“From Beauce I think you said the wounded man came,” said Trafford carelessly.
If Trafford thought to surprise the priest, it was proof that he too was ignorant.
“I do not recall having said so,” the priest answered.
“But he was, wasn’t he?” demanded Trafford.
“I did not ask him.”
On the matter of the wound the priest talked freely. It was painful, but not serious. The small bone of the lower right arm was broken, but he had set it and was confident it would improve.
“If the man has been unjustly accused, I hope it may prove so,” Trafford said. “He goes directly home, of course.”
The priest smiled.
“I did not expect to see him again, so had no occasion to know.”
Convinced that the other was absolutely on guard, and that even if he knew anything beyond what he had told—of which Trafford felt considerable doubt—it was not to be extracted from him, Trafford again commended the lad Étienne to his care, and turned to the matter of a conveyance to Carrytunk on the road to Millbank. At parting, he said: