“Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friend the tall stranger, who has driven off in Reuben Goldstein’s cart?”
“My horse and cart can take your Honour there, where you please.”
“To a place called the Père Blanchard’s hut?”
“Your Honour has guessed?” said the Jew in astonishment.
“You know the place?”
“I know it, your Honour.”
“Which road leads to it?”
“The St. Martin Road, your Honour, then a footpath from there to the cliffs.”
“You know the road?” repeated Chauvelin, roughly.
“Every stone, every blade of grass, your Honour,” replied the Jew quietly.