“Very likely; I have heard so. Now sit down and tell me all about it. I’ve just come down from London to look at the place, and I remembered your evidence.”
“I will tell you everything, sir. Will you ask me, or shall I tell my own story?”
“You may tell your own story first, and I will ask you questions afterwards.”
So the old man repeated, in a parrot-like way:
“It was on a fine morning in June, getting on to dinner-time. I’d been scaring since five, and I was hungry. I was all alone on the hill, in the field where there’s a little wood, and the path runs through the wood. Then I saw two gentlemen—one was the Squire, the other I’d seen at church with the Squire Sunday before, but I didn’t know his name. He was tall, but nothing like so tall as the Squire. They were talking high and loud and fast. I remember hearing them, but I couldn’t hear the words. They went as far as the wood together. Directly after, the Squire turned back; he looked up and down as if he was expecting somebody, then he turned and walked home fast. The other gentleman didn’t go out with the Squire, nor yet at the other end of the wood.
“A long time after, John Dunning came along. He had on his smock-frock; he hadn’t been in the wood two minutes before he came running out of it, and he made for the farm. I saw that his smock-frock was red; and the farmin’ men brought a shutter and carried out of the wood something covered up. That is all I remember.”
“Yes, that is all. That is what you said at the inquest and the trial, is it not?”
“That was it, sir.”
“Yes. Was the wood then such as it is now?”
“Just the same.”