously behind him.