“Humph!” Leonard was disconcerted with the old man’s positiveness. Nobody in the wood on his arrival, no one passed into it all the morning. Where was the poacher? Where was the murderous maniac? “You were only a little boy at the time,” he said. “Don’t you think your memory may be at fault? It was seventy years ago, you know.”
The old man shook his head.
“Why, for months and months and for years and years I was asked over and over again what happened and what I saw. Sometimes it was the Vicar and his friends who talked about the matter and sent for me. Sometimes it was the men at the Crown and Jug who talked about the murder and sent for me. Sometimes it was the gossips. Don’t you think my memory fails, master, because it can’t fail. Why,” he chuckled, “the very last thing I shall see before I go up to the Throne will be the sight of them two gentlemen going along to the wood.”
“Very well, come back to that point. When they arrived at the wood, the Squire turned back.”
“Yes: first went in with the other gentleman.”
“Oh! It doesn’t matter. But he went a little way into the wood, did he?”
“I don’t know if it was a little way. It was a bit of a time—I don’t know how long, five minutes, perhaps—two minutes, perhaps—I don’t know—before he came out.”
“Oh! Was this in your evidence?”
“I answered what I was asked. Nobody ever asked me how long the Squire was in the wood.”
“Well, they entered the wood, and they were talking in an animated manner. That is not in your evidence, either.”