“I was. I did not leave the White Bear till nearly ten o’clock.”
“Precisely so. You and your son together in your dog-cart. When you reached Deadman’s Hollow—you know the place I mean; that deep cutting in the road about two miles out of Duxley, where the trees, planted thick on both sides, nearly meet overhead?”
“I know the place you mean,” said Sir Harry.
“When you reached that spot, you did not see a man sitting on a broken bit of wall in the gloomiest part of the road?”
“I certainly did not.”
“He had been taking a constitutional by starlight. The night was close and oppressive, and he had sat down, hat in hand, to gather breath before climbing the opposite hill.
“I certainly did not see the person to whom you allude.”
“But he saw you, Sir Harry. He saw you come to a dead stop within a dozen yards of where he was sitting. One of the traces had suddenly given way. You got down to ascertain what was the matter, and as you did so, you made use of a rather strong expression. Would you like me, Sir Harry, to repeat the exact words made use of by you on the occasion in question?”
“Not at all, Mr. Bristow, not at all. Not requisite, I assure you,” said Sir Harry, hastily.
“You alighted from the dog-cart,” resumed Tom. “Your son got down after you, and you gave him one of the side-lamps to hold while you did your best to mend the broken trace. As you got into the trap again, the church clock at Leyland chimed the quarter. ‘We shall be very late home, father,’ said your son. ‘Mamma will have given us up long ago.’ What you answered I did not hear, but next moment you were driving away again as hard as you could, as if to make up for lost time, And now, gentlemen, I hope you will agree with me that it was a sheer impossibility for the man who was a witness of this incident to have been at that very moment in Duxley gaol assisting a prisoner to escape.”