“I agree. Let’s keep this frankly hostile. I shouldn’t have asked about shaving, I should have come right out and asked what I want to know, how close were you to him?”
“Two hundred and seventy feet.”
“Oh, you’ve measured it?”
“I’ve paced it. The question came up.”
“Would you mind showing me the spot? Where he was and where you were?”
“Yes, I’d mind, but I’ve got orders.”
The courteous thing would have been for him to lead his horse and walk with me, so he didn’t do that. He mounted his big bay and rode into the park, with me tagging along behind; and not only that, he must have given it a private signal that they mustn’t be late. I never saw a horse walk so fast. He would have loved to lose me and blame it on me, or at least make me break into a trot, but I gave my legs the best stretch they had had in years, bending my elbows and pumping my lungs, and I wasn’t more than thirty paces in the rear when he finally came to a stop at the crest of a little knoll. There were a lot of trees, big and little, off to the right down the slope, and clumps of bushes were on the left, but in between there was a good view of a long stretch of the bridle path. It was almost at a right angle to our line of vision, and at its nearest looked about a hundred yards away.
He did not dismount. There is no easier way in the world to feel superior to a man than to talk to him from on top of a horse.
Speaking, I handled things so as not to seem out of breath. “You were here?”
“Right here.”