“That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty hard for five hours.”
“Through the wood?”
“I practically never left the track.”
“You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw in my life.”
“Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——”
“Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. Did you leave London yesterday?”
“Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.”
“Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?”
“I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the collector, the return portion is in my pocket.”
He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it.