"Not to my knowledge," said Rayton.
"Then why did you and Nash fly at each other day before yesterday, in the middle of the road? Why did you knock your dear friend flat in the mud?"
"Oh, give us a rest!" exclaimed Nash, flushing darkly, and scowling at the old man.
"That was nothing more than—than a sudden explosion of bad temper," said Rayton.
Wigmore nodded his head briskly, and turned to the doctor.
"And I noticed," he said, "that you did not wait to be knocked down a second time. You hopped into your rig, and drove away at top speed. He who fights and runs away—ah?"
"Really, captain, what is the necessity of all this?" protested Mr. Banks.
Wigmore waved his hand toward the big New Yorker, as if at a fly that had buzzed in his ear. His keen, glinting eyes were fixed with a terrible, rejoicing intentness upon Doctor Nash.
"What were you doing in the woods yesterday afternoon?" he asked.
"Confound you!" cried Nash furiously. "What are you talking about? What do you mean to imply? You skinny little runt, you must be mad!"